What She Knew

What She Knew

Jan. 2009

He told her “You cut me to the quick.”
But she knew all along what he really was.
She could tell who he actually was.
She realized that she would eventually find him.
She understood that he would act as if he was a dim-witted man.
But she knew his act was just that.
She could tell it was a front.
She realized that he would have the capacity to assist her.
But sadly she understood that he never would.

Torment

Torment
Jan 2009


Approaching the dreary place.
The sweat freezes on your face.
Do you turn around or are you ready to plead your case.

Burning the candle at all three ends.
You get burned in the middle.
You are alone, you dread your life.
Is it worth all of the stress and strife?

You have someone in who you can turn.
But do you realize that before you crash.
Before you churn.
Before you burn.
Your guts and insides spew out like a mud slide coming down a mountain.

“Don't you just want to give up?”
“Come on.”
The voice at the top of the stairs says. “Come on, Give it up.”

You need to decide.
Open the door.
Walk up the dark stairs.
Face the demon.
Face yourself.

You don't have to be alone.
You don't even have to cry.
But you do have to scream and yell and let it go.
Give it up.
Give what up?

You open the door.
It doesn't make a sound.
The sweat on you face disappears.
You gain something.
You take three steps up the stairs.
It goes black.

FLY.................from the poetry archives

FLY

In my mind’s eye I watch the fly go through the sky.
Then it buzzes out of control and it dies.
What was its life worth as it spent it’s time on earth?
Was it worth anything?
Was it worth nothing?
Was it worth its own birth?

In my minds eye I watch myself fly high into the sky.
I fly to the Heavens above the earth.
Then I watch myself die as I try to fly.
What was my life worth on this earth?
Was it worth my birth?

In my minds eye I watch the fly struggle among the trappings of all lower forms.
Surviving on anything it can touch or feel.
The grotesque idea of this fly that is real.

In my minds eye am I that fly?
When I think I can fly so high that I die.
Or when I fly so high that I never die?





Date: sometime in 2006

ASLEEP AT THE WHEEL

Feb. 07


Asleep at the Wheel


As I speed down a long, dusty, deserted highway, I slam the brakes many times.
The brakes don’t work.
I see black and emptiness to the right and left.
In the rearview mirror, I see the blood red sky fast approaching.
In front of me I see gray.
The brakes don’t work.
I cry.
I shout.
My pulse races but my heart does not beat.
Jealousy
Rage
Lust
Greed
Pride
Arrogance
Indulgence
Gossip
Murder
Slander
Bigotry
Hypocrisy
Debauchery
The view opens up in front of me.
I don’t stop.
Thoughts of jumping enter my mind.
I grab the seat belt.
The seat belt does not give.
I can’t escape.
I cry.
I scream.
I beg.
My body shakes.
My muscles swell.
My fists pound the window until they are cut and bleeding.
The glass does not break.
It is all for naught.
My body shakes.
My body sweats.
My brakes don’t work.
I see the cliff.
I am heading for destruction.
I see myself burning in the wreckage, burning in hell.
I cry to God.
I am sorry.
I want to wake up, but I am not asleep.
I want to stop.
Everything is black except the red coming up from the ravine.
I cry.
I scream.
My brakes don’t work.
My calf is numb from stomping on the brakes.
I jerk the steering wheel.
It doesn’t move.
I see the cliff.
I am almost there.
My eyes open.
My bed is soaked with sweat.
I see the morning light.
Thank you God.
Thank you Lord.
Forgive me.
Love me.
I start my day.
I start my week.
I say my prayers.
My brakes don’t work.

Muddy Waters

Muddy Waters

Nov. 2007



Life seems muddy.
Why try to get unpolluted just to get polluted again. Then you try to get unpolluted again and again.
The viscous cycle of it all is exhausting.
It tires you and wears you down.
Repeated over and over and over and over and over and over again.
You battle the day, all day.
You lose your mind regardless of the battles outcome.
You retreat.
Sometimes you retreat to safety.
Sometimes you retreat to more chaos.
Sometimes you retreat to more battles.
Every battle, every fight, every stress can be bowed and twisted however you or the faction choose.
You can’t choose your brawls, but your mind (which is the bona fide regulator) does choose your struggles.
Your mind decides on your outcome, your perception and your opinion.
Your body pays the price.
You see muddy waters.
You see clear skies.
You see it all in a rainbow of contemplations, considerations, reflections, concepts, inspirations, theory’s, notions and philosophies.

Climbing Rose OR Thoughts About Life

Climbing Rose OR Thoughts About Life

Life is fragile.
Life is strong.
The trust we possess can be powerful.
Yet, our skepticism sometimes surfaces and competes with that trust.
Some say time flies while others say time stands still.
End of eras approach.
New beginnings are born.
Old habits die.
New ones form.
Life is comparable to many things.
Its like a steam engine speeding down the rails.
Will it’s steam ever run dry?
Will it make the climb up and over the crest?
Life is like the majestic balloon floating in the air.
Wind blown left.
Wind blown right.
Up.
Down.
Then it fades from sight.
Life is like a baby sleeping quietly in it’s crib.
Then it is awake, crying in the night.
Winston Groom wrote that “Life is like a bunch of chocolates.”
On the surface it is chocolate, but it is what’s inside where the mystery lies.
Life, to me, is like the climbing rose.
The path it takes is a sporadic one.
Yet, if the gardener directs that path, the plant follows the lead.
It follows the directed path for a time.
Then, before too much time passes, the rose’s path is sporadic once more.
The gardener grooms the plant. The plant that seems independent.
The gardener directs it in another direction.
This cycle goes on and on as the plant matures.
It’s path is sporadic then directed.
The rose depends on its grower.
The gardener lets it venture out, but always keeps a watchful eye.
Like our human lives the plant produces flowers.
It’s life’s accomplishments.
But before the flowers there are thorns.
The gardener looks past those thorns as he prunes.
Sometimes the thorns hurt the gardener and he bleeds.
He still loves the plant because he knows it will have a beautiful outcome.
Even after the flowers bloom, there are thorns.
But those thorns are overcome.
They are looked past.
The plant experiences hurt.
It experiences death.
It is watched over.
Sometimes we fear what is around the corner when we don’t know what IT is.
We are afraid to take that peak.
We are comfortable with the known and the familiar as we live our lives.
We have a sometimes hidden desire to want the unknown to remain that way.
Often that desire is hidden from ourselves.
We weren’t born knowing everything and sometimes we fear what we do not know.
We struggle with the uncovering of facts, of truths, of honesty, of love.
Like some, but unlike others, the climbing rose ventures out to the unknown.
It doesn’t know what is around the corner or what the future holds.
It slowly creeps along, finding it’s way and if it ventures out too far, or gets into trouble, the gardener directs it, helps it.
We seem apprehensive of the path less traveled.
It makes us feel uneasy.
But like Frost wrote, taking that path can make a difference.
If we have faith and trust in our gardener, we can confidently take the overgrown, crooked, dusty path.
We can look around the corner with self assurance.
And through life’s twists, turns and changes, our lives will bloom like the climbing rose.

W.Cortez
5/10/08
Revised 5/23/08