Write my Creative writing Challenge:

In all these places I don’t belong
During these days with no place to go
Eyes of appraisal
Taking soundless stock
Acceptance based on outward appearance
Thoughts can’t be seen,
Nor core understood
All these sounds surround
during hours isolated in the crowd
With poison poured in pleasant doses
to pass the time.

(this was recycled – but I like it – so too bad.) cd

We awoke early that morning, to walk among the dead. A light rain misted the cobble walk and the soft patter of droplets cascading on green leaves was a soothing backdrop to our conversation.

“I have often wondered what it must be like to dead” my companion quietly mused as we made our way.

I was struck by this thought and decided to consider it as we passed the final places of these quiet strangers.

They were not true strangers though. Their names were etched in stone, bracketed by intricate ironworks, laced with cherubs and other efforts to communicate the essence of those within. Names, like the titles on a spine of a book that can never be opened, hidden chapters that the remains inside had lived through – suffering, happiness, hopes, dreams, disappointments – the details of which become the property of the cosmos the moment the breath left their body. I considered these things as we passed deeper into this silent labyrinth. There were few active visitors to these eternal homes, though on occasion the eye was stuck by the bright vibrancy of flowers recently deposited in the hands of mourning statue. The world hadn’t stopped turning with any of these passings. It was turning faster now then when the first inhabitant had been interred here so many years ago. But still people came, to walk among them. To find that quiet in the soul that knows the truth. To marvel at the mortality that is only for others, and never us. How can the world continue to turn without us? Here is your proof. Someone etched this stone after the fact, someone presided over the ceremony, someone covered them and left these trinkets of comfort. These earthly mementos that are all we have to communicate to the departed that we care enough to bring a little piece of the still spinning world to last place they will ever go. To bring them proof that yes indeed, the world has continued on – the sun rises as it always has, the birds take flight at the slightest provocation, and waters still run to the sea. And yet, no one speaks their name, no one asks about them, no tears are shed at their memory. For all those who would, have joined this resting army. I pondered the idea of not being. Suddenly I was struck with the thought that provided me a response.

“I should think it was much like what it was before you were born …..but with better memories”

She shared a smile, reached out for my hand, and we walked in serene silence the remainder of our visit in honor of our new found friends.

my world is on fire
torched by a stray spark
that hit just right
landed on my fields unharvested
as the wind was just kicking up
it’s been so dry
and the underbrush has grown up
around all the important structures
fences have proven unable
to restrain this force
it forces me to acknowledge
that the inevitable has arrived
to destroy with impunity
to release this trapped energy
and leave my world in ashes
in this futility I have learned
not to fight this
and simply let it burn.

Something always grows back.

It is here on this ground, that for all my efforts, industry, and marshalling of resources – I have failed. It is here, on this ground, that I know defeat even in the face of endless and intricate preparation. For all my foresight, I have been rewarded with nothing but a sinking lonely desolate feeling while my world quickly unravels. The organization, the contingencies, the innovations, all boiled down to wasted efforts. An elephant brought down by a one stray arrow to the eye. It is collapsing, this empire of possibilities, hewn from pure raw effort and endless mental labors– the driving desire to stay ahead – to bring this to a successful conclusion – it is gone. It is a structure that could not stand under the weight of it’s own requirements. Fallen in, caving, crumbling under the pressure that reality exerts on every dream. I have fought long for this. I have expended resources in this battle that could have been left in garrison. The capital could have been held for a few more years, but the occupation has been dashed by this all out effort.

These forces that I operate against – who is to know them? They are vapors – elusive, overwhelming in numbers and fluid in strategy.