Saturday, April 25, 2020

Dealing ...

In a time 
I need to be numb
Well meaning people
Can be so dumb
(You’ll forgive 
The inadvertent rhyme)

Pain and grief
Jockey for position 
Fighting their way
To the top of the heap
The morass of feelings
Unearthed in loss’s wake 

If you’ll pardon my candor
As I deal with the incredulous 
As you think, it is at this moment
While trying to process it all
With this gaping abyss
Pulling me mercifully into the void

“How are you feeling?”

What the fuck?

At this precise moment 
With all my heart is trying to process
With all my mind is trying to salvage
Trying to save the past
While trying not to imagine the future
You want me to deal with feelings

Let’s see
How am I feeling?

I feel like I’m drowning
I feel there will never be enough air
For me to breathe again
My lungs are filled with ashes

I feel like I’m trapped in my own life
And no matter how desperately I fight
I cannot free myself
From this prison of despair 

I feel I am all alone
Even in this crowd of well wishers
Numbed to their caring hugs
Deaf to their soothing words

I feel like I need to be running
Perhaps I can out race this pain
But my feet are entangled
Capturing me, keeping me

I feel an unbearable weight
As if I’m wearing a suit of lead
Every movement is a struggle
But, I must go through the motions

How am I feeling?

I feel like I want to scream
And never stop screaming
I want to rage against the injustice 
I want to rail against the inevitable 

How am I feeling?

I want to talk about nothing
I want to laugh without a reason
I want to cry, but I am afraid
Fearful I may not be able to stop

How am I feeling?

I give my best smile
“I’m okay”
“I’ll survive”
“I’ll get through this”

© Ron Simpson Jr. 
April 25, 2020

Friday, April 24, 2020

The Struggle

When it happened
It was as if my heart 
were ripped from my chest 
All of my existence
Lay torn and tattered
Nothing happened 
Which did not exacerbate
The pain my life had become

The effort required just to breath
Was immeasurable beyond my ability
The combination of your words
Both razor sharp and hammer blunt
Creating lacerations and contusions 
Everything bleeding or broken
I realize, now, looking back
I’m pretty sure something died 

Every remembrance 
Of the days, the events
Especially the rage of the words 
Would bring afresh undeniable agony
How could this rage exist
What hurt or hatred created this
How could such vitriol and force
Build unknown or unnoticed 

Daily, I wrestled with questions
What I did or didn’t do
What I could or couldn’t have done
Would anything have made a difference 
Was this just an inevitable conclusion 
Were we doomed from the beginning
How can I find the tattered pieces
What will bind my broken heart

How do I get from this place of misery
What steps do I force myself to take
Upon which path must I stumble
Where will I find strength and saving grace
How do I find my way from chaos to peace
How will I get to the eventual day
The day the memories come
Unaccompanied by the pain

The struggle
No assurance 
No plotted course
No completion date
No planned celebration 
Just today’s struggle
Until the mercy of fleeting sleep
A brief respite

Tomorrow 
The struggle continues 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 
April 18, 2020

The Weave of Words

From the beginning
We have woven our lives
Tying the fragments together
Binding them with words

The pieces scattered
Like a living kaleidoscope 
Littering the landscape of emotion 
Or crammed into our hearts overflowing

The pattern is, at times, delicate
The weave rife with intricacies 
At times, the only commonality 
A continuous thread of words

Life’s lines are oft subtle 
Other times bold and loud
Random thoughts and ideas
Partially and fully formed

Words interwoven 
Carrying ideas
Carrying convictions 
Carrying beliefs

Trace back the overlap
Follow the overlay
Find the connecting truth
Conveying life’s core

See the masterful work of the weaver
Hear the true tone of the words
Life is in the pattern
The weave of words

© Ron Simpson Jr. 
April 22, 2020

Saturday, April 11, 2020

The Gift

It is the gift I can give
Yet, still retain possession 
It is the gift I can give
Time and time again

Surrender
I offer it
The balance
Of total trust

Submission 
To be cherished 
Never to be abused
Never taken by force

You may control me
Yet still never own me
Never confuse capture
With willing compliance 

It is my gift
To be treasured 
Not the spoils 
Of some mind war 

You may chain me 
You may break me
You may take me
And never own my gift

No chain
Will ever hold me
As tightly or securely 
As my willing gift

Learn me
Know me
Show me
And you may own me

But 
Even then
It is still
A gift

© Ron Simpson Jr. 
April 11, 2020

Tuesday, April 07, 2020

Who

When the plow 
Tears through the earth
Who hears her screams
Who tends to her wound

The cut is not a creation of malice
It is born of necessity 
And ultimately benefits both
Attacker and victim

Still, the earth cries
She moans and groans
She suffers the pains
Of growth and growing

Nature cries for her
And waters her with tears
As mankind like ants
Scurry across her

Who weeps for her
As corporate greed
Rips her open
And lays her goods to waste

Who cries for her
Who cares for her hurt
Who defends her
Who stands for her

If not us
Then who?

© Ron Simpson Jr. 
April 7, 2020