The Old Man

I have seen his face, somewhere behind my reflection.
I hear his whispers in the dark, driving me from rest.
I have suffered his blows upon the good in me.
I have grappled with him, viciously assaulted him, but he will not be subdued.

I am unable to sever myself from him;
he is welded to me and I am torn from his constant abrasion.

Born with me, he is my burden; I have carried him all of my days.
Panting, gnashing, gnawing, murmuring; he writhes inside of me.
He is a sickness within me, requiring constant nursing.

He is the old man, a mortal coil encumbering my every action.
Shackled together he, my constant companion, slows my pace.

Oh! To press my thumbs into his eyes on a dark, rain-soaked field;
to drive my fingers into his throat; to squeeze the life from him;
to release him from his chains, would be the end of me as well.

So, I will continue to bear him, and his cur-like nature, throughout the remainder of my years.

Maybe he will quiet himself as we walk into the ages.

God of War

To break from her corrupt gaze is to live a life of peace and to harvest the fruit of life.

Sublime is her call; deceit pours like syrup from her full mouth.

I have followed her with multitudes of other young men, beating our chests, and pining for her hot soft skin.

Her touch is a haunting, and a horror in the night.

Her bosom is the grave.

Salvation

Summer, 08’

The chipmunk, panting rapidly, had narrowly escaped the jaws of the canines that were in his pursuit; he paused, in horror, at their backsides as they dug for his home under the porch.
His black and white camouflage did little to hide him from my daughters ‘pet acquiring’ eyes that had watched the scene unfold; the shocked little pest was soon wriggling in her delicate hand.
As the rodent sank his tiny teeth into her finger she thought "Dad has callused man hands, surly he can hold this little varmint better than I can!" and with victory in her eyes she carried the now vicious ball of fur into the house.

My daughter was born at the perfect moment in my life; she entered this world when it began to darken for me. I was twenty-one when she arrived, and in no way, was I prepared to raise her; I was wound up with immaturity, depression, and grief.

Her months in the womb were difficult, resulting in numerous, journeys to the hospital.
Her birth, long labored, was finalized by an emergency cesarean section.
My soul turned and tears came as I held her tiny body and listened to her delicate voice.
The glow of her life warmed my heart and planted my feet in the ground.

She was marked with hemangianoma’s on her nose and hip. The pediatrician assured us that these were common and would fade.
At four months of age she began having seizures that caused her breathing to halt; my family medical history mandated an EEG as well as a CAT Scan.

An "un-definable mass" was found in her brain.

The doctor assigned to us insisted that she should be administered anti-seizure medication as well as be connected to an alarm while sleeping.

Terms like, Rage and Anger, do little to describe the feelings I was filled with. "Why, in the name of God, does my child have to be afflicted with the plague that is destroying my family? Is it not enough that all of the other facets of this life are damaged, can’t one be free of marring?"

I knew what the medications prescribed would do to her; I had experienced their mental and physical effects on my brothers.

I refused to administer the toxin to my daughter.

Chance counsel from a family physician offered the idea that the "un-definable mass" could be a hemangianoma and would fade with the others.
I threw away the paper prescription, but taped the sensors of the respiratory monitor to her every night.

The marks on her body slowly faded as well as her seizures and the nightly alarms.

During this period of her life, my brothers were dying as well as my relationship with her mother. I yearned for escape from turmoil and pressure, but her hold was tight upon me; her spirit was reaching through me like the roots of a great tree to water.
She was the glimmer of hope in me; she was the quantity that eased and quieted the shaking that could bring me to the ground.

Looking back, I can see that I was in a similar situation as the chipmunk in this chapter; I was in great danger of demise, my home was being destroyed, I was exposed, and unprepared for the world.

But, fortunately, grace shined upon me; I was rescued and uplifted by the delicate, loving hand of my daughter.