What must a man do?
When his world comes crumbling down?
When his ideas collapse under their own weight?
When his perception is cracked and broken,
His mind is tired, his eyes grow weary of the woe he witnesses.
His bones lack the strength to go on and he wishes for the warm embrace of his mother.
But this world knows no such comfort. No soothing words may he hear this snowy night.
No arms may wrap themselves around him and no familiar voice may tell him,
“It is all right. You have fought long enough. Now you may rest.”
No!
This world knows naught, the journey this man has taken!
And no!
This world knows naught, the pains this man has suffered!
And so his tears fall on the empty floor of the manor he built, on the desolate path he took.
For it was anger that was taught to him.
It was hatred that was instilled in him.
It was pain.
It was pain that was carved into him.
In streaks and brands across his flesh,
He carries this pain. This pain that molded him.
And now it is the same world that asks his to shed himself of this curse.
To leave behind what has become a part of him.
To be better.
But how can a man be better,
Be better than the world that surrounds him?
Be better than all he has ever seen?
How can he be better if he was never taught to love himself?
If he was never taught to be kind to himself?
How can a man love, if he does not know how to?
If he is too afraid to truly care for someone more than himself?
If he was never taught that this world does not have to be faced alone?
If he was never taught that there are those in this world that care,
That love and kindness exist still,
That this cold world knows too, warmth and comfort, beauty and peace.
That there are, in fact, eyes that wish to be locked with his.
Lips that wish to meet his, arms that wish to hold his
And a voice that wishes to serenade him, take him far away,
A land of dreams, where compassion knows no bounds, where his head is held up high,
Where the callouses on his hands do not burn, and where his shoulders are not burdened
By the world.
Where his tears do not stream down his face in agonizing silence,
Where his sadness, too, has found a voice.
And his past, too, has come forth, to give way to his future.
Where strength has given way to courage, where anger has given way to patience, where hatred has given way to humility.
Where he can speak as he feels
Where he can, once again feel the warmth of the Sun on his skin.
Where he is not afraid of himself. Where he is not afraid of the path that lies ahead of him.
Where he knows, if he ever wishes to return, he will find himself welcome with open arms.
And he opens his eyes. And sees specks of stardust far above him.
He sees flowing rivers of radiant light,
He sees cosmic vistas beyond all he is,
A veil of stars blanketing it all,
Covered with astral dew.
And in that moment, he understands,
“How can one man be expected to conquer this universe alone?”
Nay, he is not.
No man may, nor can he go above the mortal plane which he himself inhabits.
No man may crown himself ruler of these vast fields of Elysium.
And fear not! It is not because of fear of a higher power,
It is not due to fear of judgment,
Nor holy salvation, nor Earthly rebirth.
It is because he does not need to.
He does not need to sacrifice all he has, simply to realize a truth few understand truly.
There is no purpose in this great struggle of ours.
There is no rhyme or reason in this battle known as the human condition.
And one day, he will awaken and arise to this realization.
And he will still choose to struggle. He will still choose to fight.
He will choose to go against the meaningless of it all.
He will choose to give his fleeting life meaning, in this ocean of absurdity.
He will realize, his body is not meant to hold such rage within it.
So, even in this barren, meaningless existence, he will love.
He will make purpose.
He will become more than he ever was.
He will grow.
And he will rise,
From the ashes of his past self,
Higher than he has ever been,
In this infinite universe,
Only when he becomes nothing,
Will he become everything.
He will truly be, infinite.
Bound by no testaments,
Nor of man or God.
Held down by no regrets,
No past.
He sees only himself as he is now.
For the past is a river that has already gone by,
And the future is a waterfall one cannot see past.
And it is in this uncertainty,
He smiles, as he feels the warmth of the Sun on his skin.
For he is afraid no more.
He knows, no matter what happens,
The Sun shall still rise,
And the birds shall still sing,
The World shall still move on,
And he knows he will not.
He has faith in his strength, and in himself.
He knows, what can be broken down, can be rebuilt stronger than before.
And such is the path of man, for he himself is the marble, and the sculptor.
In such uncertainty, is where lies true strength.
In such acceptance, is where lies peace.
In such fear, is where lies courage.
And only when a man’s tears fall to the ground, can a garden of his labors begin to grow.
Only when he accepts the world for what it is, will he find peace in it.
Only when he accepts what he is, will he find the ability to become better.
It is all right. You have fought long enough. You did well. Now you may rest.
And it is in that moment,
In untold agony,
Facing his greatest challenge,
He knows not, whether it is the rain, or his tears which stream down his face
The distant boom of lightning thunders across the valley, but he hears it not.
He looks up, only to realize a moment too late,
There is nobody to answer his prayers any longer.
He can slowly feel it now,
A creeping realization he ignored until then.
Like a fissure slithering across the length of his body,
The fatigue and pain take their hold.
His body and mind alike,
Trained to not perceive limits, to go through any obstacles in their way,
Honed to perfection, have crossed their final limit.
For just because it cannot be seen, does not mean it is not real.
Just as the grip of the lady in black,
Which already clutches the warriors weeping heart in her cold grasp.
And he falls to his knees, stripped of honor and battle scars.
Vulnerable once again, as a newborn child, he is unveiled.
No more armor covers his mortal shell,
No further lies hide his soul.
And it is in that moment, as he lies in the rain, defeated, broken and dying.
He holds out his hand, perhaps to grasp a face not really there,
It is met with that of his comrade.
It is in that moment, he calls out, and there is only one word he has the strength to utter.
“Ma”
They took away my father.
I don’t know where he went,
I don’t know why he left.
But one day I woke up and he was gone.
In his place was another, different man.
This one smiles less often.
He isn’t always happy,
He isn’t always free for me.
He’s busy and stressed.
He has flaws.
But he laughs the same as my father did
He hugs me the same as my father did.
He leaves me wondering,
Where did my father go?
And now I know.
He took those things and gave them to me.
He left me wondering,
Do I hate myself or the parts of me my father gave me?
How do I be better than the world if it’s the only world I’ve ever seen?
I do not feel jubilant as I once did,
This world has made me uncomfortably aware of all the sorrows that plague it.
Fewer reasons to smile, to dance, to simply be happy.
I just keep myself busy to not worry about it.
An idle mind is the devil’s workshop, I remember.
So I keep my head down, and I work.
I wonder,
Was the world always this bleak and flawed?
How long will you stay down?
Beaten and broken?
How long will you wallow and cry?
Burdened by this world’s cruelty,
Bruised by its uncaring nature?
When will you realize that it is only you
Who changes, not this world.
“Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow”
Tomorrow arrives, but it changes nothing.
Tomorrow is more excuses.
Tomorrow is failure.
If the world’s eternal blizzard is what has broken you so,
When will you realize,
You yourself have to be the bonfire your soul needs.
This world is hollow.
Long and alone is the path you must trek.
So when will you realize,
Nothing in this world can give you the relief you want so dearly,
Except you.
This world will not relent, it will not give you a moment of peace, until you create it.
Until you build it.
Blood sweat and tears are the paint.
Happiness isn’t found, stumbled upon,
Given.
Happiness is work. Struggle.
Happiness is sacrifice.
So what are you willing to sacrifice
For yourself?
Oh we all have a place among the stars.
I remember
The old man sitting next to the train tracks used to tell me.
He’d sit and patiently wait each day
And I’d sit with him and we’d think out loud together.
He’d tell me great stories,
Fables of lands far away.
Tales spun in warm nostalgia,
He’d remember wrong sometimes and correct himself.
He would never be wrong about the trains, though. He knew those better than he knew himself.
He’d mention how much time he spent studying them.
And each day he’d tell me
Oh we all have a place among the stars.
And I’d question that,
But he was adamant.
His eyes in dreams dreamt long ago,
His calloused hands in tired retreat.
If there was a destination to this life,
He must have reached it long ago.
So I asked him
Among which stars do you dwell?
And with his voice went the whistling of the wind,
The rustling of the leaves.
And he didn’t answer.
For days I’d return to those tracks and we’d share silence together.
And that is when my mother told me,
Not to talk to the drunkard by the train tracks,
For he lost his mind long ago, along with his wife.
So the next time I saw him,
My question was different
What was she like, the love of your life?
And he answered not.
Days passed and only one of my desires was fulfilled.
He spoke, slowly and steadily,
As if reciting something he practiced long ago.
There are some, boy. Who do not belong among the stars. May their place be taken by one more worthy.
Oh, we all have a place among the stars,
But even in a universe of light,
There will be those that dwell in the darkness.
And it seemed that day,
The world wept as he did.
And before I knew it,
It would be the last time I would see those aged eyes,
Though they looked young today.
And it was the last time I would see those tired hands,
Though today they were free of burden.
And his bent back was free of guilt.
And even though the sky wept, as it had for days,
He spoke clearly and happily.
As if he was speaking from the heart.
And it was only then he told me,
After months of sitting next to those train tracks,
It was only then he told me
How his wife used to sit next to him,
By the train tracks.
And they’d wonder out loud together.
She’d tell him stories and he’d tell her how much he hated trains.
And so it was tragic,
The railway accident that took her away from him.
And that was the last time I saw the old man by the train tracks,
A permanent reminder to himself about all that he had lost.
He had become a walking mausoleum.
And so he remembered her the only way he could.
And as I went back to the tracks the next day,
I was satisfied, in perhaps misguided joy,
That I had shown him some happiness before he went.
Before he went,
To his place among the stars.
But it is.
It always has been.
Such is the nature of life.
Such is the nature of man.
To hope for a better future.
To build one.
To fight for one.
This world is cruel and alone,
And that is why it is you who must be better.
Be kind.
Be compassionate.
For what else is life?
An empty journey with no end?
Of course not.
It is the journey which is life.
And its purpose is to struggle.
For, you see, this path you have taken,
Is yours to take.
It is yours to shift and mold.
It is human nature,
To rise above that meaningless.
To be better than the world that surrounds us.
So make a better world,
For yourself and for those around you.
Find joy in knowing,
A difference worth making.
I wish you calm skies and a kinder sea, oh traveler.
May you see the most majestic sights this world has to offer.
May you spread more joy and love than you received.
May you find strength and peace,
To be better than those that came before you.
May you find the ability,
To make a better world,
For some other than yourself.
Let us see,
Oh traitor.
Who stands tall,
When judgment reins free.
I know I have sinned.
I know I have made mistakes.
But I choose to be better.
I choose to rise above my past.
I choose not to be blind to this world,
For I see it as you do.
I simply choose to make it better
For those that shall walk it after me and you.
So let us see,
My brother in arms.
May our story be told ages after it has ended.
May our souls live on without these mortal shells to bind them;
May our fate, wound and entrenched in pain,
Be etched into the lush ground beneath my feet.
And while I do not wish for my land to bear the scars of battles I have fought,
Let it be so for this once.
Let it be a lesson and a warning.
Let your defeat teach you as well,
The value in kindness.
And it shall be my weakness that tells these stories.
The tempered souls and capable hands I trust in.
And let your defeat teach you as well,
My brother.
The value of faith, and of true strength.
And may you see radiant light,
When it is my kindness that spares your wretched soul,
And reveals to you,
Reality.
It’s a mirror.
That voice inside of you,
Clawing at your mind.
Festering in the dark.
This world only has one constant.
Experience.
How one reacts the experience is what changes.
Two sides of the same coin.
How much has your past shaped you?
Molded you?
Have you sought to avoid it?
Fight it?
Never repeat it?
Have you realized,
That it does not make you what you are?
That you are more than the scars you bear?
That you can go beyond what you have experienced.
Do you see,
What your hands can create,
Once you free them of the shackles of your past?
Do you see,
The strength that lies in your mind,
Once you rid yourself from your past’s shadow?
Once you stop lurking in the dark,
Once you stop limiting yourself,
Once you feel the warmth of the Sun once again
And the Moon’s lovely touch on your skin once again.
Once you struggle and fight,
To rise above yourself.
Do you see,
How infinite you are?
Be water my friend.
Formless,
Boundless,
Limitless.
Understand, once you lose shape,
You lose the limitations that come with it.
Be gentle as rain,
Calming to the soul,
Nourisher of the world.
Be steadfast as a stream,
To find a path in the most unlikely of places,
To never stop moving.
Be valiant as a river,
Providing haven to all those in need,
Sweet with the gift of life.
Be unmoving as the ocean,
Stand with no evil,
Know yourself and your own,
And leave not their side.
Leave not what is important to you.
Stand your ground, no matter the foe.
Lastly,
Be fearful as a riptide.
Be destructive as a cyclone.
To have the strength to stand up for yourself.
The courage to believe in yourself.
It is not destructive power you should strive for,
But ability.
To provide,
To protect,
To preserve.
You need not understand this world to be happy,
You must only understand yourself.
So cower not, my dear.
This world is cruel and vast.
But so are you.
So vast and unfathomably beautiful.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
As the world sleeps,
Rise and burn.
Light up the night sky
Burn and struggle
In your glorious imperfections.
Struggle, because what is more human?
What is more human than to struggle,
Than to smile through blood
To grit your teeth and struggle?
Oh, if only you knew
How liberating it is to fight.
Fight, knowing you lived a good life.
Fight and fret not, for when you fall, I will be here.
Learn from my scars and pick the path not walked oft.
Repeat not, my mistakes and choices.
Be the beacon this world needs.
I too, will struggle, but my battle is different.
I am sorry I cannot be what I need to be.
But never will I let you walk this path.
May it provide you warmth.
This cowl of hatred,
May it grant you safety.
This life of tragedy,
May it grant you lessons.
So fight.
Burn.
Struggle and
Rave.
For what is a man,
Who has lied?
Who has deceived?
Who has never truly lived the truth?
Never has he felt the wind of the righteous,
For he has engulfed himself,
In this cocoon of charades.
And in the frigid depth of solace,
It is the ivory hand of love,
Who reaches out in an attempt to set right what has gone awry,
To do right by those he calls his own,
To understand,
It is not a coffin in which he rests so,
But a cocoon.
Of obsidian silk and crimson hue,
The fetid stench of treachery enveloping it,
But a cocoon still.
So he must choose,
Whether to lie still,
Or to climb.
To rid this fabric of sin from his flesh.
Become anew,
In new body and new mind,
To emerge as, perhaps,
A butterfly of new creation.
When will you see,
It has always been in front of you.
The answer lies not behind twisting myriad paths,
But before you.
When will you understand, the responsibility bestowed upon you?
When will you learn to see things for what they are?
This world does not dance to your tune,
Charmer.
These shifting lands do not follow your footsteps,
Traveler.
I’m afraid it was the fall that blinded you,
When you first fell from those flowing fields,
Those ethereal pastures of beauty beyond mine and yours;
When you were cast down and couldn’t help but look skywards,
Perhaps for an answer.
An answer you will never receive.
But in stubborn misery,
You journey still to the peak of that mountain.
You journey to find the light you once felt on your ashen skin.
The same light that drew clouds over your eyes.
This blindness that you mistake for ignorance,
Let it shield you from the woes you must face one day.
Like another long before you,
Perhaps you, too, are cursed to carry this burden until the end of days.
Yet again I ask you,
Is it really a curse?
I watch, from a place far beyond your reach.
Each boulder,
Each drop of sweat and rain,
Each step,
Each doubt,
They must fortify you.
Temper your will until iron trembles before it.
You must be insurmountable.
Because as I see it, old friend,
It is only light that emanates from you.
It is only strength you radiate.
So,
As I see it, old friend,
I imagine you happy.
That mask you dance with,
Only hides your beauty.
This performance of yours,
Will not help your solitude.
I hope you understand,
My friend,
It matters not, what mask you wear.
It matters not, what those eyes of emerald see.
It matters not, what tune you follow today.
It is only you that matters.
Disregard these ministers,
Them and their antics.
See that you belong among greater men.
Among mightier men.
See not only the path ahead of you,
But the treachery through which you have prevailed, nay, conquered.
I hope you see, my friend,
That you are where you belong,
If you make it so.
If it is your truth you live,
If it is you yourself that you dance for,
I swear to you,
In your glory and accolades,
Deservingly yours,
Achieved through trials of fire,
I have seen you conquer continents,
In a land where most fear adversity.
So even if without me,
Even in dark nights, where your company seems to be the lonely stars above,
Even as your eyes glisten and your shoulders fall,
I have seen few as capable as you.
I swear to you,
You belong.
Like a God you descended,
Something I could not even perceive.
Like a blessing,
You fell from the sky above.
I blame myself still,
Wondering if I’m worthy enough of this crown,
But it is your voice that serenades me repeatedly.
Do they still make your kind?
I feared they had been lost forever
To the dark recesses of this desolate kingdom.
It brings me great comfort that there are men such as you,
Who sing as you do,
In flowing silver sails.
Who walk as you do,
With autumn’s spring in your step.
Perhaps there is a greater will indeed.
To grant this poor sinner a helping hand as yours.
I wonder if this debt will come due one day,
As do all of them.
But there’s something in your eyes that makes me doubt this truth.
Sapphire gems of emerald hue,
The world pales in comparison to them.
While I do not deem myself worthy
Of this ichor your hands bleed,
Let me try.
And perhaps one day, I hope
My eyes shine like yours.
How is it that you and I are so different?
You have seen the same vistas as I, if not more.
You have been there every step of the journey, longer than even I.
The stories I carry, so do you.
So how is it,
That our conflict is ever present?
Any attempt at peace fails,
Surrender works naught,
And neither does battle.
Are we meant to dance to this rhythm forever?
No matter how far away I get,
I gravitate back to this battle.
So how is it,
That through all these bitter years,
You have changed,
So have I,
But we have not.
It matters not the strides you or I make in our life,
Back here is where we’ll find ourselves.
Some part of me finds comfort in it now.
Knowing no matter what,
Some things do not change.
Through thick and thin,
We still smile together?
We laugh like nowhere else?
This twisted comedy of errors,
Is this how it is meant to be?
Ah,
It matters not.
Come,
Let us argue again.
How else am I supposed to show you that I care?
How can you be alive
Unless you have died?
How can you appreciate the Sun
Until you have faced the eternal night?
How can you walk this earth with joy
Until you have felt the blistering hatred seethe into your soul?
Down in the land
Where the dead are still walking
Where torment is the only reality you face
And the screams of the damned drown out your own.
How can you appreciate rolling hills and meadows of flowers
Until you have bathed in the fetid rapids of the Styx itself?
Until your back is torn and broken
Where these umbral walls have carved into them
Symbols of agony and anguish
Where the dome of the cosmos is fractured and broken?
How can you feel alive
Until you have locked eyes with Nyx herself,
And conquered the void;
Not of the eternal slumber, but the one that resides inside you?
The amalgamation of doubts, fears and questions you aren’t brave enough to ask yourself
The shadow cast by your mind
Festers in rotting silence
And echoes across your very bones.
It feeds upon you,
Ever looming and threatening to drag you down into the depths of depravity.
It is once you conquer the void within yourself,
It is then you will realize that you are alive.
For a man who fears not himself,
Has nothing to fear in this world at all.
Are you still watching?
Are you still behind me, to catch me if I fall?
Is it your hand I feel on my back
Or is that the rushing of the wind?
Am I still moving or has the world simply left me behind?
Is it darkness that surrounds me?
Or is there hope still?
If I was to turn back,
Would I find myself
Facing your memories?
Would it be your muted voice,
Buried under nostalgia?
Or would I find you standing tall in pride,
Your eyes, like summer’s Sun.
Your face, like spring’s bloom.
Am I taking the right steps?
Or have I strayed from my path?
Am I strong enough yet,
To carry this legacy passed on to me?
To carry the dreams of those that came before me?
And if I’m not,
Am I strong enough to carry yours?
Am I strong enough to walk on by myself?
Is it time now,
For my hand to be on your back?
I can only hope,
I can be half the man you are.
I can only hope,
It is your name that lives on through me.
I can only hope,
That you’ll still be watching,
Even if you’re oceans away from me.
If I could, I would walk alongside you.
Never would you have to brave this world
With doubts in your mind.
Never would you face a challenge,
Wondering if failure would lead to solitude.
But it is not so,
And as much as I try,
I find myself guiding you to my path.
Dreams of mine that I was never brave enough to accomplish.
I hear my voice echoing with notes of anger,
Even if I do not want it to.
I suppose,
This twisted machinery we walk has locked me behind you,
To follow, and not journey with.
Perhaps it began a long time ago,
This tradition we join.
And now, this old man can only hope,
That you have the clarity to break it.
I can only hope,
That you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
For all I have done and for all I have not,
I can only hope you find peace.
Just know,
You needn’t be strong enough to carry the dreams of those before you, not even mine.
You must simply be strong enough to carry your own.
To carve your own path.
To not trek the route I myself followed.
And what more can this poor soul hope for?
Than for you to know.
While I could not be with you,
I was behind you, every moment.
And even now,
As these shifting tides warn me,
Times are changing once again.
What more can this poor soul hope for,
Than for you to know,
Even if I am far, far away,
In myriad lands beyond my mind,
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An Ode to the Night
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