From The Past

I wrote this some several years ago, and it wandered right back to me.

Of Velvet Tears

He lies alone
As he will as long alive
But nothing stops the pain
And nothing stops the rain
One thing can keep his heart from aching
A heart stopped beating
Is a heart stopped breaking
How he dreams of going cold
Now he lies in the bed where they once slept
In the shell of the place where they once dreamt
He can hear the voice of his love
Like the fluttering wings of a dove
The red line cut into his wrist
And the warmth of the blood spilling onto his fist
Is the love in the warmth of her kiss?
A kiss he has never felt since
The knife in one hand seems bigger
Then the other hand caressing the trigger
The blade will only stop the pain
The bullet will fully start the rain
Of velvet tears
He cries
Of velvet tears
He dies
Beside his love he is free
In a tomb by the rolling see.

Life's Rorschach

An ink blot is life
It is black and empty,
Meaningless, but yet
So full of Blake’s Fearful Symmetry.

In the forest of the night
We long to feel a loving light
But in the desert of the day
For solidarities shade we pray

An ink blot is life
Because nothing is so simple
We live to draw our own concepts
On a profoundly blank existence.

The Darkness of Mere Being

Carl Jung once said "As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a spark of meaning in the darkness of mere being." This hit me hard, and I explained my take on it to a friend, who told me to post it here.

Being alive is too vague a term. Having a pulse is being alive, but its not life. A cold hearted individual is alive, but has no humanity. Humanity is the heartbeat of the soul. Humanity is the capacity for feeling, the dispensation of love and all consequent emotions. This is ironic, because so few humans ever acheive true humanity. We're so numb, so dark. Mere Beings. The purpose of human existence is to give that existence meaning. We do that exact thing by making humanity truly human.