Passages in Imperfection - I

Perhaps there was some deep sadness in their life. A marriage that writhed and seared like a wound of the diabetic. Destined to fester, but never quite devouring the flesh that marks its borders, held together against the ravages of infection by the ancient mechanics of propriety and passing memories of long-deceased passion. Perhaps he fell. She forgave. She sunk. He saved. They may have laboured in the delusions brought on by some Sisyphus cycle of combined struggles with each other, finding fulfillment in the daily task of doling out hate in tiny measures, treading everyday on their growing mountain of regret.

Nowhere Man

His name and title really don’t matter
Simply know that
In the continuum between man and Neanderthal
He tends towards the latter

And I’ll be vindicated by anyone who knows him well
For when he’s done with a day of rolling about in the grass
And being happy in the sun and all that
He smells

And in matters of poise, etiquette and grace
I must point out that
In the rainbow spectrum between violently boisterous
and phlegmatically gentle
He often finds himself in violet’s place.

When that other bearded blackguard was talking of
Hair Peace and Bed Peace
And other such drivel, this fellow joined in too
And what do you know?
The Peace Man is deceased.

But if I were to dissect this situation clinical
In truth, I wish that,
On the thread that ties hopeful and wry,
I was on his side of cynical.

Angry Again...

Be still my beating heart
It would be better to be cool
It's not time to be open just yet
A lesson once learned is so hard to forget
Be still my beating heart
Or I'll be taken for a fool
It's not healthy to run at this pace
The blood runs so red to my face

I've been to every single book I know
To soothe the thoughts that plague me so
I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean
My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion
Stop before you start
Be still my beating heart

- G. Sumner