The Taking of a Life

I’ve wanted to take my life for quite some time now. Well over 40 years, the thought has crossed my mind. This isn’t a cry for help. This is me trying to figure out what to do. I am a burden upon people. Oh indeed, I do give people rewards on their own lives, but when it comes to the people I am closest, I will continue to hurt them whether here or gone.

So I try to weigh the differences.

I am in financial ruin, and there is really no way out. I have struggled with this to varying degrees, but more recently it has begun to build and knife away at my soul. I don’t have a solution, and have not found one and I do not anticipate one in the near future.

I am unable to function in my job. I don’t know how many times I can find the will to overcome my deficiencies. Right now as I sit here, I’m tired, and I haven’t the energy to keep pushing forward. I don’t feel I have the ability, though most will say I do. I’m so incredibly depressed I just cannot think straight, and it impacts everything in my life.

I’m lonely, terribly so – this is my own fault for cutting people off in my life.

Speaking of Love

I was thinking about you the other day, well I suppose every day. Nothing really changes in our lives. My life. I suppose I need to clear up the misconception. I don’t speak for you, only myself. I know what I feel is real, and it tells me everything I wish I might share with you, but no longer can.

Seems like every weather pattern of the day, night, yesterday afternoon, this evening will bring you to mind. I keep going forward at the same time I feel myself moving backward, without any anchor, no longer in a settling frame of mind, more the anxiety of a knowledge I would rather not endure. There are many days when I imagine my life without, everything, letting my body, more aptly, my mind rest.

Is it selfish? To imagine our lives have reached their pinnacle, that we can feel everything ahead is a downward spiral, to decide this is a pattern we no longer wish to live. Even though every one around us protests their love, and care, and affection, is it really that genuine? Do we ourselves convince our state of mind of the agony or is there a genuine realization that our lives do not really hold a lot of bearing in the greater good, and a departure would perhaps allow others to have their own lives.

I wonder if love can become an eternal forgiveness.

Misunderstood

Remember listening,

when the summer winds

turn gale,

remind lives

home is shelter

beyond the norm

no longer visible

is more a reflection of dreams,

the sub-conscious

plays tricks

upon all of our

seems,

wants,

desires to understand passion

its compelling draw

within the heart

the soul

each aspect of our lives,

the times we feel alive

forever forgotten


© Scott F Savage 2019

The Once In Words

I wanted to write a letter today. Well, I want, always somehow to put words together might have meaning. I need, to find the right words, not simply the best words or more impactful per se, more courageously words that will express a value, again, a meaning, something meaningful. I want them to be read by you.

When we do write, when we find the words we wish might reach one another, we want more than other aspects of our lives, to be heard, to be understood, to have the reader believe there is a purpose in what we are trying to say to one another. We don’t wish to ramble, to lose our train of thought, more specifically, if we want our point to be revealed in a grateful manner, we are careful with how we choose our words.

A ramble might be acceptable in respect to a point in each other’s lives. There is certainly laughter in the ability to share ideas with each other that are meant to gather soft wisdoms for the eyes of a lover to their recipient of sweet utterances. The ability to find a landing for words that might express a desire or passion are longed for, and as much, a gift if both individuals find it soothing to anticipate such notes from one another.

How difficult it is then for those words that we once could hear from one another to lay in lonely paths of regret and confusion, striking no confidence in their ability to anticipate discovery inside the human condition’s realm of dreams. What are dreams if not a hope, an anticipation, a medley of surreal fantasy drawn from the intimate experience of our lives.

What are today’s dreams if not once the result of words we shared with one we love.


© Scott F Savage 2019

In Respect To A Day

I look out a window

see the fresh dew of morning,

imagine the events ahead

where might autumn rays take me.

 

Drive down the avenue, so many

similar landscapes

the leaves have turned more

even since the night before.

 

Let my mind seek some shelter

in the recesses of memory,

those synaptic charges,

send me reeling or afloat.

 

I can feel emotion welling,

wishing to be near a river,

watching time and life flow by,

beautiful carvings in Nature.

 

When last we walked alone

together along the bridge,

a certain contemplation,

a wonderment, while now.

 

In the morning sunlight

lives a lovely reminder of time

when hearts cannot break,

in a flash forgiveness fond.


© Scott F Savage 2019

Lost In Curiosity

I walked outside tonight, like any other evening wondering about my life. I drove down the highway imagining headlights coming my way and losing control. I have to wonder why, I need to pull it together and again, as always recognize there is a purpose to my life. Just because things may not go my way, does that really suggest I should step away permanently. Not simply in the physical sense, perhaps the metaphysical.

There was a time in my life, where I did pursue stepping out of my body – it wasn’t a self destructive measure as much as a desire to find some manner of leaving my body. I really never knew the benefit, just that it would be an interesting thing to do. It was called astral projection in some circles of Eastern philosophy. I sometimes would use certain drugs to help me get there, but they were never successful. Though I did trip on acid one time, and I truly felt I was on a path that was letting me search for God.  Being raised catholic, it seemed like the right thing to do.

I sat on the top level of an observation tower in my hometown, and searched the sky, it would seem to go forever, as I came to realize this artificial property I ingested was now showing me the capability of my mind. I came to believe that without the drug I might go further. In this state of mind, I suddenly came upon an imaginary wall that stopped me from letting my imagination travel further into the twilight. I was laying on my back on a chilly autumn night and it didn’t matter. I wanted to find God. I looked with my eyes everywhere I might above the horizon, and though quite fascinated with my travel, I knew I would get no further.

I recall being quite moved by the moment, and then I thought about space travel. If I could go this far without leaving the earth, imagine an astronaut glancing back at earth while having a vast galaxy surrounding them. What would they think about? Would they to find God, or maybe hope to find some higher meaning in our lives. I always believed they had a tremendous advantage.

I also thought back to what that drug had done to my state of mind. It changed me. I now looked at life with a different lens. I realized there was far more than the mechanical nature of our human condition. I came to believe we could all be creative. I also experienced compassion, a sort of enthralled desire to find closeness with someone that might care, or might need some affection to allow their own lives to find purpose.

I walked outside tonight, and the world was no different than thirty years ago. The crisp autumn, star lit sky still could leave me in tears, and it was a beautiful reality in my life.

Not For You

I no longer want to write this for you,

just for me,

just a reason to wonder,

letting my soul wander

trying to piece

together

some remaining integrity

the foolish man on the hill

makes more sense to my life,

not self-pity,

simple reason,

the end of a fantasy,

I’ll give you that,

my reality,

has never quiet

measured up,

to your beauty,

your solemn wish,

such solace you must believe

knowing your own

desire,

is only our passion,

no one else,

no one can step inside

your beauty, though from the outside

looking in,

quite clear,

sweet is an elegance

a man might have know,

yet today,

confusion does remain.

I feel a decision being made

I’m still in love, perhaps it is meant to be, without finding ourselves together. There is something about separation and the value of two lives, two passions, two mistakes, two decisions to be allowed to realize what we were, what we are today.

I spent the night pining, trying to figure out a way to interact. I wanted only a word, just a word, nothing more, and that would be an assurance, an indication we might still exist in each other’s mind.

Tonight I’m in the twilight. All I do is imagine what it might be like to know each other as the companions we once thought we were. I have crossed a line, and I no longer wish to step back to that grass in my yard that is brown with a fury of decay. I want the lush sensuality of a beautiful rising desire, a sweet reckoning.

That may not make sense, but right now in my mind, love makes very little sense, yet I’m willing to fight for anything that means I can express love, and she might trust me.

This Is Loss

When lives are suggestive

rather immediate,

having lost sight

our humanity

hides within the depths

of our insecurity.

 

This is not wrong,

it’s a reality,

something that occurs,

takes love to another level,

one of fear,

trepidation,

the inability

inside expression,

inside wonderment

within an ecstatic dance.

 

Once, when love knocked on my door,

I glanced, and found indecision absent.


© Scott F Savage 2019

Time and Irony

I was in this place many years ago, just over a decade. I felt like I lost everything. I had fallen in love, and I didn’t know what to do. I was willing to do anything I could to be with this person. I had an obstacle. The truth is I was not financially stable enough to suggest we create our lives together. I didn’t talk about that, but I knew in my heart it would be the most unfair thing I might do to her. She is beautiful and I loved every aspect of her.

We lived a private life, one that was becoming increasingly relevant to such a point that beyond our intimacy, our playful nature, our desperate need for each other’s eyes, that one day, I had to tell her how I felt. The sad thing is a phrase began to overwhelm our love, our passion for one another. “Is this all there is?” I would hear those words and my heart would break because I knew how much I really did love this person.

One day as I was driving to see her, I was going to tell her I loved her. I was afraid to say that to her because I thought it would harm the relationship. I thought it would make things too real for the both of us, but I had to tell her, yet, I was so scared I held onto it until the last possible moment. I said it to her as she was walking away, and she turned and looked at with a quizzical expression. i didn’t say it again, because I thought I had upset her.

I felt and watched our lives unravel after that night, it took a couple of months but in the end I felt like she wanted nothing to do with me. I had no clue that the love songs I would find on my voicemail were coming from her. At that time, there was no caller I.D. so I really didn’t think about who it might possibly be, and when years later I discovered it was her, I was broken by the reality of what I misperceived – a woman I was so in love with was reaching out to me long after I felt like I had contributed to our demise.

As time went by my life self-destructed to a point that I wasn’t sure I could turn back. I did, I found recovery, I recognized what addiction did to my life, and I focused upon being a better person. The irony is that with her I was a better person. I believed in the beauty and passion of life, because we both did – we shared an idealism I wouldn’t trade for anything.

Years later, after thinking about her in every step of my days, we encountered one another again. We found we hadn’t missed a beat. We told each other how much we loved one another, and we convinced one another we would never part in the same manner we did over a decade earlier.  Our lives were different yet quite the same.

I suppose the moral of the story is that we don’t have to change how we feel, we simply have to give time its due diligence, and maintain our hopeful idealism, demeanor, state of mind, peace. I know at least I don’t have a choice.