Singled out in a void of absolute integrity
and fear of blending into a blur of living forever more
in tonight’s far reaching depths
of blackness and corrupt ineptitude.
How did it happen that you are left
with only your weeping heart and stale memories?
How did it come about that you,
who had given so much,
are now left with only a small fraction of yourself,
and are now too afraid of possibly giving that away as well?
Peace good spirit,
for you are a good spirit,
entrapped in mortal flesh of endearments,
harmful and hurtful, love filled endearments,
that leave only a speck of truth about why you exist,
of why you even try to love,
to reach out and attempt to find another
who could possibly tap into the core of your being
and answer the haunting questions
that you are still too afraid to even ask.
Your saintly appearance,
hiding a devil behind its veiled eyes,
a devil afraid to live,
alive and afraid to die the great spirit of ego,
afraid of life itself,
so you exist,
wondering when it will end,
but afraid to the very end
of becoming too oblivious to oblivion itself.
So, you live very much like a trap and injured animal,
snapping at those closest and dearest to your aching heart,
so swollen with pride
and filled with a plethora of hurt and fear.
You love,
you love,
yet you do not know enough
about such a torrid and sickening emotion
that can tear a fragile heart in two
and leave the torn, gasping, bleeding halves on the ground,
immobilized and ready to be ripped asunder,
over and over again.
Because beating is all your heart knows how to do,
it knows of nothing else,
beat and live,
live and beat,
until it grows too tired to beat and live anymore -
beaten by living,
beaten by love.
Christa Bella
1995
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