A poem and a confession (“The weight of dreams’)

I am for the most part incredibly embarrassed to admit to anyone that I write. It is a far throw from there to claim in any capacity that I am a writer. You see I am terrified like so many others of all the wrong things.

Kind reader whoever you are that has stopped here to peruse these sentences, you would not believe the amount of things I have written, that nobody has read. I mean I will not show people, have not shown people- I am so afraid of what they will think, as if could ever know that.

These things I will not show people fill reams of notebooks. They take up tiny kilobytes of data on old hard drives and USB’s. I do not want to waste people’s times with them- that is what my demon tells myself.

This is one of those things, the poem below.

I have for the most part listened to that demon my entire life. I’ve almost finished my novel, just about written the end, and all the time the demon says: “So what? Who cares?” The demon pokes me and jabs in the early morning with horrible, self-degrading thoughts. It uses fear to keep me in line, prevent me from saying things I feel, or writing down the words and showing them to people.

I’ve learned a few things about that demon, in the process of writing this book. Chief among those things is fact that just about everyone who has ever dared anything has had to face that demon. What seems a solitary fight is in fact a universal one, and this is not a fact the enemy would like shared.

It would much prefer we remain afraid and question nothing.

Funny thing about fear, it can be used against the enemy. All you have to do is follow it back to your foe and you’ll know where to fight, whom to confront. So in that spirit for the few dozen that may see it, here is

The weight of dreams

If I had the power to grant your dreams
I would scoop aside a piece of garden,
A waterfall with singing reeds,
And place a chair and birds for company,
For you to live for an eternity,
In solitude and unruffled peace.

If I had the power to bring you solace,
I would wisk you far away from those that promise,
Tonight it won’t hurt.
I’d build a castle with ramparts strong,
And foundations fair to hold your truths unassailed,
Knights to slay that terrible dragon.

If it were within my grasp to give you,
Love’s weight in gold and comments,
Eyes to recognize your struggles,
Applause for all those secret moments,
A family of devotees that sing,
Your name and deeds If I could bring,

That one back who understood you so,
Revive with music regret’s foe,
Take you back in time to laughter,
Your past and present forever after
One and the same till all became
That perfect day with her again,

If I could grant you some few words,
For the world to pause and your heart be heard,
The fighting to stop the blood contained,
A chance for all to stop and change,
And listen to truths that you have seen,
For all these fools to have never been,

If I could give you the bullets you need,
To drown the evil and end the seeds,
Of weakness and pathetic misery,
Allow you to judge, execute and oversee,
These silly fools born of mediocrity,
Would I grant these prayers for you,
or for me?

If I could surround you with ones dear,
Drown you in sounds instead of tears,
If I could allow you to destroy those near,
That are not who you are nor will ever fear,
The apocalypse slouching so near,

You power hungry fools that never see,

You world burning madmen whose dreams rest,
On pillars on pain for all that fail your test,
The world would collapse under all our dreams,
That war between words, behind eyes, silently,
That wake us to our need to be devotees,
To impose our wills upon all that disagree,
In spite of those that once spoke for Liberty,

‘Tis a word oft spoke rarely understood,
‘Tis a world much salted by spilling of blood,
Till it’s heard softly woken in the tears that should,
Give pause to those who swing their clubs,
Determined to sculpt us all like the mud,
They use to mold their perfect earth.
If I had the power of all your fictions,
If I was your God of violent conviction,
If this lone man was immortal too,
To rip, rend, and tear so many hearts if you,
Prayed to me and demanded solace,
If you frothed for fervourous murderous promises,
If you sacrificed all that was yours and another’s,

I would still rather die than take on the cover,
Of a white beard, a turban, many hands, some weapons,
To conceal your tiny fears and cries for eden
To obscure your eyes from the desert we live in,
To deny another’s attempt to never deaden,
Their dreams in spite of all your lessons,
I would rather stand tall than kneel before heaven,
And evaporate into nothing and embrace oblivion,
For my words to ring however short and silent,
That I am proud to be merely human.

And my brothers are those whose fears bravely glisten,
And my sisters are the ones who stand alone within,
Those sensitive enough to embrace quiet wisdom,
Sagacious and bold to display honest ignorance,
And one day we will rise, we few, hatred’s children,
To hold the line from you priests, you mad politicians,
Be you president or king, lawyer or banker,
Be you teacher or mother or soldier or manager,
You cannot stop the sane few that strive on still,
To dream despite how many you imprison, crush or kill,
We are the future, we are the best of the heathens,
Who carry your heaven inside our eyes and actions,
Though we are isolated, outnumbered, enemies of the destined,
We that walk in darkness, to serve the light,

We are legion.

And if I were your God I would weep for my children.

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