Grip of Darkness

I found myself being fitted for a 500 dollar suit.   My sister in-laws wedding would be including my son as the ring bearer. At the time he was only a year old.  The sleeves of the gray of the suit were about 8 inches (20 centimeters) too short.  The salesman laughed and said, “It’s ok, just never put your arms up.”

The tentacles of evil, are strong and painful.  They wrap around hearts and wring painful emotions out.  If their hold persists, then the heart turns dark, and becomes lost within its pain.  Evil will always say, “After assessing myself, I have discovered that I am not that bad.  I am a good.  If you feel discomfort, then you are just too sensitive.  This is just the way things are.”  I am sure this word track is as old as humanity.  The abuser will self asses, then blame the victim.  Their laughter shakes the tentacles, amplifies the hurt and breaks the heart.

Why is God, the last one to know?  I ask myself this many times.  I gripe alone in my car.  I tell the tale to any willing ear I can find.  Evil’s conquest of my heart, my moral, and my life.  Yet, I don’t tell my creator.  My friend.  I wonder how he feels when I try to steal his job.  When I say with my actions that I am better equipped to dislodge the tentacles than the expert.  Evil laughs at my efforts and tightens its grip.  It hopes that I will never call upon God.  Alone, I am defeated.  I begin to believe the lies.  I become evil myself.

Then I make a choice.  My wife, my sweet angel, tells me to call upon God.  “Let go of this junk!” she yells at me.  She yells, because she so passionately loves me.  The solution to all of my problems is so simple, and she knows it.  What a stubborn fool I am.  I wrestle with my pride, as my heart grows tentacles of its own.  The dosage of pain, hurt, and evil is saturated.  It leaks out of my mind, my words, and my life.

Alone in the car, my soul covered in putrid rot, I ask God if he will ride with me.  I fight the tears.  My eyes are hot.  I am so ashamed I can only whisper.  I clear my textbooks and coffee shop napkins off of the passenger seat.  “I need to talk to you,” I say.  I turn off the radio.  I power down my phone.  I am alone with my creator.  I roll up the tinted windows, “I don’t know what to do.  I have been poisoned for so long.  I offer up a punch list of my own failures and sorrow.  I ask for forgiveness.  I reluctantly ask him to forgive others.”  I cry in silence.  I tell him about a crossroads, about difficult decisions.  I feel like he listens.  The tentacles become brittle in a moment.  I feel like evil is purged out of my body, locked in my tears that fall on my shirt.  The pain becomes blurry.  I hear answers to my direct and specific questions, I uttered alone Answers light yellow light, shine within the smiling commentary of the people I meet for the rest of the day.  The feeling of relief and protection is like a warm blanket wrapped around me after I have drifted in a cold dark ocean for days.  I look up to the sky, the tug of my heart being pulled into the heavens is almost magnetic.

Copyright 2017 © Zachary W. Gilbert

 

The Spicy Earth

The fire in earths belly is spicy.  Spicy on the soul.

Like breathing, a mouthful of hot sauce,

then gasping, gasping, in a burning panic.

A force swirled around me, like a cloud of ink.

If hatred could take shape, if anger found form,

it would be the black smoke.

I asked the burning fog if it was sorry.  Sorry it was evil.

Black garbage bags, shredded on barbwire, whipping in the wind.

Lava orange eyes, full of rage, with no lungs to yell,

seared its gaze into the theater of my mind.

Like the hum of an electrical transformer, it ‘whoomed’ and ‘werewa, werewa”ed,

its tale of hatred.  It burned my mind, like a spicy nightmare.

A crackling hum, of violent energy.  The forever evil,

was soon spat out of my mind.  Yet, the choking smoke hangs,

over all of the earth, without sorrow, full of hate.

Even now as you read,

Millions of angry fingers of forged in dark smoke,

grab sweet hearts, and turn them black and spicy.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W. Gilbert

 

 

Silently Serve, Silently Die

Roots, like hearts are hidden,

under where people blindly step.

The fruit on the tree is made,

nourished, and sacrificed for

by that, which is unseen.

Not until the soil is dead,

and all the water is drank, dry,

does the fruit tree tip over,

and the broken heart leak,

and shows what layed silent

under the feet of fools

a inverted crown of roots,

snap,

an abused highway of veins,

strangles,

the dying servant

kissed  by fire,

turned to ash,

before the empty sockets,

of starving eyes.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

War of the Words

Words, are but shadows, dancing upon the ears of the listener.  The warm fire of breath, heats the air, in a quaking rumble, and carries human thoughts through the black void.  The heart of the speaker hides itself upon Plato’s parapet, pulsing and moving before the fire, casting the vague shadow for the listener to see.  Truth, can not fully seen in shadow, letters form words, words form sentences, and sentences carry thoughts.   An export of shadow, carried by the light of the fire.  How does the heart export pain, hurt, rage, love, affection, hatred, and the like, with in words.  The listener, not seeing or touching the heart, feels these imbued emotions, and takes them on.  The word it would seem, is the conveyance of the heart.  If a heart is green, covered in puss, sick with hatred, the shadows will carry hurt in all of its potency to the listener, biting ears and poisoning hearts.

Consider for a moment that a shadow in transit can not be seen, until an object lays in its path, much like words can not be heard or read, until they land upon a listener or a reader.  The speaker, or writer projects images and emotions directly onto the heart of the recipient.  How much care is taken, in regards to how this message will be received?  The package of words, wrapped in invisible shadow may show love, respect, and kindness, but the heart does not lie.  It’s true self, is never false.  The medicine or poison laced within shadowing words, tell the tale of the condition of the heart.

Words are powerful.  The phrase, “I love you,” for spouses and children is air for their souls.  How long should they have to hold their breath.  “I love you,” dies in flight when the heart is lying.  When the words are formed and delivered, yet the heart is gray and dead, and its ash burns the ears, and breaks the heart of the listener.  If the proclamation of love is a reflection of a plump red heart, bursting with affection, then the words have true power.

What is gossip?  Could it simple be a distraction?  What better time to conceal the evil of the speaker, than to speak ill of another?  “Look over there, at that person.  At their kid, at their car, at their addiction, at anything, anything but me.”  A dying heart, is an embarrassed heart.  It may form words that make birds and flowers on the eared walls of the listener, but gossip is laced with poison.  The poison of betrayal, lost trust, and worst of all exaggeration.  Words, (and their purpose) live much longer, then the short time it takes to say them.  A misquoted price, a mindset, a position, a belief, an outrage, will stay etched in history.   A tattoo of sorts on the listeners heart.  When they find out about the misleading, the tattoo is ripped out the soft flesh, and the heart hurts, and bleeds.

What is a lie?  A word shadow, that the listener takes as truth, believes it, ingests it.  The heart of the speaker is cowardly, scared, worried, empty, or cruel by choice.  To lie, is to send the listener on a path of destruction.  How much can the heart of the speaker, value a misled listener?  It is difficult to think, there would be much value at all.

So if the tongue is fueled by hell fire, where is the hell fire kept?  It may be possible that the raging blaze is in the heart.  What is the purpose of speaking to another human being?  What is gained?  What is lost?  What are the motives?  After the exchange, are ears burning, while hearts are reduced to ash?

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert

 

Warm honey, sprinkled with moonlight

Hearts, drink love in hungry gulps,

breath, kiss, and caress, quicken 

sparkling needles dance inside fingers,

summer breezes float sweetly in warm night air.

Sand scatters on times shore,

wipes smooth under oceans of passion,

surrendered souls rise like storm clouds,

rain and lightning, blast an orchestral symphony.

Sunlight spills, free and loose into the morning,

a warm orange and yellow embrace follows,

blue shadows of swaying trees in moonlight,

Hearts twist together like roots and soil.

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert