Words

My Friend Jeff Kosiba the poet/writer wrote:

.....The dark of night is when lonely tortured souls
venture out into an unchanging state of total black,
and at least to others,
their tears remain unfelt and unseen......

credit> MoonSpell


Jeff recently launched his new book of poems: "The voltage of illusion", and is based in Cleveland, USA.

Words in email from him leave any tigerfish gasping for more air, as if he offers oxygen to those struggling to breathe. I read his words, and stared into the middle distance, and wondered where he was when he was inspired. His eyes are electricity themselves, they peer into your face as if he has an electric light-bulb searing at you.

Some people 'hurt' your life, as their words are chosen to harm. Others gift your life as their tender words are chosen to quell fears, possibly seeking to find within you the very source of your strength to surmount those fears...

Others again show careless disregard - for them each word uttered is one of haste and ill-chosen to dispel you as one might an insect.. a back handed slap. They have no comprehension of their own insipidness in the face of true strength, even as they conspire towards generating fear and sickly condemnation.

To any rational, logical being, cruelty has a source, some deep rooted pain or trauma that drives some inadequate creature to shove their fist into your face as they drive their criticism into your soul with the same over sharpened nails they might use when pitching their tents for battle.

Those with integrity stand before them with broken sword, cracked shield, and an appeal to the Gods for their assailant to be blessed with maturity and compassion, before striking their final blows in the name of their blessed angels of love.

Do those that will strike you, look you straight in the eye when they dispel their cruelty?

Do they hide weak fractures of their misfit identities in arrogance and spite?
It is with acidic, vitriolic sarcasm that they may incite you to reply.

How is it that for so many when they themselves hurt it is as if you showered them with broken glass, the expulsion of cruelty and the fuse that has been lit is one of rage and demonic volcanic ego...

Then there are others for whom, softness is their only shield, and when they are hurt they withdraw to lick their wounds, one wonders, are they less able to defend their own fragility?

Upon discovery, I am at once at their knee, waiting to march forward to protect them, I feel the sense of mission and purpose rise within me to respond on their behalf. Naturally, then I am attracted to the same strength of purpose in others, those who give no quarter to the ignoble.

Spending a moment with a friend recently, someone who needed coaxing to open up and share the extent of his broken wing, I felt as if I were tending to a small thrush that had flown into a glass window and fallen heavily to the concrete patio. When you run out to lift it you immediately gasp for air. It is so still and yet you can feel it's heart in you hands.

Your fingers tremble to spread it's wing, unsure of where to begin.

The steps that are taken always seem to be so small. Patience is possibly the most difficult virtue for those of us that require immediacy in our requests.

I am not sure, can I do anymore? ... I ask out in a whisper, into the Universe, that question defeats me always.

Who would really know? The answer never comes to me.


.... What question is left unanswered for you?....