My heart belongs to the unknown Like you never turned around, To look me for the last time And I kept my eyes on you for a long time You made me go on and on As I go on My heart belongs to the unknown…
This heart is more pain than pleasure; more villain than victor Thriving in the breath of ashes gathered from burning time in all the places we don’t fit. But it’s the only one brave enough To navigate in the dark beyond right and wrong to meet our dream in a sky we can’t see To taste fire in the beautiful chaos of an almost lover’s absinthe lips of apocalypse To pick poison after poison to feel alive And still survive.
An arduous path, fate has set before me. The kind which relentlessly taxes my spirit and has begun to slowly erode the very seams of my sanity. The deafening cries inside my mind keep me awake and the deception, lies and manipulation have made their mark on my thoughts. The decision to forgive and not seek retribution has now weakened the once willful patient man. They say that those who leave such matters to faith and goodwill eventually find peace.
Does the father, who withdraws; not because of the unending repression by the ruffians hiding behind their false agenda, but due to his deliberate choice of not separating his daughter from her mother, not deserve better? Or would it have been wiser for him to have unleashed his wrath until he could have had her in his arms? On this path, I have found that a father who withdraws for the sake of his child has a love far greater than the one who does not. I would have never forgiven myself, for letting you be used as leverage by those who sought mischief. I left you in God’s care and I hope you have the same heart as me for you will need it to climb out of the moral-less abyss.
I could write a hundred words, to express how much I miss you and how I long to see you, yet when I start, there is little I can muster. So, for this Father’s Day, I managed to get a painting made for you which I hope holds true to the adage; a picture is worth a thousand words. May you always be happy and healthy and may you always choose the right path, no matter how hard it gets. May you find peace through morality, like I did.
What were you doing at midnight last night? were you in the depths of the deepest slumber, wrapped in the warmth of your blankets? or did you lay awake battling the villains and demons in your brain, desperately trying to slip into the solace that sleep brings? or were you dreaming of laughing and dancing with a gorgeous lover, completely carefree, laughing and flirting, as happy as you could ever be? because at midnight last night i was wide awake in bed entangled intimately with my thoughts and feelings, just wondering what tomorrow and the next day will bring. so what were you doing at midnight last night?
As morning crested the side of Tink Ravine, Mahofon stirred. He blinked but it hurt. He lay on his back, feeling a great tension in his muscles. Very cautiously, he turned his head to either side, testing his diminished strength. With him lay Dulkatra, who clutched his hammer as he slept. The tents were cramped and unsuited for the two of them. Light filtered through the thin hide of the tent, highlighting the patchwork and stitches that kept it functional. Other than some scattered belongings, that was all that resided in their shared home.
Mahofon worked the courage to sit up, and eventually he gathered himself and his drooping staff to face the sun once more. His skin felt sensitive to the change of light intensity as he pushed the cover of the tent and stepped outside; the aftereffects of his far sight disaster, he knew, would be felt through the following, trying days. He had pushed it too far – it was an arduous task regardless, but he had tried to sense something far beyond his understanding. He had been punished. He questioned what could be capable of such immense power, that it could attack him without contact, in fact with a sizable distance between the two. It was magic he had never before seen, even as the leading magician of the tribe. His mind was far from at rest, filled with dread as to what exactly existed is this wasteland.
He gazed around the small campsite. The smoldering remains of the fire sent wisps of trailing smoke skyward. The few that had awoken lounged around, eating foul smelling meats or talking – once they saw Mahofon however, silence prevailed. No one dared asked what had happened, and a steady fear seemed to creep to each one’s eyes. After some time, the chatter returned. Tents began to be rolled and strung to packs, and before the sun reached midday, their steady march went on. It wasn’t long before irregularities began to appear in the terrain.
I could’ve written about The stars shinning And the moon hanging low that night. The sea kissing the shore and The warm wind softly moving The hair from my face. The trees swinging In the calming melody. Or the smell Of salty sea that Tickled my nose. But all I could write About that night Was you and only you. How your eyes pierced Through my soul. How your skin Covered me like The softest blanket And your lips Felt like mellow strawberries. The smell of you Got me drunk on your love. We were high that night And I think that even The man on the moon Was envious of our love.
I’ve been a mother since before my milk teeth fell out; broken marriage cavities drilling bull’s eyes in a mouth primed for extractions. Permanent teeth hacking a premature rite of passage with the diseased pulp from a butcher named divorce because there’s no room for a child when the grown ups turn juvenile mocking disinfectant. Young gums bleed less; learn even more quickly to clean up their own mess (and yours). I’ve been a mother since you entrusted your mental health to dreams that died with a crude dissection of my hemorrhaging heart to stand on eggshells by your side. I’ve been a mother since your Freudian slip displaced your misplaced affection in my swollen hips like weeds that grow in cracks. But how do you ultimately kill a mother? Do you suckle her soul right out of her breasts? Do you grow too large for the space in her heart to stretch her womb (beyond its elastic limit) instead? Do you coil/snake her umbilical cord back around her own neck? Is it akin to killing a god? Cause I swear I’ve been one every single time except for when the child was biologically mine.