Where has the soul gone?
A poem for Joe
I’m inspired daily, listening to Joe sing his cliches of faith and progress. I wish I could one day soar above the metaphorical mountains of grace in the same way.
For some reason, it just feels like I’m trying too hard.
Whether it’s the love never felt in February; the faith never shared in April; or the fireworks going off in my hand late Summer, something unrepaired rests beyond the page.
Blinded for a moment, in the wail of a metallic collision. The lights shut off in the mind, like the battery launched out of the engine. Locking the truth behind the hinges, next to a child soaked in yesterday’s fears.
How you like them cliches?
Do they capture a feeling you’re familiar with? Was it one all too familiar to me? If you were my mother, you’d probably be asking if I’m okay.
I appreciate your concern, but it’s far harder than a one word answer.
It’s like asking Prometheus how he’s feeling each morning before the screech of fate rises from behind the valley. Like telling Atlas, “it can’t be that heavy, why don’t you take a knee for a while if you have to.” Leaning on stone as you ask Sisyphus how his day went.
It’s be easier if you just let me finish.
Progress reports only distract from the journey at hand; never ending for I cannot formulate a plan.
I ask Joe again, does that resonate any more than before? Should I give it another go?
Greek mythology was once over played, smoke clouds turning black as we all attempted to put out the flames. Then came Chris, slamming Mjolnir into our minds, erasing all resonance to the stories of old in favor of a Norse replacement. Ragnarök is real and it came for Greek and Roman tears.
A crack in the windshield, shattering knowledge of things once held dear. Near the heart, in the folds of our mind, burned away by the black mass forming two round ears in our brain.
Only these ears aren’t like mother, they don’t try to listen or help to resolve, they’re much more manipulative than that. Like antennae reaching out into the cosmos in search of any signal that defines and delivers the meanings of greedy purpose. Shock after shock sent into the temple, a Pavlov’s attempt at dominion.
Denial and disagreement only strengthen the voltage, providing new information into the fears and kinks in our being. Anger only fuels its presence, never ending in its attempts. Your eyes vibrate at every new thought like a feeling deep inside trying to force its way out of an undefined prison.
Yet, you salivate still.
All color. No color. Black and white shades of honesty, a delectable delight to those with might. The only color never lost: that of green; envy.
Envy in capabilities.
Envy in potentialities.
So, I ask Joe once more.
How you like them cliches?
I’ll wait here Idly staring into the screen, salivating for every new sensation presented with purely monetary intentions.
All the while wondering
Where has the soul gone?
