This Anger Inside

Pouring truth

a constant

a reminder of my childhood,

of last week,

the turn of the year

any number of significant



When I allow myself,

there is this rage that evolves

asking for some release

begging explanation,

only my outcome,

is the same,

a disregard for my insides.


This disdain my mind speaks of

not meant for

you, them , that, those, when, why,

any presence or childhood,

my young adult life,

pick a phase,

all the stored up rage (sic)

is beyond anyone else,

internally storming  my

ability to console,

mistakes, missed, manifest

in my own

desire, or a lack

of regard

for change.


This is my anger, not yours.

© Scott F Savage 8/2020

A Simple Grace

Yesterday while

nature indicated change

watching the sky

pure beauty



listening trepidation

an argument over energy

that desire speaks humanity

a greater asset

such is the elitist lifestyle

a mask, a race,

derision of a forgotten kindness

doing the right thing


while in contemplation

the majestic


of a mature old oak tree

loomed in creative resilience.


Now a storm rolls in

the storm keeps rolling in.

I will watch with fascination,

society depends upon the truth.

©️ Scott F Savage 8/2020

An Invisible Truth


We do live lives of exposure, we choose to pretend

at least someone in your life has some pain to mend.

Perhaps all their own and meant for no one alone

beyond the simple exclusion of all of our unknown.

Would our lives matter to anyone might we have met

in a different time, an era, a century ago, or just not yet.

She claimed to me in tears one day ‘I’m invisible’

my tears began, I couldn’t stop no way was I able.

In grief I yelled her way, I am looking at you now

only then did I realize my life would become this, how

did I get here, how did the world become so beyond

simple reasoning, sweet reckoning, sadly so fond.

If I walked along a path on  a late summer afternoon

could I at least imagine seeing you during the full moon?

© Scott F Savage 8/2020

Living On Edge

Where is will certain safety exist,

that idea of crisis

last night feeling the sky

express wrath

if only would a strike

in all its natural awe

sear through the soul of man.


All the questions will remain

haste or a patience

still we might feel the rain.


Streets now with drenched asphalt

yesterday a moment

cleansing to some

nostalgic for another

now patches of a dry tar

a faceless fading commotion.


When is it we decide

shall we step off the ladder

release our grip

let go the rungs

fly away within the eye

this windswept nightmare

or a sweet felt

gentle breeze.

©️ Scott F Savage 8/2020


Why Do Tears Exist

Why, when it doesn’t matter,

is there a tear,

a welling of our eyes,

we cannot ever

explain with reason

a memory,

what sort of reminder is attached

to a nondescript moment in our lives.


A tear,

a weeping desire to pour out our soul,

hearts might ache,


when are the real actions of loss,

of grief,

abandonment and confusion,

when do those realities


© Scott F Savage 8/2020

As Wind In Song

I woke the morning

the sounds of a breeze

whistling across rooftops

rattling silent pain

ever present is the touch

of a natural wave

upon my skin

does let me come to


sharing this moment

in the arms of another

does both exhilarate

our body and soul

our heart meant as one

weathering such is truth

©️ Scott F Savage 8/2020



Retracing Steps

If it were possible

how many would change their route

as Frost would suggest

taken upon ourselves what we are not about

yet how many, really

when we look in the mirror

can we recognize who we were

in all of fields of fear.


When one day, she did walk away


after so many times a return

I would honor and wish for

more than any circumstance

in my life

like a setting sun

inside the phenomena of a rainbow

the chance

to experience

a night moon,

the complete nature

of love as a being

set forth on this earth

to experience

all that is confusion.


If I might retrace,

not us,

not her not that time,

only this,

that I beckon,

there is no other,


© Scott F Savage 8/2020

The Logic of Mental Health


We are meant to live healthy lives. In confidence can we suggest that we were placed on this earth to be satisfied, happy, sensitive, loving people? The argument could be that no truer statement is meant to be applied to the human condition. We were given the tools to be able to delineate through crisis as well expand upon our successes. So then, the question remains why do we have to live with grief and sadness and despair throughout periods of our lifetime. To add, why are certain people seemingly immune from sadness, from depression, from the nightmarish nature of anxiety and fear? Why then are our outlets for protecting our state of mind sometime so clearly self destructive? We often times would rather choose to feel good instead of facing the demons that become clear roadblocks toward our happiness.

In my life, the essence of happiness was defined at a very early age, when at twelve years old, I lost my cousin to a tragic accident. Until that time our entire family grew up with paired cousins and when Billy died I was left alone, to survive while everyone around though feeling the pain of his loss, went about their lives. My pain was obviously different, I could feel it myself, much like I can still feel it today 50 years later though far more manifest in intellect than the physicality of emotional pain and loss. To be sure his parents and sisters (my cousins) felt tremendous pain with the loss of their brother and son. For me, it was similar perhaps to losing a twin. Though we were not, our age and interests and fantasies of the life ahead of us were quite similar, we didn’t even know yet what awaited our future. Today I have often believed he would be a successful athlete in whatever sport he chose, and by such sentiment I have unknowingly lessened my own worth by virtue of measuring my life against one that did cease to exist as a living human being. As harsh as that might sound, the truth is how can someone base their own life upon a life taken too soon.

On my own I chose outlets that are now today defined as addictions. Many labels have been placed upon various ailments of human frailty – alcoholic, junkie, abuse, addict. When at twelve years old all I wanted was to forget I discovered marijuana and it was like a gift the first time I ever inhaled a joint into my lungs. I remember a feeling of departure like none other and all I had to do was sit back in my chair, lay on my back in the grass, ride my bicycle through a clean summer breeze and nothing mattered at all, nothing at all. I was just myself and the wind and the summer heat, and the soft gentle cocoon of a leather chair until I either passed out or delved into some more. As time went on it was the latter, layered with good music, rock and roll, anything that might inspire my mind to keep traveling in this direction that would seemingly take me away from all of my pain. The error in judgment of course, is it would not last forever. I would always have to go back for more, and now having experienced that initial moment of euphoria, I would always be drawn to seeking it again, never able to quite ever reach the same pinnacle. I remember my brother so aptly defining the reason to me one day. He told me marijuana or drugs in themselves are an artificial stimulant that trigger endorphins already present in the chemical makeup of our bodies. In other words we are capable of reaching those levels on our own without having to rely upon toxins to set off a network of imbalance in our bodies that can take us to exceptional places, temporarily.

The easiest outlet for me to begin was alcohol. Even when Billy and I were running the streets with friends, we had already at twelve delved into the parent liquor cabinets. Experimental at best, but our mischievous laughter and sullen glint in our eyes was a good indication that trouble may not be so far away. When left alone later in the summer of my 13th year, I remember it became common for me to take a couple shots of my dad’s Southern Comfort before I went out to the ball field for baseball with the neighborhood. Before I discovered that little ‘kick’ of confidence, I was terrified to even stand at the plate with a baseball bat in hand. Suddenly I could start placing the ball wherever I wanted to on the field. That had nothing to do with the alcohol beyond its initial impact. What was inside of me was that prowess that I would not let myself find as I became increasingly dependent upon drinking to compensate my insecurity and fear.

Addiction had begun to take hold. I could only convince myself that I was just being part of the crowd, but instead of partaking in the manner of everyone around, I needed that extra push of a joint, and I was soon the one walking around school in a fog. I was the once skipping classes and convincing my friends that I had some weed and let’s take a walk. It is amazing how many ‘friends’ seem busy when you stash has emptied in your pockets. The next few years because I wasn’t of legal age alcohol was accessible at home but marijuana became my go to. I began isolating to my room and listening to music and getting high on my own. When I do go to school on rare occasions, I would because I had a big automobile honk in front and fill the car with friends for many country drives. We used t o a couple of us brag about getting stoned before any standardized tests, and despite the  idiocy the silver lining was my scores were usually off the charts. Thankfully, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the result of smoking pot before hand.

So now we enter young adult life. The legal age for drinking was 18 and I remember on my birthday, alone, I entered my first bar and ordered a Manhattan. I ordered three more before I left that bar and found another and another and another, until typical of that time I would be pulled over by a police officer and given a ride home for my own ‘personal safety.’ Obviously today enforcement has advanced in their purposeful address of drinking and driving on the street and I am forever grateful for that. A story for later on in its own chapter.

My addiction traveled in many directions and impacted all aspects of my life including my marriage and certainly my relationship with my children, colleagues, immediate family, and anyone in all respects that I encountered over time. My goal is to address these in the hopes that someone might take away some piece of my own experience to immerse in their own lives and salvage their own peace of mind, because truly there is a wonderful light ahead of us  despite our common feeling that in the words of Neil Young, ‘the damage is done.’