Hate Is In the Eye of the Beholder
I hate me.
You hate me.
Everybody hates me.
I hate everybody.
“Hate” is a powerful word; vicious, cruel and ugly. Hate is a cancer. Hate is also a construct of our human nature. But does it have to be so all consuming? Hate hurts people, often beyond repair. It destroys relationships, definitely beyond repair. It stagnates progress, so that any repair is compromised. Over the many years spent as a human on this cruel, hateful planet, I have witnessed and even participated in my share of hate.
Most of my hate is directed at the asshole in the mirror, but that’s another tale.
To hate requires effort. It means that we remain so invested in a thing, a person, or idea that we willingly feed it with thought, concern, reflection, retribution - whatever - to keep it festering and alive. To hate is to continue to give over our personal power to someone or something we deem despicable. To hate is exhausting.
Consider, if you will, the concept of indifference. How freeing would it be to simply not give that hated entity another second of our precious time? How liberating would it feel to expend the mental energy formerly reserved for hating on creativity or self improvement? How satisfying would it be to reclaim our power for our own purposes instead of expending it on the futility that is hate?
Indifference, you may ask. Not caring, one way or another. Not thinking, either good or bad. Not hating, but permanently retiring, putting to rest, and burying that which has eaten away at our minds, souls, and lives. Hell no, it’s not easy. But it is an option - an option that with any consideration and effort, positive effort, will allow us to move forward as a better person, a stronger person because we have restored the effort that we spent on hatred back to ourselves to spend on whatever our heart desires. Just imagine the satisfaction of crossing paths with an individual who was formerly hated, but since we have buried that hatred, we can honestly ask, “Oh, you still exist?”
But of course the choice remains; talk about hate, write about hate, live in hate, hate the hate, but ultimately be eaten alive by the cancerous, festering beast that leaves us alone, empty, and ...hated.
I lay waste to all who displease me.
I make haste of all who would appease me.
I gladly taste the spray from your decapitation.
I bask in your feeble attempt at retaliation.
Be it child, woman, or man -
All shall perish by my hand.
With the scorching singe of my burning brand.
Nothing will remain but bloodied land.
Far and wide my blade will roam,
I pity you not, as you rot and foam.
For wrathful vengeance has been unleashed;
No one escapes destruction from the Beast.
Lucky, Lucky Girl
...and so it was, between the shadows of a peek-a-boo moon, that darkness descended. Bony tendrils of eternity scuttled across her mind like the dried husks of broken dreams. Her fears had left him unsatisfied; his feast was spoiling. Her silence had angered him, like a petulent lover denied his release. The taunts and torments thrust upon her had not left her broken, as he had grown accustom, but rather had steeled her against his advances.
Oh, he remained to have his way, for this is what he did. She remained to still be his, for it was, sadly, not for her to say.
Undulating waves of glory and grief battered the shores of her consciousness. Rocks reduced to stones reduced to the sands of time told her that many, so very many had preceeded her, and yet she knew his icy seductions would never cease. Never.
Drool from the ancient maw pooled in her eyes, forever closing her earthly sight. His tongue flicked and flicked until her mortal flame was finally extinguished. This night belonged to him.
And so it was, beyond the shadows that haunt this world, a lucky girl, nay, a blessed girl, unfurled her pristine wings and ascended into peaceful light.
Lost in the dark, tangled in silken threads,
A nightly nightmare for each shining strand.
Tying my hands and constricting my head.
Try to disperse with a wave of my hand.
The more that I flail, the thicker they seem,
Demons attacking my weak, crumbling mind.
Weak like the knees of my worn out old jeans,
Succumb to embrace my satin demise.
Sickly stained sprites stringing threads all about;
Without a doubt, I've invited them home.
They dance as they weave, encircling my throat,
Blind in the deluge, 'cross my soul they roam.
From silver threads a noose shall be fashioned.
I'll dance and dangle; death be impassioned.
Bad For Good
* I had wanted to enter this in the weekly challenge, but sadly, am too broke of coins to do so.
I cannot remember when I saw you for the last time. I know it's been well over thirty years, but the time and place escape me. Your face, your hair, your body, you walking away will forever hold their place in my memory, though. I also remember you left me with the divorce papers.
Our marriage was short -two years- but I had not been faithful since long before the wedding. Our scared yet silent hearts knew we were doomed, but neither one of us was brave enough to admit it, at least out loud.
Faithful. Such depth of meaning. So many possible nuanced meanings; I clearly had yet to grasp any of them. I had no faith to fall back on, so how could I have been expected to be faithful - I was faithless - unfaithful.
I know you knew what I was up to - the late, late nights and exhaustion, the smell on my clothes, the vague and lame excuses, the outright lies, always broke - cellophane cliches.
The pain I feel over my transgressions will eternally burn, for these are wounds that will never heal. You deserved so much better and I now know you found it in another man and two fine boys, now fine young men. I can't fault you for never wanting children with me; seems I was destined to be a bad husband, let alone a father - at least we agreed on that.
I barely cared when you left me - I had my other comforts. I scarecly felt it when you divorced me - I thought I had true love just down the street.
I am not sure when losing you hit me, or did losing myself hit harder? Either way, it's all a muddled, blurry, mess. But I guess that is all a drunk deserves.
I am sorry
Cut Me Down...
...like a beaten banner on a battlement,
Tortured into retirement.
...like the Christmas lights in the limbs
Tangled and twisted by the relentless winter wind.
...like an arrogant reprobate
Who has earned his place in humankind's hate.
...like the old dead tree out back
Destined for ash after turning black.
...like a dictator effigy engulfed in fire,
Turning and twisting in the gyre.
...like my hanging dead weight
Tethered by guilt and fate.
Cut me down
Into a heap on the cold, hard ground.