"I shall never bond again, as I have bonded with you..."

Thirty-four and faceless, I must face the facts, I've failed;
The events past, forever cast, my destiny unveiled.
My life seems but a story that somehow strayed from the plot;
I know there once was meaning, but somewhere I just forgot.
===============================
A mother's bane, a father's pride, the table had been set...
And I, the victim -- I, the prize -- just didn't know it yet.
=======================
The tender years were passed me and I drew my mother's scorn,
I was simply the child she wished she had never borne.
I lay on my back, on the floor, my feet propped to the bed;
The aches, the pains, the night sweats all arrayed within my head.
Thirteen years old, biding my time, I could, too plainly, see
The pendulum of Death, above, tick-tocking, mocking me.
================================
Then one by one, as if by curse, the closest to me fell;
And yet they lived by voice, in verse, in my story to tell.
Perhaps was just benefice found to somehow give life worth,
As stone by stone I turned, alone, to give each back to earth.
===============================
To pulpits and to prophets, God, I bled the spoken word.
I delved into His parables -- still swear I never heard
The answer to one question; "Why suffering never ends,
And Darkness won't relinquish me even as Night rescinds?"
I prayed for hope, I prayed for love, those things I'd never felt.
I prayed for understanding of the cards I had been dealt.
But careful what you pray for, for nothing in life can burn
More than the knowledge love and hope may garner no return.
==============================
Yet somewhere in that paradox I came to know disdain;
As solace became silence, and emptiness a refrain.
I drew her like a blanket 'round my battered, bitter heart,
And slept the first sleep of my life where dreaming played no part.

A robe, I donned, of blackness, shrewd, but one fit for a king;
Then sought the witch of ill-omen and proffered her the ring.
Perhaps there of my own accord, perhaps drawn by her spell,
She accepted the role offered and shared my private hell.
=============================
My Dad was gone, my one true friend, the strength in me from birth;
I watched him die beneath the lie of all life maybe worth.
Still cancer's a peculiar thing, I realize it's true;
Everyone who witnesses it, in his own way, dies too.
==============================
And in the carnage of the bloody sorrows that were wrung,
Disease anew, back for round two, laid claim to my left lung.
*******
Two years more I lie awake clutching an empty chest;
Closing my eyes to shut the light, but seldom, then, to rest.
==================================
And so I ran, and so I hid, a shadow in the night;
Garnished myself in nothingness, that none know me by sight...

To dream away a thousand things that all in darkness crept,
And sleep by day my life away in promises unkept.
=============================
And so I ride my carousel of life, so prearranged,
Wondering how it comes about to leave one so estranged.
A calloused heart, a weathered soul, and eyes that just can't see
I'm lost between a man I was and one I'll never be.
Perhaps it's just a mystery, perhaps just a cruel joke.
I really can't begin to touch on what these thoughts invoke.
In all endeavored to mistrust, or Death might have curtailed;
Thirty-four and faceless, I must face the facts, I've failed.
==============================

You were expecting me, right? and since you already know how I feel about so much of whats written here, you already know how many of these lines went thru me.
You also know there is so much I could say to this...the parts of it I wish could be rewritten...that burdens lifted that should have NEVER been yours to carry ...but I will TRY to restrain my mothyself and say that, though its expressions of loss break my heart and though I disagree with the "failure" analogy,
I understand that you had to write this, and I am grateful I got to read it.
You could never claim to be a failure at being a poet, methinks lightening would strike you. And though I understand the reaons one feels like an old soul -- At thirty four, you've got time to write more chapters M. ... and you know I wont ever stop believing in happy endings.

"A calloused heart, a weathered soul, and eyes that just can't see
I'm lost between a man I was and one I'll never be."

You need to see yourself through the eyes of those who love you....the view might surprise you.
heart-hugs M
jm

( ok...so I didnt do a very good job of restraining my self...but that just goes to show how your poetry evokes so much emotion from the reader )How much can a moth take.

When your own emptiness is all thats getting through
There comes a point when youre not sure why youre still talking...
I passed that point long ago

"My heart is like an open book, for the whole world to read"
     - Motley Crue, Home Sweet Home

Open arms can be the most fragile in the world...

Someone brought you up today and I realized I hadn't really read you..

There are really no words to express the way your words touch me..

This piece in particular...

You are so amazing..

I am humbled.

and..I am going to continue reading...

"cast me gently into the morning, for the night has been unkind"
~Sarah McLachlan~