Leads his own troops to take out people who he dislikes-

Including folks that he thinks may be spies from the bordering tribe(s)

Is it that he has lost his mind?

Going to crazy lengths to keep things going the exact way that he wants and likes.

But it's not the way to go.

Why not just have a sit like most people do, to discuss what you think needs to be changed.

Instead of causing lots of destruction, bringing chaos among your own people who now hope and pray to see the light of a new day.

A moment in time where they are free from having such a person as the general, or ruler of the whole tribal groups.

Every person, old, young, girl, boy, woman, & man will do what they can to bring an end to this mad ruling.

Will the killings ever come to a total halt?

#LaGuerre!

The world is my enemy,

death is my crown,

alone are my memories,

silence is my sound.

Twisted are the streets

that walk away to me,

bloody are the creeks

that flow from me to sea.

Stolen time won't tick,

rickety is my clock,

darker is my wit,

I burn rather than walk.

Living, breathing, taking,

same is different to some,

wary is my waking,

darkling days have won.

The world is my enemy,

sin has become my crown,

bloody are my memories,

yet I will never back down.

i can’t hear you very well

we’re speaking the same language

but the words aren’t coming across

i look up, notice the wispy clouds in the sky

you look up, notice the sky between the clouds

two bodies

2 spirits

no resemblence to the other

tell me Other Half,

who in the world speaks the language that unlocks my heart?

~ I

love you,

but,

I’m not

in

love with

you.

I

want

the best

for

you,

yet,

what’s

best for me,

I

have to do.

I

hope

all

your

dreams

come true,

while

I

pursue

dreams

without

you.

I

really do

wish

you

all life’s

happiness.

I’m

leaving

you,

though,

for

my own

betterment.

You

really

are

a beautiful person;

you’re

just not

the

one

for

me.

You

deserve

all life

has to offer.

I

hope

through

your

t

e

a

r

s

you’ll

someday

see,

you and I

were

never

meant

to

be.

Follow

your

heart,

though,

I’ve

f r a c t u r e d

i t i n

s

h

a

r

d

s

.

The second bottle thudded to the floor, clinking against the first. In reality, it wasn’t the second bottle, and its friend down there on the floor wasn’t the first, either. A more accurate way to classify it would have been “the second bottle of that night." The carpet was musty and stained throughout from the spills of hundreds of beer bottles over the last decade. Many of them still lay around, long empty. It didn’t take him long to drain them anymore.

Footsteps sounded in the room over. That was his daughter, clearing away the mess left by supper. They had ordered it, as always. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d eaten something other than pizza or take-out Chinese. Granted, she was barely thirteen. It wasn’t like she could be expected to cook for the two of them, and he certainly was in no shape to do so. He hadn’t been for a while now.

Her silhouette appeared in the doorway. She was so small, with hunched shoulders and limp hair. She seemed aged in a way that no child ever should.

If he had been sober, he might have sobbed but for the childhood she never had, should have had. The childhood he had never given her.

She all but tiptoed into the room, gathering beer bottles and other garbage as quietly as she could, like she was trying to fade into the shadows around the edges of the room.

If he had been sober, he wouldn’t have been able to stand the look on her face when she shot him a quick glance. It was a mixture of pity and disgust, but worst of all was the fear. Her fear. She was afraid of him.

It wasn’t his daughter’s fault. Of course it wasn’t. She had only been a toddler when it happened. Barely walking, the only words she had even known then were Daddy and Mama. But the latter had soon faded from her vocabulary.

If he had been sober, he’d still have been able to hear his wife’s scream, the squeal of tires, the crunch of shattering glass and twisting metal.

She was too young to remember. His only child held no memories of her mother, the beautiful woman that she was growing up to so closely resemble. All she had were empty bottles for company and that ugly gash on the side of her forehead.

If he had been sober, he would have realized that it had been him who had given that to her, to his own daughter. And before that, the black eye. He might have noticed her scars. But even if he had been thinking clearly, he wouldn’t have been able to recall the incident anyway. The beer made sure of that.

His daughter didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. With no way to remember her mother - even pictures removed from the walls, since the memories hurt him too much - she would never know how much her father had loved his wife.

If he had been sober, he would’ve been able to feel every ache that the painful memories brought with them. Every gash and every wound, reopened. He would have remembered exactly how much he had loved her. Unfortunately, he also would have remembered that she was gone. That fact was what kept him firmly planted in the moldy recliner, surrounded by an army of empty glass bottles. He didn’t want to remember.

Despite the terror lurking in the shadows of his daughter’s face, the remnants of the blood she’d tried to clean from her temple, and the way she kept to the edges of the living room, as far away from him as possible, there would be no changes any time soon.

There was nothing left in this world that could drag him out of the grave he’d dug himself. The only person that could’ve done that was his wife, but she was in her own inescapable grave.

Sobriety was no longer something he could handle.

The mind is a strange thing, a mysterious thing, nothing is ever certain except the uncertainty of thought shaped by perception. The perception of ones own perspective and the perception of the perspectives of others as your own would tell you it is. To see through the eyes of another, such a thing may seem impossible, our own egos get in the way. Our own ego forces our perspective onto those we try to look through. How then do we free our minds from ourselves and fly free to see? Is it through dreams that we are free of ourselves when we are away from the reality and everything is as uncertain as the mind? Perhaps it is and if that be the case then let me tell of a dream I had of the world through the eyes of another.

I wake my body heavy, head spinning as I stare up at the dingy ceiling above, rising to see the mess around me and find it fitting. I amble and shamble my way through the shack to a rack of clothes. What squalor I live in but why bother? Not like I do anything but sleep here and all is in its place for my needs. To live in the squalor yet find comfort in the familiar setting and musk. Who am I? My name is not my own, my body not my own, my face not my own. Yet it was all my own now. I could see words staring at me from a screen, a challenge and insult refuting me, something that must be answered.

Now I sat calls coming in on many lines. Surrounded by machines like me, “Hello how can I help you?”, those words forming an endless cacophony about me. We are nothing but living machines here speaking by rote scripts laid out before us. We speak words barely hearing them or those we talk to, it has all become routine, and those around me don’t care they are just machines unlike me. I tell myself that just as they must surely think but they aren’t me they are just like everyone else except that one that I find infuriating.

The day was done and I walk my way home under the hot sun. Checking those messages and answering more words from others on a screen of colored lights. I return convinced people were jealous and plotting that I was sure as I was before. Was it for the sake of drama and the amusement of such that I made those accusations or is it what I truly believed? Perhaps I convince myself even and fooled myself to their obvious reactions and meanings.

My words change from day to day but the patterns of my actions remain the same. As do those of others I realize. The dream starting to fade. The same traps often ensnare everyone, from such common connections can we begin to understand them, these things that affect us all with no regard to our own ego. To see through the eyes of others and understand those things that are shared and where things are different. The lives of others can be incomprehensible but through brief glimpses can some understanding be gained. Those glimpses of shared events allow insight into those parts we can’t as easily understand. We might not ever understand all of someones life or the things they say or do but letting go and forgetting we can in part understand.

To the people whom you might consider as introverts or crazy you might be right,

But just remember they have the willpower to step into places not known to any,

Where everything is possible,

Where they surrender themselves to their conscience,soul and brain,

Which manipulates the dance and talks of universe,

Because they know that in detachment from world,

Lies the greatest wisdom of uncertainity,

In which lies the answer to questions like ‘who am I’ and why one should be an original and remain free,

And the freedom from our previous lives or past,be it known or unknown,

Which is the prison of past conditioning!!!

..!’’

##

#challenge of the week.

he was mine, i know he was two days ago

i went to a weekend conference, business, classified

i left my husband in the hands of my friend,

it was a sweet gesture from my end, the two

my husband and my best friend, stay over

and look after my two year old daughter, Yvonne

little did i know that when i came back

things would be chaotic, i would be betrayed, vehemently

the taxi driver dropped me home, i chuckle,

"home sweet home, my little darling, mommy's back,"

i open the door and i see little Yvonne playing, alone

in the living room, and i see clothes strewn, everywhere

first i find a panty, and then my husbands underwear, scattered

i find his blue shirt i gifted him on our anniversary

i find my best friendJessica's jacket, purple, i recoil,

i take a huge breath and i open the kitchen door

i find them locked in embrace, body touching body

i slam the kitchen door and pick up Yvonne and leave

i stay at a hotel and i receive a ring, i dont answer their calls

i feel betrayed, betrayed by my own emotions of trust

i trusted my husband, i trusted my best friend, and they

only betrayed me, hurt me so cruelly, its the second day

iam staying at the hotel and i call up my lawyer, Nate

he tried to calm me down, wipe away my tears

but i wanted a divorce, and then he arrives on my doorstep

it was Jacob, my unfaithful husband, i push my nerves

"Why?" i sobbed, i take up a crying Yvonne, feed her milk

Jacob took a huge breath and sighed, "It happened...

i know there are no excuse for what Jessica and i did..."

I cry out, lash out at him, "Were you two ever going to tell me?"

Jacob shook his head, "No, i wasnt going to tell you..

Nor did Jessica... we wanted you to remain in our lives..."

i sob, i wanted to tear Jacob apart with the final truth,

"i am pregnant with a second child, oh, oh, oh...

i came home early from my conference just to tell you and Jessica..."

Jacob looked at me blankly and asked, "You will not abort the child..."

I shake my head in agreement, i ask him one final request,

"Please sign the divorse papers, Jacob. I will keep both of my kids..."

Jacob looked devastated, he nodded and said, "I will...for you,

if that is what you want..." and he signed the papers put on the table

i show Jacob to the door and and i shut it quietly, i sob...oh, oh, oh...

i touch my belly and i feel the little soul looking forward to a life

but Jacob was beyond explanation, he didnt tell me why he did what he did

i only know that love had just left my world, i pick up crying Yvonne

and i feed her until she's full, i know i wasnt merciful, iam not Jessica...

“And just a couple of blueberries. Bring in those antioxidants!” she giggled to herself preparing her daily smoothie.

She went through her morning routine, a harmoniously synchronized ritual that took years to bring to the perfect state it was in today. The last step was to carefully tuck in her agenda in the purse. The agenda was her treasure, her main source of pride and joy. It was filled with colored paper markers sticking out, none of them out of place, they were each pointing to a specific page where the neatest handwriting indicated an important color-coded reminder.

She left the house very early, as she usually does, to avoid the traffic, but also to still arrive to work in time in case there would be heavy traffic. She hated the lack of control over her commute, but she was satisfied with her precautionary measures. She loved her job as an executive assistant to one of the main partners in the company. She was happy to show off her exquisite organizational skills and it made her feel important, after all, the partner would be completely lost without her.

In the office, she placed her purse in its designated spot next to her desk and took out the agenda. She would look though it and have a few smoothie sips while the computer was booting up.

That’s when she saw it, smoothie stuck mid-swallow, shock filling her eyes, in red ink and followed by three exclamation marks: “7:00 AM - Come to work one hour earlier and prepare the meeting room for William!!!”. She looked at the clock: 7:38 AM! She dropped her beloved agenda and ran towards the meeting room. Through the glass door she saw William, her boss, sitting at the meeting table and listening to the presentation that was going on. She analyzed what she saw. Did he have his laptop? Yes, but the charger was not there! What if the battery runs out?! How could William contribute to this meeting with a non-functioning computer?! Did everyone have drinks? They seemed to have gotten coffee from the kitchen, but where were the biscuits? People will want to relieve the bitter coffee taste and there were no biscuits! She looked closer at William’s face. Did he seem upset? Was that a frown? He must have been looking for her, needing her and she was just not there!

She started feeling cold and hot at the same time, vision blurred, knees giving in. She ran to the bathroom and into the first stall. Hands shacking on the lock as she slowly melted to the ground. The boulder sitting on her chest was making it difficult to breathe. “How could you forget?! How could you be so stupid?! William will hate you! And he should. You messed up really bad!” In matter of seconds she went through the scene of her boss yelling at her, leading to her inevitable firing, the impossibility of her finding a new job, because who would hire a failure?! And then the image of her mother’s disappointed face, the same strict expression that has been staring down at her for her whole life.

After a few minutes that seemed like hours, she came back to the present and realized William’s meeting will be ending soon and she should be there to face the music. She stood up, unwrinkled her clothes, combed her hair with her fingers and slowly walked back to her desk.

William finally came back from the meeting. Let the storm begin…

“Hey Laura. How’s it going? Oh, before I forget, can you set me a reminder to look through the March sales report before the end of the week? Thanks!”

The broken boy

Walks the streets

Alone in the lamplight

Hidden in a midnight blanket

As he stumbles and staggers

Feet freezing in the snow

With no boots or socks

To keep his toes warm

Shivering from Jack Frost’s embrace

He breathes so heavily

As pain drowns his being

Shaking him from the inside out

Colorful bruises paint his skin

In blacks and blues and purples and pinks

Scarlet strokes of blood

Dripping down his weak body

So slowly

So softly

In an endless river

His bottom lip quivers

A lame puppy’s whimper

Escapes the edges of his tongue

Hesitantly

He looks up to the heavens

The rundown building

Towers over him

Though his vision blurs

He takes the railings up

Climbing all the way to the top

Leaving a red carpet

Of that innocent blood

Further and further he journeys

Past lobbies and laundry matts and offices

Past warm protected apartments

That block out the cruelty of winter

Glancing at the cosy blankets

Wrapped around exhausted bodies

After a long day’s work

Families sit at classic tables

Enjoying homecooked dinner

Merry conversation

Casually floating in the air

TVs and electronics

Shining rainbows in the night

Lovers surrendering to desire and love

In the sweetest of bedsheets

So warm and welcoming

Filled with love and light

Still the boy climbs up

Past the portraits and paintings

Of sweet fortunate families

Staring through the glass

With longing in his heart

A weight burdens his skeletal shoulders

Dragged down by gravity

Filthy fingers gently brushing frosty windows

Until he reaches the tippy tip top

Of that massive skyscraper

Climbing up to the roof

One bloody foot after another

The pain is unbearable

As his heart beats out of his chest

He can no longer see

No longer move

No longer breath

No longer stand

As eventually he crawls

To his makeshift bed

Of loose ripped up rags

Against hard concrete

And a garbage bag for a pillow

He kneels to pray

Swaying and shivering

In the harsh wind

Stomach rumbling loudly

In the Silent Night

Wishing tomorrow would be a new day

So desperately pleading with all his might

For a mother and father to hug him so tight

For that sweet special kiss on the cheek goodnight

For the endless chattering of siblings who fight

For the comfort of a mattress, blanket and bed

And fluffy white pillows to rest his weary head

He opens his eyes

Tears flowing down his beaten cheeks

Amen

He whispers

As he lay down to sleep

So slowly

So softly

To mitigate the pain

Alone in the darkness of midnight

As he continues to bleed endlessly

Drowning in a sea of crimson

Until the last living light

Flickers and dies

In the snowy winter night

And soon the broken boy’s dreams come true

As he lay resting in the comfort of an angel’s arms

Lost in an eternal heaven

Of that perfect family