HippieLngstckng
06-14-2005, 08:04 PM
In the beginning, my consciousness struggled, birthing itself in an Age of Chaos,
Baptizing itself in Waters of Sorrowful Lament.
My soul labored under its newfound understanding, as a fawn struggles with its new legs, And my heart was grieved to discover that I was alone.
One woman remained in the house that was “home”,
An older, kindly face, whose voice, though deep and gravelly, sounded like a lullaby to me, and laid my fears to rest.
But, indeed, she was poor. And because of this poverty, I was lost.
My fears were reborn anew, and for twenty-some years, I wandered aimlessly,
Crying to the Sun for mercy… Never considering to cry to That Which Powers the Sun.
My anguish ravenously devoured my soul till only the void was left, though which my sanity nearly escaped.
Ignorantly, I dissolved myself of any obligations to my fellow man,
My heart hardened from my travels.
Ferociously, through word and deed, I fought for my survival, but collapsed
Upon realization that I had been struggling against only myself.
Wearily, I trudged “home” again, only to find “home” infiltrated by impostors.
The kindly old face contorts under her struggles; her love is strained
As the needle and the spoon hits the floor, echoing into forever.
I watch helplessly as her love also transforms her into a slave.
From the blackness of the night till the hint of light touches the sky,
She guards what little she has, sobbing, for G-d’s money has been stolen from her Bible.
Day by day, and one by one, we watch our family’s treasures disappear,
Selfishly exchanged by blood corrupted for a moment’s pleasure.
As the years go by, her eyes become vacant, and the madness creeps over her being…
And all I can do is weep for the days long past, days of cookies, and candy, and Grandma’s unconditional love.
For what have I of value in this world, once her love dissipates?
When will the L-rd find my struggles sufficient and deserving of rest?
My head wobbles carelessly, as I lose my vision through weariness.
How long must I wait to discover the comfort found within the word “home"?
The word "home" loses its comfort when the only one living there is yourself.
Baptizing itself in Waters of Sorrowful Lament.
My soul labored under its newfound understanding, as a fawn struggles with its new legs, And my heart was grieved to discover that I was alone.
One woman remained in the house that was “home”,
An older, kindly face, whose voice, though deep and gravelly, sounded like a lullaby to me, and laid my fears to rest.
But, indeed, she was poor. And because of this poverty, I was lost.
My fears were reborn anew, and for twenty-some years, I wandered aimlessly,
Crying to the Sun for mercy… Never considering to cry to That Which Powers the Sun.
My anguish ravenously devoured my soul till only the void was left, though which my sanity nearly escaped.
Ignorantly, I dissolved myself of any obligations to my fellow man,
My heart hardened from my travels.
Ferociously, through word and deed, I fought for my survival, but collapsed
Upon realization that I had been struggling against only myself.
Wearily, I trudged “home” again, only to find “home” infiltrated by impostors.
The kindly old face contorts under her struggles; her love is strained
As the needle and the spoon hits the floor, echoing into forever.
I watch helplessly as her love also transforms her into a slave.
From the blackness of the night till the hint of light touches the sky,
She guards what little she has, sobbing, for G-d’s money has been stolen from her Bible.
Day by day, and one by one, we watch our family’s treasures disappear,
Selfishly exchanged by blood corrupted for a moment’s pleasure.
As the years go by, her eyes become vacant, and the madness creeps over her being…
And all I can do is weep for the days long past, days of cookies, and candy, and Grandma’s unconditional love.
For what have I of value in this world, once her love dissipates?
When will the L-rd find my struggles sufficient and deserving of rest?
My head wobbles carelessly, as I lose my vision through weariness.
How long must I wait to discover the comfort found within the word “home"?
The word "home" loses its comfort when the only one living there is yourself.