Many a Night I. Many a night have I languished. My condition doesn't improve; Nay, it worsens. And then: A light at the end of the tunnel! Can it be? Will this miserableness end? That remains to be seen. II. A step, and then another I take towards what seems to, or could at any rate, be the goal. It gets no closer, at least not visibly so. How many steps must I take? Fifty? A hundred? A thousand? More? I don't know. III. I don't know why my life is like this. "One thing I know: I want more."* More of what I have never had, "Only dreamed of, lonely on cold winter nights."** More of the "many lives"*** I have never lived except in my dreams, my hopes, my thoughts, my feelings. But more doesn't come. Not yet anyway. Will it? An unanswerable question of great importance to me. IV. The answer will come, eventually. But of course: Eventually isn't nearly soon enough for this young man in intermittent pain. Ouch! That was in respons to a twinge. A twinge of pain. Emotional, or should I say lack of emotional pain. Pain of the soul. V. Down to the core the pain and emptyness go. Down into the recesses of my heart. Poking, tearing, ripping it to shreds, 'till all that's left is a barely recognizable mess. But it repairs itself. Always it becomes whole again, piece by torn up piece by piece. Sometimes slowly, sometimes with alarming rapidity. But it does always get fixed. VI. Right now, it's somewhere between the extremes of fixed and broken. In an odd, unnamed state. But it'll fix itself. It will! Why do I have a hard time convincing myself of that? -Written originally on 10-28-1996. Slightly edited on 7-15-2002. Last 4 lines added 7-15-2002. * From the song "More," by the Sisters of Mercy ** From the poem "The Book of How it Should Have Been," by me. *** From the song "I do not Want This," by Nine Inch Nails
Thou mayest leave a message here which will get to the lord of this realm, via e-mail. You get an odd thought as you stand here: "This is all somehow related to or provided by Geocities."