PROSE sort of.

 LIFE’S LITTLE EPITAPH IN RHYTHM

It’s late, beyond the middle of the night when half the world is yet dreaming dreams, visions of strange scenes in which they are turned from actors on a stage in street clothes to every unimaginable awake scene hoping to conquer and win depending on the subconscious storyline written while you were breathing in the daylight trying to make a way through madness’ flight.

I wonder do you hear it, do you hear time passing as it comes for you riding the horse of dawn. That moment when day caresses your face and you hope you’re waking up to rejoin again the human race not finding yourself in some strange place you yawn your way into hoping that the dream is over and that it’s not your scream you hear as the light approaches you, or is it you going to it?

Death is a scary moment for them not prepared for when you do finally wake to find you’ve left all you knew behind. Then I wonder what thoughts will run through your mind? Will it be which religion was right and are you hoping that you got that shit straight or will you wake to find that you don’t care anymore because there is no structure of belief beyond that final dawn’s door?

Is it where the reality you sought as you dreamt your way through the night called life has finally come and nothing is as you thought? Will your words and wisdom protect you from the direction you wasted time fearing when you realize it is no dream, you really have no super hero or even workman’s clothes of protection to hide in, not even leaves like they had at the tales beginning?

Fortunate are the few who have no dreams left to live the night through. Those that nightly fall and die and mourn their waking to what they left behind, again, another day trapped in the same place, the same world of wishes that never come true, and the same fears filling a frightened mind. Always the same hypocrisy and the same lie that refuses to die; that everything’s going to be fine but never again in your life time.

Do you hear the screams of big screen Hollywood’s worst night mare coming for you until you change the channel? Do you even know what you fear or are you one of the many that must be told once life is lost; it becomes precious, dear to someone near? I have a suggestion to answer your question. Might it not be best to attach yourself, sir, to this place with only the organs held inside your body and nothing else? In ignorance and fear there is no other music you’ll know but a dirge.

This physical place ever in a constant state of motion, commotion, turmoil, anger and, war does it deserve anything more, your love, your trust, compassion, your spent passions to document a life that at best is ending later rather than sooner because you may find that once you’re gone isn’t anyone left after an hour or two who really cares or gives a damn. There is always that half in their black designer show ‘em off suits who’ll will be telling the other half you were truly a good person, memorable except you were a prostitute for something you truly believed in but were a fool for doing so and a tool of those more powerful than you. “It’s all class warfare you know and he lost.”

And that memorial game is your fifteen minutes of fame while everyone else of course really are concerned compassionate people bleeding tears over your perfumed and polished corpse until it is them that death calls to for the time of dying. Those are the ones who go kicking and screaming as they go on and ever on about how unfair living a limited life is on a Lear jet.

Better again I say to sleep away the night in unknowing unseeing darkness and regret only waking to the same hypocrisy you had the chance to leave behind before you went to sleep yesterday. Better it be to leave this planet to them to afraid to explore the nights magic and never come back out of darkness’ box rather than listen to the lies told you again that earth is hell or heaven. It’s neither just one fucked up place that was left you by them who moved off towards the screaming visions to sleep with no dawn to wake them. Again.

© M Durfee

9/11/13

Of course it’s hard not to know that this is the anniversary of the mass murder of 2977 known innocents of every kind, color, nationality and creed and 19 more radical Wahabi Muslims, which really isn’t fair to islam to name them such but that is where bin Laden learned his hatred at; the Wahabi  mosques of Saudi Arabia, the home of that particular form of radicalism.

Though they are included in this question and answer piece of prose it is NOT specifically about those 2996 souls taken from the earth that day. I have a more specific reason for this writing, as ever to try to get everyone to face the greatest fear of humanity, death, and live free here now while you can, for no one knows if they will wake on the morrow.

No one knows. I am sad for them who watch frightening movies to get an adrenalin rush and an evil vision of a natural order of life, and those preppers who spend hundreds of thousands of dollars that they might survive a catastrophe. Thinking they would have a blank canvas to repopulate the planet on. I don’t find this theory or reality funny but I do find it peculiar that some are willing to kill other survivors that they might have a month’s more food on their bug out shelves.

I am also spurred on by the recall on 9/10/13 of two Colorado senators who supported tighter background checks on gun sales and extended ammo clips because of the Aurora theater murders and the Sandyhook elementary school mass murders.

This, all of it, is madness writ large and running wild.  I wish I could make the words in front of you run as fast as we are spinning out of control and losing concern and care for one another. Many ask what have we become? That question has a simple answer. We have become more afraid of living than ever before, which makes us oddly enough even more afraid of dying. I can love you, I can write it a hundred thousand times yet few would know what I meant by those three words and that is sad too.  

I write to you because I love you.

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