Lady, Choice

Her weapon descends, my own rises.
One poet-warrior now realizes
No blade but needle e'er pierced me through.
One trouble leads to trouble anew.
Total terrible trouble totals things I dare do.
I'd have done it twice, if I'd known to.

Her weapon ascends, my own falls
Already she disarms all soldiers on walls
Though this castle is, or was mine,
Each of my men would stand in line
To catch glimpse of God's daughter, so fine.
A heady quaff, to parched throats, of good wine.

My weapon flashes, up toward her throat.
I would that this were all she wrote,
But disarming her arm of its sharpened arms,
I now fall prey to her powerful charms.
None of my men show any alarm
When I refuse to do her more harm.

I drop my weapon. I drop to my knees,
Begging fair lady with one poor, strained, "Please..."
Casting her spell with the wink of one eye,
I'm hers to command, to live and not lie.
Fair lady speaks. "Know ye why
"I have come, so ready to die?

"I come for you, to know why you try,
When so very often you wish but to die.
Why do you keep going when all seems lost?"
I to the lady, "Because I know the cost.
If my soul were to be covered in frost,
Millions would rue it. Millions lost!"

Hers, in every way, to command,
She asks me, "Poet-warrior, please stand."
Now rising up on my feet,
Lady before me makes all feel complete.
Gone is all anger, gone pain, gone war-heat.
This my state, when choice lady I meet.

This my full reason why I try.
She is my Why.
My Why I Don't Die.

Joy Within Sorrow

A caged Me slips free
From all the shackles that bind me
Hope whispers, "Well done!" from her cell.
All who fell with me,
Here as well,
Murmur the same.
Twas for us they fell.

Each I need,
Fellow prisoners of mine,
But Hope, always, always
Comes first in line.
Without Hope,
Our strength wears thin.
Without Hope,
We will never begin.
But with her,
We can't help but win.

I eluded my bonds.
Now escaping my cage
By means of Tenacity
And calm, channeled Rage,
I raise my fist to set the stage
To liberate Hope, and by her, a new Page.
But Hope's glance so soothing,
I become un-moving.
Says Hope, "Hold to Tenacity,
But let go of Rage!"

Rage taking my will,
I sense she's right.
I put my Rage
Under the light.
Hell's demons writhe
Within Rage.
They've held to me
While I held to them,
Unaware that, myself,
I'd condemn.
Decades-deep poison
Rage held inside.
Rage ends now.
I cast it aside.

Hope, and all her kin
Are jailed, but I begin
Setting them free.
One by one,
Each freed from her cell.
Never thought I
That I'd be made well
But thanks to God's children,
Gone is my hell.

Never have heaven's angels
Quit on me.
Hope.
Love.
Compassion.
Faith.
Charity.
Serenity.
Balm Personified.
Joy.

Angels, and their protectors,
Gather all round.
Angels: my sisters.
Protectors: my brothers,
Who, also, long stand with me.
Strength.
Courage.
Tenacity, himself, always close by.
Focus.
Drive.
Indomitable, too,
Never,
Never,
Never ceases to try.

Ever for my safety
Have they tried to, me, free.
Now angels and demons
Go toe to toe.
Embattled Me, I again know
Of the worth God places
In His offspring.
Embattled Me, I now go
To the Gold Throne
Angels and Protectors in tow,
Having thrown down their opponents.
They follow me close.
A most encouraging, much-needed dose
Of confidence given by their proximity.
I bow down before the maker of me,
Hoping that He'll make all Embattled We
Worthy of Joy.  Her Author is He.
Hope takes my hand, as she has before.
By God's own command,
She leads me to Joy.  I can hardly stand
It.  About to burst
For all that feels wonderful,
All for which I thirst-
Joy within sorrow, and joy after sins.
A new chapter, a new book,
A new life begins.

Adam Scott Campbell

For Us And Against Us

This mortal life can feel very troublesome, even painful at times.
It can feel as though there are angels of darkness around you,
Trying to throw you down however they can.
You might feel as though the universe,
Or God,
Or even You
Are against you.
You have adversaries.
Those adversaries do not include the universe.
Your adversaries do not include God.
He is your Ally.
He loves you.  He wants you to be happy,
Both here in this life, and forever in the life to come.
Your adversaries do not include you.  You are your greatest asset.
You are here on earth to touch and to save lives,
To find God and to get to know Him,
And to learn what He wants you to do to be happy.
Your adversaries, your real adversaries, include a person who knows you.
He has known you for some time.  One of his names is Satan.
He is a real person.
He has no love, only hatred and malice and evil intent for you.
Each person you see,
Or hear,
Or hear of,
Is here with the same purpose,
The same Ally,
The same adversaries,
The same glorious potential.
Each person is your sibling.
Each person who lives on this earth was created by God, and is loved by Him.
We are in this life together,
And are meant to live together with God in the hereafter.
You and I are siblings.
I am an imperfect person.
But I know that you and I are both created by God.
We are children of God.
We knew each other before this life.
I knew you.
You knew me.
You and I each did what was necessary to qualify to come here to earth.
I love you.
I know that God loves you.
I hurt.
You hurt.
I'm not giving up.
Don't you dare give up either.

Adam Scott Campbell

Take Two

It doesn't matter how

You get knocked down again.

It doesn't matter

Who does it.

It doesn't matter when,

Or why it happens.

Whatever the reason, it happens.

You have options.

Depending on

Which option you take,

Your choices

Down the road

Will either get larger

Or smaller in number.

First option.

You can channel

Your anger

Or hatred

Or disgust

Or fear

Or disdain

Or any other

Emotional byproduct

In the direction

Of the cause of your fall.

You can do this for a moment.

An hour.

A day.

You can do this every moment, of every day,

For the rest of your life.

Second option.

You can fight against yourself,

Push your emotions back inside,

Pretend it didn't happen,

Pretend that everything is exactly

The way you want it.

You can keep doing this,

Over and over again,

Until your emotional byproducts

Overflow the banks

Of your immortal soul-river,

And you are left with a swamp.

Third option.

You can speak up, dare to show your hurt,

Dare to let others know you are human,

That your heart works,

That you, too, have need of compassion.

You can dare to let your shield down.

It will shift the reality of your own

And others' lives.

Some will hate you.

Some will admire,

Even applaud you.

Some will be inspired by you.

Some will go to you for help.

Some will extend to you

The compassion you ache for.

Be vulnerable.

Be open.

Be real.

Be You.

Adam Scott Campbell

Victims of Misguided Me

I cannot move.
I cannot breathe.
God's daughter
Wraps her arms round me.
While I wish
To be let go,
Sharpest rocks
await below.
Choicest Purity
desires one poet
Hold no longer
to his Know.
Wither shall
my Know grow,
When naught is required?
Where naught will show...
All Purity had,
She has now.
For her ever
Heav'n allows.
"You are needed,"
says Purity,
As her arms still
Entrap me.
Never would I ever
Wish to be made free
Save that my peace
Below I see.
Needed?
They each must heal!
I disconnected them.
They cannot feel.
This tragedy I engendered
By my clumsiness
rendered,
God's every hate-filled
Child
Have I made
More wounded, wild.
What healing can I bestow
What help can I show
When I have hurt
So Many below?
"You are needed,"
Purity says again.
"Do what hurts most
And heal those
Who will heal."
Wretched determination
Builds inside.
I will do
What can be done to heal
Those who cannot feel.
Determined Wretchedness
Built.
The dam bursts.
"You were hurt!"
I bellow.
"I made you worse.
You were injured.
I made you cursed.
You needed a friend
I had your trust.
I gave you friend,
Comfort, confidant.
I took all I had won,
Made it come undone.
With stupid steps of self deceit, 
I walked up to you,
Knelt at your feet,
Pretending I knew Love,
And shattered all Hope.
Victims of misguided me,
I hurt you.
Please forgive me!"

Adam Scott Campbell

Anonymously

You've hurt before.
You hurt now.
You will hurt.
Sometimes it seems that all you do is hurt.
I know it hurts for you, too hard,
Sometimes so much that you can feel yourself breaking.
I want you to look, really look, at the people around you.
You have much in common
Each one of them, every single one, hurts too.
They are breaking too.
I want you to say hello to just one of them today.
You will save a life.
I want you to share what happened, somewhere, anonymously.
You will save another life.
Smile at a stranger.
You will save two lives,
Yours, and the one you smile at.
The one you smile at will be more inclined
To smile at someone else in turn.
Three lives saved.
You and they might become best friends,
And go on to touch and save other people's lives.
It will spread.
This world at war will become a world
Children will be happy to grow up in.
Teenagers will find the support
Critical for their survival
During their most turbulent years.
Young adults will have the confidence they need
To dare to reach for their dreams, dreams they've held
Since they were children growing up
In a happier world.
It will take time, but those filled with hate
For the lack of support they've experienced
Will find themselves freed from the bondage of hate.
It will be done by the kindness of strangers.
You.
Me.
Each person touched and changed
By someone reaching out to help.
Dare to smile at a stranger
Today.
You will save them.
You will save You.
You will save the world.

Adam Scott Campbell

A Deadly Endeavor

One knee down, one knee up, I kneel,
Running three fingers through the dirt.
What has been here is no longer here.
Trickery in the soil.  Someone has been at work.

A razor- sharp metallic point tickles my earlobe.  Trickery indeed.
I move naught but lips and tongue.

"Verily, O Worthy Opponent of mine,"
I spout poetical blather
Knowing the affinity my adversary has for it,
"O Skilled Bearer of Men's Hearts,
Whence comes this need to threaten the soul of one poet,
Poor and unknown?"
"Shall not justice be meted out?"
Comes the rejoiner.
"Shall not one well-versed in
The allure of pleasurable pain
Be given the chance to practice his art?"
Ah-ha.  She has yet possession
Of her wit.  Be this my greatest chance at love,
I am taking it.
"I find no aversion in me to do that for which I am born,"
I reply.  "By all means, grant me this chance."
The razor-point is removed.
I turn.
Before me stands a lady clad all in forest green.
Appropriate.  Tis a forest we are in.
In her hand, a long dagger.
"Kneel," the lady commands. "I may spare your life."
"How reassuring you are," I say, kneeling carefully. "My chances, as ever,
Are so slim as to be nonexistent.  Yet I would beg a boon
Of thee, lady."
"What be that?"
"Wouldst thou be available in one fortnight from yesterday?
I have a desire for meat of the forest.  Methinks to be
Thy fellow hunter-at-arms is an advantage."
"A negotiator has come," the woman smiles wryly.
"A fortnight from yesterday you say.  Hunting animal before man
Is perhaps a wise Course.  I will not be denied this my primary sport
In the end."
"I doubt it not."
"Know then, that I shall expect you here, as you have specified,
In thirteen days hence.  Rise now, poet, and be gone."
I arise with alacrity, and take my leave in silence.
Thirteen days.
Tis a date.

Adam Scott Campbell

Sanctuary

Wreck I leave behind me.
Pain, so wretched, past.
Cushioned rock all round.
I, alone at last.
As I sit so cold,
Ghost upon the floor,
Locked from the outside,
My chilled, metal cell door.
No one here to share it-
This peace hard-fought and won.
All my defenses built
Now each fled and gone.
Peace and safety sought
From harshest mental pain,
While the sun of my lifespan
Begins, at last, to wane.
Knowing nothing soothing
Up to this chilled hour,
I know now again
Silence, and its power.
Angels all around me
All my life had stood.
Now I feel no person
Though if I wished, I could.
This poor ravaged mind,
Suffering so sore,
Brings me to this point
Where I wish life no more.
But the thoughts all hammering
My embattled mind...
I have been unraveled.
Gone: every mental line.
Thinking was a torture.
Now I do not think.
Into a mental void
I will fully sink.
This Time, however lengthy
I hope it will be,
I want to last forever.
My own blessed
My own needed
My required
Sanctuary.

Adam Scott Campbell

Heart

Tears unshed are locked within
One battered heart, worn out and thin,
While that one heart wages one war,
Striving to take back what it lives for.

Tears clogged, stopping soul-flow...
One beaten heart knows not where to go.
Former escapes no longer exist.
How is there strength with two broken wrists?

One shredded heart, choosing to reach
For any agent, said heart, will unbleach.
Now that warfare has left heart to die,
Where is the healing for a heart such as I?

I, Heart, with love inside me,
What can free me as I wish to be free?
It's happened before.  It happens now, too.
I lay myself in the dirt before you.

I, Heart, remember revealing my Me,
Hoping, praying someone kind would see
And reaching down, lift me up high,
Letting me live before my time to die.

How can a broiling heart decide
When it first told, and was told, a lie?
Why must one see hell to precede beauty?
Why must both coexist in me?

Now I lay me down to weep,
Ere I find my solace in sleep.
I will crawl over what I should leap.
Is this strong enough?  Is it deep?

Answers I leave up to you.
Heart laid out.
What will you do?

Poet, Stay

Here I sit, so quiet, so tense.
People all round build a word-fence,
While I sit, writing my way
Out of my dungeon-esque stay.
Tis a dungeon joyous, yet unkind.
Tis the wondrous, pained dungeon of my mind.

Papers I've prepped, that others might learn
Some of the wisdom I'm pained to discern-
Wisdom that has been written in rhyme
Wisdom I've gained over painstaking time.
These papers, this time, I give to friends unknown
That their gain may, for my sins, atone.

I sit at a table, small and square.
I've not yet ordered my goodly fare,
When waitress makes her way to me,
I am relieved, God's daughter, to see.
The war inside a poetical mind...
One writer begs a chance to be kind.

She asks what I will have to eat,
But having just sat in my Muse-ful seat
I tell her a water, and a soda will do,
Until I decide what I wish to chew.
She nods and goes.  On menu I see
An option for delicious, house green chili.

She returns.  I tell her the tale.
Green chili for me.  It never fails
To please, politely, my palate-in-pain.
And palate, pleased, soothes my fevered brain.
Walking to get here, as I did today,
Was done, that my sanity will stay.

Time wears on, God's daughters three
Sit at a table adjacent to me.
After debating my wisdom, I turn,
And ask them if they'd like to learn
Just what a poet's been up to, of late.
They smile, and say, "Sure, that'd be great."

Though this last is a paraphrase,
They take one sip of liquid soul-praise,
And then, curious, start to read.
A writer, this writer, will always need
To plant what might be called "word-seed"
In any soul who's bled, or will ever bleed.

Another server, not my own,
Walks by.  Still feeling that I'm all alone,
I ask her if she would enjoy
Poetical thoughts to bring her more joy.
I am perplexed when she nods very shy.
It's just me, after all.  I am just a guy.

A separate creation I read from a page.
I know that she may gain older age
For the change in her psyche that surely will be.
Words that come from the heart of me
Ever cause movement in those who will hear.
When spoken, my words can oft draw a tear.

Poetic words have all been let go,
The changes in her, on her face, now show.
I ask her if she would like to keep
My words written.  She again nods at me.
I hand them over, not knowing why,
But feeling, again, what it feels like to try.

Much time later, God's daughters three
Have each read what was written by me.
They tell me good things. I'm feeling much better
Than when I trudged here in the soaking weather.
Soon I'll again brave pouring rain
Twill further the job of purging my stain.

Tis good I was here on this planet today.
Help has been given.  I choose to stay.

Adam Scott Campbell

Sealed

Down in the dregs of my heart's remains
Glancing still deeper where Indomitable reigns
I discover hidden, unbroken I see,
The secret elixir, imprisoned in me:
Chance.  Tis mine, un-tethered and free.

Indomitable Me, I take it up,
Set to pour Chance into my cup,
When some gentle voice murmurs, "Don't."
I feel, though balm in elixir's shown,
To drink my assured victory, I won't.

Setting Chance down, turning to go,
Before me stands one whom I well know.
A woman, rarest beauty ever the same.
Never unhappy.  Never ashamed.
Ever believing.  Hope is her name.

Her hand reaches out.  I do not retreat.
The hand of Hope, and my shoulder, meet.
Into my eyes, she views my all.
I feel neither broken, nor strong, short or tall.
I feel just me.  Hope sees through my wall.

Then moving hand, from shoulder, away,
Hope reaches in, to Indomitable's stay.
Apprehension I feel for what she'll do now,
Though I have no knowledge of exactly how,
 Hope touches Chance.  Chance draws a vow.

And though that vow is spoken by me,
I know not what this vow might be.
I know that tis spoken with firmness of soul,
That tis what will enable me to reach my goal,
But what words?  I don't remember their role.

I may not remember, nor understand why
Those powerful words bring me nigh
To seeing my destiny laid out before,
No wall to block me, no barred metal door,
But I know there are great wonders in store.

While Chance rests in Hope's gentle hand,
I find this my soul again able to stand.
Upon life's path, without wall or shield,
While my Indomitable refuses to yield,
With radiant Hope, my banner  I'll wield.

With Hope by my side, our victory's sealed.

Adam Scott Campbell

Frozen Heart

Down through the ages a story is told

Of a great warrior with courage untold;

A warrior whose heart was turned to ice

Then was brought to thaw

Then re-froze thrice.

So much hurt the warrior sustained

At his heart place, that bitterness reigned

With hell-hounds upon his great heart trained,

That no pure-hearted maiden would deign

To reach inside to thaw him once more.

And so the great warrior, pained so sore

Froze himself down to his great core,

Awaiting the day when the Goddess Compassion

Would restore him in fullest fashion

To what he really was inside.

Perhaps you, like he, wish to be through

From all the aches and pains in you.

Maybe everything you feel

Will help you learn to hurt and to heal.

Perhaps you are warrior, too.

Look in the mirror,

Embattled You.

Adam Scott Campbell

Victory

Blade and pen switch hands once more.

Hope, herself, is struggling sore.

I have lost hold of the dream in my hands.

Drifting on seas and so far from shore,

Why should I try? There is naught at my core.

With pen warring, I write of aches deep,

All of my Me my dreams ever keep.

While ocean waves drench me through,

I keep swimming, wishing for sleep.

A deadly wish.  Naught but rest I'd reap.

Blade sleeping, muscles unfeeling

Desirous that one limb is healing,

Now it hangs down at my heaving side.

I tried.  I tried.  All of my psyche now reeling

Away from my soul, tenacity peeling,

All the while, pen ready, I fight.

Morning, mid-morning, noon, afternoon, night.

Enemy weapons threaten my body

I know what is wrong. I know what is right.

How much longer till I have no more light?

At times, Serenity gets me to stand.

Often, Beauty will gently command.

Their words galvanize the warrior within.

Whether I ever again see solid land,

For such wondrous kindness I never have planned.

For Grace, for Compassion, for Sweet Charity,

For each radiant angel helping me see,

For Balm Personified, I forgot how to quit.

Somehow their presence again makes me free.

I re-engage in the war around me.

If these visions are all real and true,

I know my endurance will never be through

But be they but wishes inside my mind

If they are but daydreams that I once knew,
Tis dreams keep me as naught else will do.
I'll believe in my dreams,
And victory, too.

Adam Scott Campbell

Consider

There was no way, no path, no reality
Within a suffering mind
To find escape out of the trap
That all of my Me would bind.
I'd lost my goals, my focus,
My knowledge of how to succeed,
Whilst amidst all of this dissonance
There grew from the smallest seed
A tiny sapling that reminded me,
All the while it grew,
That there was much, still, that, despite my weakness
I still knew.
I knew that others surrounded me
No matter that I was blind.
That all my life I'd been helped, aided, even carried,
That many had been so kind.
I knew there was worth inside me.
I felt the love for me.
I also clung to my conviction
That, although I could not see,
Each soul in existence
Whether searching for a sign
Also had inestimable levels of worth
Equal to mine.
Perhaps, despite the bondage,
Maybe due to it, too,
I oft re-realize
This worth lies, as well, in you.
Perhaps you struggle with tremendous pain.
Perhaps you have gone numb.
Perhaps you know life isn't fair,
Perhaps you envy some.
Perhaps you, also,
Embroiled in a trap,
Wish for some sweet gift of grace
To fall into your lap.
We have this much in common,
You, and they, and me.
Consider, for a moment.
This is Embattled We.

Adam Scott Campbell

Trouble

Backpack and key, I walk out my door.
I cannot bear to stay.
Inward broiling, my core all at war...
It is a fateful day.
Walking, I see naught that, to me,
Will help me hold strongly on
To the weakening sanity none see
Shrinking till it is almost gone.
I get on a bus, I grab the lightrail,
Seeking for what I ought not.
The next station, something latches onto
My spirit and drags me off.
Benches all along the track I see.
On one, a woman who hurts
For what she has not inside.
Her lost expression, me, alerts.
"I don't know where I am," she says.
"I need to go to my home."
Name and number scribbled on scrap
She then hands me.  How far she's come...
With her permission, I call the number,
Knowing not what will ensue.
What I know is that letting God's daughter
Fend for herself, I won't do.
A lady answers. I tell her the tale.
She says, "She needs to come home.
"She's without her medication.
And is not safe, alone."
"I will get her there," I answer.
The call ends.  We start on our way.
Knowing not how far it is,
I feel we cannot stay.
Speaking to a passerby,
We have half an hour to walk.
But the woman is barely functional
She hardly can even talk.
I don't know what will happen,
But, haltingly, we begin.
Crossing streets and avenues,
The woman is wearing thin.
I am thinking we might not make it
No matter that we've tried,
When the passerby who gave us directions
Drives up to give us a ride.
The halfway house stands quiet,
When intercom I ring
But the lady's voice is grateful
That my suffering friend I bring.
The door opens, she shuffles in,
I turn and walk back to my ride.
Back to the station, then back home
I go, feeling quite different inside.
I had left to go looking for trouble.
I found someone in trouble instead.
By Heaven's Grace, from thinking ill
To saving a life, I'd been led.

Adam Scott Campbell

The Life of One

Hair droops down over her shaking hands.

She tells me, "It's been a rough day."

I have people to see, places to go

But something whispers to stay.

Darkness writhes within me.
Ever at mortal war,
I often don't remember
What I'm living for.
Traffic races.  Broadway and I-25
Is not my final place to arrive,
But a woman with cardboard beacon
Needs me to keep her alive.
No destination she knows how to reach,
God's daughter is here asking alms.
Now one who ever struggles
To stay sane... balanced... calm,
My brain invaded by sterilized blade...
God's own daughter suffering deep...
How can such a cripple as I
Shed light I never try to keep?
Friend and family...
I have what she has not.
Twixt my ache for this my sister,
A simple urge is caught.
I have not resources
To keep the world afloat.
No great hoard of riches.
No car, or jet, or boat.
But what I have, I give.
My paltry change, my poetry,
My homemade lunch as well
Some of my own tear-dusted story
To my sister I then tell.
A heart-felt hug she gives me
With tremulous smile.
Perhaps enough hope I've given her
To keep her going a little while.
Maybe I have a purpose
In seeing another suffer.
Maybe my Heavenly Father,
Himself, has wanted to hold her.
But to help me, He let me help her
While the world's heart grows colder.
Wars, stumbles, and pains
I didn't make undone.
But with change, words, and lunch
I helped in the life of one.

Adam Scott Campbell

We No Me

Two at one side.  I'm lost inside of
A broken burned heart all bound and tied.
There is none I can call my own.
I am alone. All alone. What I've known.
Half complete, an empty sheet.
A literary work of something incomplete.
Potential unrealized in anguished zeal.
Am I advantaged when I feel?
Two at another side I turn.
My solitary path I start to learn.
Know I well the lure of being numb.
To such relief I've been driven to come.
How may I survive when I've lost my way?
Perhaps I should long ago have chosen to stay.
I will use another pronoun to make survival for me.
We suffer. We are pained, we love, we bleed,
Me is now we.
Illusion of togetherness binds us to life, a flimsy tie.
Again we ask the question of why we choose to stay. Why?
Because there is still just one we, none else inside.
Alone inside, maybe companion we sought has ever lied.
Outer companion never was.
We made it up, just because.
We are alone.
If alone, then empty.
If empty, then dead.
War as always inside our head.
For the finding of companionship we have ever bled.
All over our body we view covered with tread.
Is this our tie to mankind instead?
There is no more me.
We are the Embattled We.

Adam Scott Campbell

To You

Filthy, wretched, never free.
All these things inside of me.
Diced, and sliced, and shattered soul.
Whenever have I been fully whole?

Completed, unseated, treated ill.
How can I truly want, self, to fill?
All my poison I ever go to.
I'm Never remade or healed anew.

Aching, I'm taking away my first stake.
My original gamble when I jumped in Hell's lake.
As I remembered I knew not how to swim
Memory of jumping has grown faint and dim

Mirror, mirror inside my heart.
Looking therein, I don't know where to start.
Wound and scar and blemish galore.
What is my purpose in washing it more?

What do I sow, what will I reap
From each new leaping? Will I, lessons, keep?
Where may I place this satchel of tools
Bought dear from wise men, and from one poor fool?

Answers will come to me in the end.
This I know. My thoughts will all blend
Until those thoughts become but one
Drop of wisdom to which I may run.

Thoughts of one filthy, poor wretched fool
Who's attempted to live by each rule.
Thoughts that now are sent out to You.
What are You feeling?
What will You do?

Adam Scott Campbell

Tarnished Purity

Where the deep reaches so far down
That its ending can't be found;
When the loudest word there spoken
Won't be heard for all its sound,
There is heard a gentle token
Of purest love long past awoken
Ever growing in richest ground.

Such rich ground, never known
Is home to great plants grown.
Such rich soil I have touched, felt
Deeply within, pure seeds I've sown.
Painful richness from when love will melt
By each hate-stroke 'gainst it dealt
Teaches deepness from being alone.

Something pure, something dead.
Two at war inside my head
Cannot, will not work as one
When there's much more will be said
Before this dead purity is done.
Every work of glory shun.
I, on dead purity, am fed.

What blade pierced me, all my body through
When I fought for what was true?
How did I crawl when I would bleed
More than my heart was able to?
Whenever has my most basic need
Grown most sweet fruit from my most weak lead?
What am I being asked to do?

To reach, tarnished, out to you?

Adam Scott Campbell

Words For You

Words on a page.  What will they do?

Reach into the darkest parts of you?

Look all around to see who you are,

Every gold treasure, and each faded scar...

Words to pierce you all the way through...

Words.  I know they can change you, too.

Words on a page that I've laid in store.

Words from a heart wishing to do more.

Words that have saved and also condemned

So many hearts with no way to defend.

Words that have mended, and also tore

Glowing soul tendrils that breathed in soul's core.

Words that have so much more to say.

Maybe there's something that stands in our way.

Some great future we wish to own

That, for some reason, we can't get all alone.

Won't come near, to hear, play, or stay.

Our greatest dreams are not ours, today.

Words that show you will hurt again-

Should you keep on as you did then.

No pressure that tears you asunder

Can ever force you to stay under.

The pains, your own weight times ten,

Are tied to their roots, from way back when.

Words written, hoping your hope doesn't die.

You would never grow if you didn't cry.

Tears within teach you how others feel.

Fears inside reach out to help them heal.

Maybe your hell helps them always try.

Can it grant a new hope's start in their eyes?

Words on a page, written in need.

Words changing something inside as you read.

Words wishing you see strength you hold.

Words able to warm up your cold.

Words able to grow flowers from seed.

Words of hope, hoping you'll heed.

Words on a page.  Words heart-meant 

Deep into your You have now been sent.

The embattled You waits no more.

I think it's time you walked out of your core.

Much of your spirit-coin has been spent.

Words for you.  Walk out,  

 And repair what was rent.

Adam Scott Campbell

Diamond

You’d forgotten your very angels.

They infused your dying soul.

They gave impossible comfort.

They renewed a wasted goal.

You remembered not their helpful hands…

Their unending, powerful love.

Their arms around your shoulders.

Fighting for your peak above.

Then it happened.  You fell, after coming so far.

It hurt so much you died…

The part of you that was learning, again,

To feel, to bleed, to cry.

So very often it happened

That you’d learned to shut out strife.

For all you gained, you lost- and more.

You’re scattered, scarred by life.

You haven’t quit- it’s not what you do.

You always pull you back up.

But you wish to tear yourself in pieces.

You’re poured a bitter cup.

What can you do? 

What should you do?

Can you, that cup, afford?

Can you take your heartstrings up in your hands,

And play a power chord?

Maybe the angels in your life,

Those who save your soul,

Can make triumph of disaster,

And pure diamonds of blackest coal.

Adam Scott Campbell

Condemned

My hands are clenched.  Fierce storms inside.
All jewels and prizes by my feet I've spied.
No way to reach out to take what I see.
Some glorious future that's meant for me
Waits for my reaching.  It is soon to be.

My hands are tied.  Great glory meant
By these bound hands cannot be sent
Out into the beautifully green earth
To show the depth, the height, and the girth...
To write of each soul's inestimable worth.

My hands have no strength. They've tried to write
To encourage each soul to fight for their light.
My hands, pained for evil they've done
In pursuit of what others, uncaring, call "fun",
Have lost so much that might have been won.

My hands ache.  A warrior's hands
Fight for survival as instinct demands.
Warrior's hands wanting to shed no more
Precious life-light out of anyone's core.
Hands praying their victims have faith in store.

My hands behind me, tied to a pole,
Never again to harm a pure soul.
Thousands all round me chanting my name
Wanting an end to me, bringing such shame.
Tis mockery to me; to them, a game.

My hands wrote the words that I see
Written on paper at my bound feet.
Words that were written in hopes they might save
Those to whom such words I once gave.
Now I feel naught but a poor wretched knave.

My hands, trembling, as my time nears,
Completely unable to wipe my own tears.
Tears through which I see the foul swords
Flashing in sunlight, soon to sever life's cords
I wonder, bleakly, whom shall reap the rewards.

My hands, with no soft hope to discern.
Then to my wonder, the blades, as one, turn.
Souls who somehow are here to me free
From cords of death that do bind me.
Tears clear from my eyes.  Now I, saviors, see.

My hands, freed, now wipe at my face.
These who love me, my saviors, my grace.
These I once hurt, each soul, every one,
Came to save me.  Wretched evil, undone.
Perhaps I am not destined to be done.

My hands reach to the jewels at my feet-
Words I'd have died for.  Truth made complete.
Then reaching out to these I caused pain,
I give my gems.  Greatest truth is made plain-
Suffering forgiven equals great gain.

Adam Scott Campbell

From The Dust

I’m drawn within, held frail and thin.  

Look at what I behold:

A spirit strong, now strongly twisted… 

A blazing heart, now cold.

I look about, at tears, sweat, 

Burn, blood, and grime-

At all the pain I’ve caused myself, 

From the start of my earth-time.

I didn’t know I’d taint myself, 

Nor understand at all,

Why it was so important 

For me to heed my call:

The call to take my leave, 

To end my own great pain,

To walk away from bitter hell, 

To purge this inner stain.

But purging stains lodged so deep that 

I cannot, they, now find…

Knowing not how it is done, 

I leave my core behind.

Turning out to face a world 

With beauty I can't own,

I don’t know how to do this- 

To live life all alone.

A beating heart unfeeling, 

Broken others in such pain…

How can these heart-tragedies 

Be turned now into gains?

For you who know such heart-pains, 

And have known them well,

Will you dust off your treasures, 

Take them off your shelves,

Speak your soothing heart-balm 

To those who never healed

That wounds may now be cleaned and washed,

And kissed, and hugged, and sealed?

May this great world be healed from hate, 

May this my spirit dwell

With each who hid, and now emerge, 

From that wherein they fell.

Adam Scott Campbell

A Golden Word's Win

Liquid gold encased in crystal.
In my hand lies God's own Pen.
No gold word has yet been written,
Though tries have been undertaken
Since I obtained it.  It's weeks since then.

Gouges all over this my table
From when I tried to write thereon.
All my poems and every fable
I have attempted, forever gone.
How, with this Pen, may I write on?

Perhaps the wounds in every wall
And the scars upon the floor-
Reminders of my every fall-
Are each prayer at heaven's door
When I would, angel's aid, implore.

Why can't I write them? -The words meant
By this great Pen, heaven-sent?
Some secret stored in my own soul
Will this Pen full pour
And repay the gold it spent.

Out of another dream I wake.
No pen in hand.  No claim to stake.
And then, so quiet, thought-balm soothes.
A mental sense that, to me, proves
My Pen still waits.  I can, great words, make.

I turn inward, as I've done before,
Into my embattled, invincible core.
Knowing that treasures await my return
Treasures to know, to feel, to learn.
The treasures that I came here for.

No path I see.  I am blind by choice.
I seek wisdom by Celestial voice.
Beauty that so often heals
Can take true sight from one who feels.
Now begins the turning of wheels.

As they turn, so turns the earth.
I start seeing all your soul's worth.
Your life, your heart, your dreams-
What you try for, why your tears stream.
Your soul's depth- I see it, unearthed.

Knowing I've given many souls pause,
Knowing I've provided such wretched cause
For many to say, "I want no part,"
I reach for the doorknob to my torn-up heart
I will alter the meaning of my own soul's laws.

By crystal pen I can't feel touch my skin,
I write to those unknowing of treasure within.
Treasure that's fighting to make itself known.
Treasure to teach the great amount grown.
Appearance of gold words on heart-wall begins.

Soon to be crafted... A golden word's win.

Adam Scott Campbell

In The Midst of Fury

Hordes to my left,
Battalions to my right,
Rushing to the point of meeting
Eager for the fight.
At that central point
I sit in calm repose,
Feeling that my story just might
Be drawing to a close.
No shield, no sword or weapon
I have to save my life,
Nor armor nor wall nor hill
Own I, to divert this strife.
Should I dare to stand
And make known my place,
Doubtless shall my story end
By spear, or sword, or mace.
It's not death I fear.
I have longed for it before.
It is, rather, that I wish not
My end be one of gore.
How, then, came I here
To a place where men will die?
It is to here that I was banished
Because I chose to try.
A tale, a book so powerful
That hardest hearts would weep...
Such a tale I wrote
That, others, hope would keep.
In this place, so beautiful,
Despite descending doom,
I chose to write the book
That would shed light on the gloom.
I sit here now, where forces
Will so soon with fury meet.
How will I survive it
While I can yet stand on my feet?
This ink, this quill, this parchment-
These weapons that I wield-
Can create the armor that will
These embattled souls shield.
By my words here written,
And the heart from whence they come,
Have lives and hearts been let to live
That helps them reach their sum.
The horns and trumpets blaring.
Opponents yards away.
I step out from my hiding place
And speak one soft word,
"Stay."

beatingheart2

I, Writer

Pen of crystal; ink, liquid gold.
"No impure heart can use it," I'm told.
"Lest such a heart shrivels and dries.
Knowing the peril that, in this pen, lies,
Any non-dreamer who wields it, dies."

The shopkeeper, peering bleakly at me,
Touches not the pen I see.
Within a glass case the wondrous pen
Draws the eyes of all women and men.
It is only a simple matter of when.

"By this pen was love found at first sight
By it that same love won the fight,
Estranging him from love he had won,
Hands red by deed required of some.
Two lovers, lives lost in love undone."

"This pen wrote the tale of an embattled queen,
Working to stop a bloody scene.
Her people, by edict, doomed to be killed.
A king's heart, with poison, his enemy had filled.
His wife's only chance: to be steel-willed."

"The ink in this pen was made, not on earth,
But in shop celestial, where known is a soul's worth.
There such ink was in this crystal made.
No treacherous hand has ever betrayed
Its purpose.  Such, God's own hand has stayed."

The shopkeeper's words have done naught to still
Excitement starting, this heart, to fill.
This heart, beginning to know
What brought it here scarce moments ago
Is decided.  I feel it start to glow.

A moment's silence.  Shopkeeper and I
Look unblinking, eye to eye.
"Never have I had the thought this to do,"
Shopkeeper murmurs. "But I feel it too.
I believe this pen was meant for you."

With shaking hands he unlocks the case.
By aid of glove, pen removed from its place.
Heaven's pen now in my hand gleams.
Twas indeed meant for me, it seems.
I, Writer, now wake from my dreams.

I sit up in my small twin-sized bed,
Enthralled by visions that dance in my head.
Knowing that my dreams are meant to be real,
Sensing that my sorrows have healed,
I, Writer, envision a vast, open field.

This field is home to all of my aches,
My hurts, my pains, yet too, glistening lakes,
Flowing rivers, and streams, and forests green,
Wondrous mountain ranges never seen.
I, Writer, make them so blue, so green.

Dream to make beauty is something I hold
Deep at my center.  My dream is pure gold.
A dream able to carry me through.
A dream big enough to enthrall me anew.
I, Writer, give this dream to You.

beatingheart2

War-Light

War at the table.  War on the streets.
War in the hearts of souls we meet.
War dividing what was once complete.

War in the mailbox.  War in young eyes.
War to seek, above all, every prize.
War to redefine the meaning of lies.

War glorified in glory's name.
War made a movie, a commercial, a game.
War to make true love a reason for shame.

War that one wagered.  War that some join.
War, to put new faces on coin.
War made a joy.  More will soon join.

War waged by one against that same one.
War that is no longer fun.
War to freeze hearts.  Loved ones shun.

War that broke what is again breaking.
War that steals what one rightfully is staking.
War to use masks that others are making.

War that pierces you all the way through,
War wherein you know not what to do.
War repainted in a different hue.

War Without, that threatens my life.
War that inside gives naught but strife.
War that brings me the dull of hate's knife.

War that I labor ever to fight.
War, that this bright torch will keep burning bright.
War.  I'll always hold up the light.

War that we have long fought in.
War wherein both sides are growing thin
War that, nonetheless, we will win.

Criminal

A poet weeps- no paper. No pen.
A poet tries to find hope again, in
Cemented room, made Way Back When.

The poet-made-warrior, no tools in hand,
Obeying a burning inner demand,
Writes on the floor, in dirt and in sand.

Words of glory, of shimmering light...
Words that help others endure the fight...
Words of one blind to beautiful sight...

Hurting, I see him scrawl.
He's known such horrors.  He's had so many falls.
He writes, deaf to any man's call.

His cell, adjacent to my own,
Has nothing to comfort, no warmth or plant grown
For one blind and deaf to all good and bad sown.

Too far for me to read what he writes,
I find myself hating my hearing, my sight.
Though in this place is so little light.

The only light that comes to this place
Falls from above on one calm, still face.
He scribbles faster, on some great unseen race.

While I've earned this lot, he deserves to be free.
While my soul is blind, he's earned rights to see.
An angel is he.  A devil is me.

I've committed such crimes: my hands are red.
Broken tears fall for words that I've said.
Much of my own heart is black, hard, and dead.

His heart, much like the purest gold
Has been through fires that make white flame seem cold
His body is young.  His soul, ages old.

Deaf, blind poet still writes on the floor.
Pained, I cannot, his sorrows, ignore.
I reach through cell bars, on knees very sore.

"You can't hear," I whisper. "But I know you fear.
One who loves you is sitting right here.
Brother, your own family is near."

Criminal reaches out in vain.
Poet pauses.  Does he sense this near stain?
Does he, criminal brother, disdain?

He turns slowly.  His face, my face, face.
Then speaking words soft and fragile as lace,
Says, "Can't hear or see. But love I can taste."

"Our spirits are of the same shape and hue
I feel pain that you go through.
I name you brother.
Brother, I love you too."

Adam Scott Campbell

Hope

Bruised and battered and broken inside
Still she moves forward with another stride
Anxious and aching; her enemies lied.
How many heartbreaking moments she's tried?
How many times has her love been denied?
How many pleas to those heartless she's cried?
Her heart swells wide as eternity is wide.

Hurting and halting, having hunger stay,
He lives his life, not knowing sun's ray.
While living much time in the bright light of day
Without hearing so much as one kind stranger's "Hey..."
Never knowing joy of beauty, of children's play,
Wishing of this life, he'd be done today
The blind beggar's hope stays not, today.

They've walked and walked and walked some more.
The going's been rough for these children four.
Thinking no shelter waits in store,
Moving at all while their stomachs are sore
Is the most bitter, and the worst kind of chore.
All those who might help only ignore
These children, whom some small aide implore.

He's looking to numb his conscience, in pain
For all whom he's hurt in pursuit of gain.
Feeling the guilt and feeling the stain,
Feeling not coldness of the pouring rain
He sloshes through the flood in the lane.
He who steals life cannot life disdain
When he sees others approaching, in pain.

Children, still walking and hungry and cold,
Peer through the rain, wishing pain be un-told.
Feeling themselves worn, and tired, and old,
They sense 't won't be long until their legs fold.
Will their sad tale ever be told?
How will any know the trinkets they've sold
To feed empty stomachs, growling so bold?

A dark shadow moves, children don't know,
But whatever it is, towards it they go.
Rain from the clouds is changing to snow.
Sodden and numbed is each finger and toe.
Blood circulation has started to slow.
Coherent thought long since ceased to flow.
What is it toward which these poor children go?

The shadow divides.  Now shadows two,
Beggar blind and woman broke, soaked through,
Approach children poor, hoping to grow hope anew,
Where hope, long past, in their hearts once grew.
Knowing not how, wanting this task to do,
Beggar and woman learn what once they knew.
Cold is easier for many together than few.

Words of comfort man and woman speak
To frozen children so mild and meek.
Tears of all freeze on every cheek
While more than words all souls present seek.
Depression and despair into the air leak.
How can such as these, whom of broke royalty reek
Find hope where none is had by these who seek?

He who steals life sees huddled group ahead.
Compassion from life-thief long past has fled.
Upon such softness, in hate, he leaves tread.
For such he's never, nor would he ever have bled.
Though oft his palms were colored red
Has a kind thought ever entered his head?
Has he ever a helpful word said?

Yet... and yet, seeing them, he takes a new role.
Understanding not this goal,
He feels, living within, a heart and a soul,
And hands over his goods. Broken hearts become whole.
Air near as chilled as that of the southern pole,
He turns, starts to retreat to where'er he'll go
But these grateful souls beg him not to go.

You, Reader, may listen and wonder.
A miracle like this, in snow, rain, and thunder-
Can it have happened in this world torn asunder?
Can a woman so broken lend strength to another?
Can a blind beggar, hopeless, share that kindness with another?
Can a man, heartless, trade dark heart for bright other?
Can you now share Hope's comfort given you by her?

Can you?
Should you?
Would you?
Will you?


beatingheart2

Now I Leap

I have leaped the canyon's rift
Naught but once before.
Hundreds of feet below
View I the canyon floor.
Do I take the leap?
Should I ignore my inner war?

You are strong, she whispers.
Throbs my body's every fiber
In anger raging for its pain.
Knows she not the chasm widening,
Making riskier the gain?

You are strong, she murmurs
Again into my ear,
Though my fear I also hear.
I've crossed this chasm but once
Years, decades ago.
All my Inner ceased to glow.
This, that empathy I might know
For those who also fear.

You are strong, she says again.
I pause, shake my head.
For something that once
Breathed inside my heart
Now long since is dead.
Real love felt, bruised and bled.
Purity lost for words said and not said.
Focus shattered.  Pieces scattered
Across an ocean floor's bed.
Picking them up: tiny morsels fed
To a heart I once thought dead.
A heart changing slow from gray to red:
But what I've lost still is fled.

Behind and before me, the rabble wait
For my fall, spewing hate and anger.
"How dare you give an effort?
How dare you try?
Do you wish to hurt?
How many tears you've cried!
When will enough be enough?
Why do you still care?
Does it not hurt when someone stops
Not to help, but to stare?
How will you jump this chasm?
You are not what you were..."
That I can't win...
That I'll cave in...
That I've too much sin...
My enemies infer.

Again from the edge I turn away
Wishing I'd never seen the light-
Wishing this was not my fight-
I'd never quit before.
I'd not yet lost the war.
But what is now
Was not before.
I, and my heart so ragged...
Can we endure?
I've long lost remembrance of
The feel of being pure.

My foes' cries
Only get louder,
Hope tries to shed her light
Upon this doubter.
The words spoken before:
You are strong
Are again repeated.
Like a festering wound,
Begging healing so greatly needed,
I sense within myself
The touch that Hope has seeded.
In an inner garden that Hope, herself,
Has weeded.
Doing all she can to help me,
Hope has enabled me to see
All that I can and will be.

I've not endured
A decades-deep hell,
Only to relinquish this chance
To do and be well.
I am no voided shell.
I want my tale someone to tell.
I turn back.  I face my fate,
Whatever it may be.
One step, then two steps.
Going faster, so fast.
All enemies I pass
On my way to fate.
Somehow Hope's presence
Grows inside me.
My enemies have lied.
I have true strength inside.

The chasm's edge rushes toward me.
I see not the depths below.
Only my return from the past
To my destiny I now know.
Though the past is done,
My journey just begun,
My victory is already won.
Adrenaline into my veins seeps.
Two steps ahead lies chasm's deep.
Only the good from the past I keep.
Now, I leap.

beatingheart2

Akin

Torn asunder, perhaps you now know-
Pushed deep under- you'll always go
On your goal's path, to what you see...
...At path's ending, through pain all fiery...
What you're born to be.

Pushed down farther, taught to forget
All the struggles you've fought through and met,
Heartaches by which you relearned to cry,
Each one that helped you wonder why
You never failed to try.

A touch, a brush upon your soul's skin
While Darkness tells the tale of You Can't Win.
Yet that same touch, as light as a feather
Somehow pulls you back together
To face harshest weather.

Dark pushes hard. You push back,
Ignoring thoughts of what you might lack,
Knowing somehow that inside of you
Lies eternal strength getting you through.
Pushing is what you'll do.

But just when you think, This victory's mine,
A second storm strikes you harder from behind,
All strength gained thrown to the wind,
Now this storm, seeming just beginning,
Has you, to the ground, pinned.

No, you think, gritting your teeth,
You won't get the best of me.
Knock me down, make me ache.
All my Me away from me take.
But upon this battle my spirit I stake.

The dark's fury, at your vow, doubles.
Attacking your warrior's armor-like bubble
While another warrior, fighting just like you,
Is trying, tenacious, to push his way through
His own storms, to you.

A moment more, now you are face to face
You bear bow and arrow; he, a mace.
So very different. So much the same.
Layers of wild and war; skin calm, and tame,
Bearing scars of shame.

He gives you a nod, grinning a feral grin,
A wildness creeping out; you feel it begin.
A joy so powerful, like the sun's own light
Courses through you. Weakness now might,
Now for the real fight.

Those same scars now make you kin.
Against the same fury, the two of you begin.
Horrors of this war have made you more wise.
Phantoms of storm, you now realize,
Created to make me Prize.

You and your fellow warrior fight for an age-
Prime fodder for any bard's page.
Pretense and show only long ago,
Forever may this conflict flow
Yes, you smile. I know.

beatingheart2

My Heart, My Body, My Spirit

When spirit, body, and heart

Are at peace where once at war,

The place they touch each other

Is the place that I ache for.

This place I have but rarely glimpsed.

This place but once I felt

When each controlled, self-directed thought I owned

Would melt.

No matter how strong and even

My soul's keel seemed to be,

Some angry inner element

Would always tear at me.

Such a torn spirit could not bear

Another spirit near.

Such a broken body burning

Could only shy away in fear.

Such a gushing, anxious heart
Longed for just one taste

Of real love's helpful, heavenly, heart-healing
Embrace.

Where body, heart, and spirit

Meet, and seamlessly align,

In that place I once found myself

When greatest pain was mine.

Pain greater than anything
Ever felt in me,
Yet, still, my All was graced
By flawless tranquility.

Something without balance-
A pained, strong inner me-
Was always fighting for control
That I could never see.

When heart is let to lead
Wherever it feels drawn,
It oft will not lead one
To the brightness of the dawn.

So very much of the dark
I've let into my soul,
I'm ever pulled back in
Finding pieces of my whole.

Heart, spirit, and body-
Pieces of each part of me
Waiting to be found,
That all might learn to Be.

That all might learn to Share.
That war might be undone
That all might find together
Peace born of being one.

beatingheart2

Me To My Fore

One foe,
Add two foes,
Then four foes more.
Midst all seven, my soul I fight for.
Know they not wretchedness which I store.
Till I unleash what's behind soul's door.

First pain
Second through seventh pain,
Through soul's door Bared.
All seven enemies, petrified, stare.
Now these heartless humans have harried care.
We are alike.
We are now more aware.

Courage
I have,
Showing I am not void
Of weakness, or darkness, or good things destroyed.
While strength is mine, unaided, unalloyed,
Toyed not with is Friendship Deployed.

Seven.
Then six left.
Then five on their feet.
Four are now standing on coldest concrete.
Three braving battle on broken, burned street.
Two see their strength woefully obsolete.

Warrior
One warrior
Looks me all the way through.
Peering intently like no others dared do.
I stare back, intently, too.
Words come unbidden, and unthought.
"Am I you?"

Three words.
Truth spoken
Shatters all grip I thought was mine.
To unreal reality, I've crossed the line
The bridging line.
A line so very fine.

I look.
I look back.
All of me sees my all.
No shadows, no veils, no lies, no wall.
In stark truth, markings from every fall
Destiny between us makes a shrieking call

Courage
I know well
Courage to see truth
Though said truth now oft is ruth-
Less tis, too, often liberating, forsooth...
Like first-felt love pangs of an embattled youth.

I see
My great chance
To be of myself, my Inner Powerful, far more.
I sense deeply the wondrous strength stocked up in store.
My hand reaches out to the me to my fore.
The me to my fore reaches. We touch.

Me, no more.

Heal

Walking over the coals so white.
Ne'er pain so great felt so slight.
Can so great pain help make right
Friendship that fell, frozen in fight?

While I lay frozen, burnt feet unfeeling,
No stars embedded in heav'n's ceiling,
Fevered mind, from shock, reeling,
Can harm I dealt be forgot by healing?

As I fought with one who wished no harm
To me, who wished to feel unfelt charm...
While my numbed heart wanted to warm,
Can wakened mind numb all alarm?

Now I, with so very much loss
Swallowed bitterly, midst tempest's cost-
One small sip of nectar, tossed
Back, Can it freeze my heart with frost?

E'en so numbed, I see, I hear,
Pains of loved ones who ought not hold dear
Fallen Warrior, Prisoner of Fear.
Can I shed even one tear?

Desire so sharp that it cuts to my core,
Exposing all things buried in store,
Wishing to end an unending war,
Dare I, my ice-heart, ignore?

To you, whom I know not how to save,
Did you find numbed heart in sealed cave?
Can you heal the wounds I gave,
While I feel naught but a wretched knave?

I pray you soon feel all you should feel,
Take back what I was unworthy to steal,
Find a heart that is true to the deal,
Golden heart, I pray you to heal.

beatingheart2

Hands

One hand reaching,
I quickly back off.
Know I it's not kind
Or helpful
Or soft.
Another reaches.
This time
I fight back.
With tooth and claw
I turn and attack.
Many hands reach.
Nowhere to turn.
Mayhap,
So trapped,
Defense I'll learn.

Many hands reaching.
Tools they hold.
While I lay helpless.
Broken.
Cold.
Many hands holding,
Keeping me still,
Ignoring my wishes,
My wants,
My will.
One hand touching
Back of my head.
Memories lost.
Empty
Instead.

Two hands holding
Tightly my own.
Touch, not a happy
Thing
I have known.
Two hands that shake
While I pull away
No good can be had
From touch,
Anyway.
Two hands reaching
Out to me still,
Begging me
Come back, this
Not my will.

Hands that held heaven.
Hands that lived Hell.
Hands that wrote
Word-balm,
Hands that then fell.
While all these things
Done
By such hands
Helped, harmed and held
Other like hands...
Other like hands,
Numbered not few
Helped hands
Holding heaven
Push their way through.

Two hands as one
Clasped to plead,
Wanting,
Wishing for,
Their deepest need.
Two hands pleading,
Naught to hold on.
Smothered
In darkness,
Waiting for dawn.
Many hands reaching
Out once again.
Two hands recoiling,
Broken,
Again.

Two special hands reaching
Round my spent frame
While my own hands
Clench tight
To deep pain.
Two special hands
That know pain
Of their own,
Not letting me suffer
All on my own.
Two special hands
Saving my life,
Granting me comfort
In midst of
Dark strife.

Many kind hands
Come pair by pair,
Wishing me healing,
Wishing me
Care;
Wishing me feel
Safety once more.
Wishing me find
What life
Is good for.
Many kind hands
Holding words
I've said.
Many kind hands
That never have fled.

Two hands typing
The words you see,
Two hands, grateful
For all done
For me.
Two hands,
Gaining so much
For what's lost.
Two hands, regretting not
The cost.
Two hands, that now
Know just why.
Two hands, that always,
Always,
Will try.

beatingheart2

Saving Celeste

Hands without strength.
Shattered pieces fall.
Warring Worlds Within.
Cracks in every wall.
Beating heart in fragments
Strewn across the floor.
Someone's threatened life
I must not ignore.

Deep inside this fortress
Of hardened, chiseled stone,
I must somehow find a way
To save Celeste, alone.
Filled near overflowing
With souls so very fair...
I have failed to find
A single soul who cares.

Dashing from the chamber
Where my young sister lies-
Silent as the grave,
Lids closed o'er her eyes-
To the banquet hall,
Victory feast now in full sway
Brother's army triumphed
Only yesterday.

Some dreadful plotting
Aimed to steal my sister's life
Know I well of the hatred
Felt for sis, by brother's wife.
Nectar of wild fireflower
From the distant west,
Mayhap now can rescue
One nearing eternal rest.

Into banquet crashing
Come I by servant's way.
My sweet youthful sister
Will not die today!
One solitary glass
Of fire-nectar rests
In the hands of one
Of wife-of-brother's guests.

I have not time endless.
Drawing wife-of-brother's ire,
I snatch from her guest's hand
Last chalice of liquid fire.
Brother's wife cries out
In condemning words for me.
As her friends run full tilt
At none but me, I flee.

Guards are all at banquet
Naught stands in my way
That enemies are all behind
I fervently pray.
Nearing sacred room
Where sweet, young sister lies
Near and to my rear
I hear our foes' angry cries.

My own weapon, naked,
Now comes to the fore.
Their loyal evil... my razor will...
We engage in war.
Never has Berserker been
A title I have held, but
It tells well my mindset
As my foes I felled.

Now entering the room,
Upon the floor I see,
A dying mortal angel-
Celeste, my sister, dear to me.
Swiftly to her lips
Lip of chalice do I bring.
'Gainst all hope I hope,
That her spirit's lingering.

And now do I feel it?
Some touch of grace quite near?
Celestial life to save Celeste?
An antidote to my fear?
Yes! Her eyes crack open!
Hers and mine drop tears...

"Brik," she murmurs softly
"I dreamt such evil things..."
"Never again," I vow softly.
"For, soon, I'll be king."

beatingheart2

Soul-Joy

Now tis as though I'm holding on to naught for which I've fought.
The ashes of my dreamwork... the wonders that were wrought...
By the Why in which I go to reach my distant goal
As Wretched Loss and Cherished Joy each play a vital role.

I had every blessed Soul-Joy.  Mine, each and every one.
But I knew not how I gained them, nor did I know just how I'd won.
How blessed I really was I did not understand
Until I felt my un-felt treasures slip out of my hands.

Support from friends uncounted, yet each one I felt.
Wounds unmeasured made to heal, balm to every welt.
No gain from pain unappreciated, I knew at last the worth.
Humor felt once again, I remembered my lost mirth.

Each of these my treasures, none of them the last.
Now they are returning.  My joy is not forever past.
I begin again to look and see the others living round-
To smell the air, and feel sun's ray... to hear the sweetest sound.

Tis the sound of what's outside, not what through the glass I see.
It is the sound of real life, the life outside of me.
Not by my own wish did the miracle come about.
Call it blessing, call it grace.  I learn again beauty without.

Without this blessed Soul-Joy, the fight cannot reward.
Without the Soul-Depth from pain, Soul-Joy I can't afford.
Without the bitter struggle by which I feel real pain,
Joy cannot ever be captured to understand true gain.

And so I take the struggle, that teaches me how to discern.
I turn it to blessed Soul-Joy. Both Loss and Joy have helped me learn.

Life For Which I Die

Maybe my conflict has bled,
Too long,
The lifeblood of a poet's song.
Perhaps this struggle cuts so deep
That Sanctuary's peace seems quick
And wrong.
Too easy for one like me,
Like you.
Leaving one more wretched thing to do-
To take the shredded wisps of Heart Material up
And, holding them gently
In my hands,
Walk empty-chested
To the end.
Maybe this was or is someone you know.
It might be that her or his wounds
Don't show.
Perhaps their struggle hides so deep
That they do not know how
To share it or bare it.
It tears at them to weep.
I don't know how, though I may want
To live in their shoes.
It leaves a second choice to choose
Do I dare to bare my care
Or else my Material release into the sky
And with each open heart out there, share
The life for which I die?
This I've done, this I do
Every time I share, with
The life for which I die.

beatingheart2

Core

The War Without, changing shade
From bloodied fist to strengthened blade.
By my own sweat comes defeated aim-
Friend... foe... we are the same.

I turn my head. One Dream failed-
Another turn. Dream Two jailed.
Turn from both, Third Dream fled,
All locked up inside my head.

Look down 'pon feet, Dream Four lost
In frigid waters.  I count the cost.
Drenched, submerged, carried downstream.
My ruined, waterlogged, shredded Fourth Dream.

Soaring, flying, aspiring Dream Five.
One more bid to keep hope alive.
Wings of the fledgling upwardly strive
Begging my Father that in Heav'n I'll arrive.
Praying ne'er again to take such a dive.
Nor e'er be trapped in stingers' hive.

Wars Within, volatile more
Than War Without.
Deeper, far sharper pain stored.
Strategic retreat now panicked rout.
Every which way I choose to turn,
Enemy's victory only can I discern.
When shall we learn
What we were sent forth to learn?

Drawing Self deeper, far deeper, more,
Into my embattled, invincible core.
Knowing not safety but what be found here
All strength, all of all, into core-free-of-fear.
Feeling Hope, herself, drawing near.
Feeling Faith, Hope's sister, also drop tear.
Feeling Charity's desire to help me
Return out from in, and relearn to be free.

Wars Within a hard outer shell,
Keeping in all that is in,
Reviewing lessons from when I fell
Whilst I do all I can to let go of sin
Shell slowly growing thin-
Defense I'm losing. How can I win?
From the dregs of a deepening well,
How can I quell all these Wars Within?

Weakened blade... bloodied fist...
Broken spirit... shattered wrist...
Hope, Faith, and Charity
Wishing me, my path, to see...
Wishing me walk myself free...
Core now Home-To-All-Of-Me...
How do I explain
To Hope, Faith, and Charity,
Now reaching their hands out to me?
How do I take them?
How do I heed
Their want to help me
Be truly freed?
How can one such as me, shattered,
Broken, beaten bloody,
Weakened, battered to a shadow,
Accept aid from three pure souls like these?

But though my belief be naught but wish,
Tis enough to start. I begin to raise a hand.
I feel a glimmer in my heart of what I ever feel
When 'fore tempest's rage I stand.
A desire to conquer, rise above what's said,
To push through anguish by which I've bled.
How long it takes, I do not know,
But when hand, wrist, forearm, and arm I've raised all I can,
Faith takes my hand, pulls my arm round her shoulder.
Hope takes my other, though growing colder,
And also throws it round her shoulder.
Charity now leads the way
Out of my core, where I thought I would stay.

War Within ends by kindness and love.
Perhaps peace, inner and out, go hand-in-glove.
Though maybe twill take longer
Hope, Faith, and Charity's influence
Only gets stronger.
Retaught to grow, feel, and see...
Maybe they can help others like me
Out of their darkness, and help them be free.

beatingheart2

Battlefield Whereon I Lay

Now that I'm done, the battle's won,
None of my wounds are mending...
The inner ache grows.
I am, my tattered spirit's yearnings, sending
Out, ere last bits of feeling go.
Just before my Me is gone,
A tendril of strange thought is lending
Strength.  Into my soul, throughout, it flows

From living beings on some plane
Away, from me, far...
Whether heaven, or earth, or moon
Or star...
To make alive twas dead.
While here I lay, naught but not-ed knot
of tendril-ed thought
Could make alive twas dead
To undo foolish words said
To bind wounds by invisible, invincible thread.

A thread, a tendril of life most fragile,
Interwoven with my own most-gone,
From beings living far away
Sent to weave a tapestry of life alive again.
Can one lone strand, a single thread
Bring me back from where I lay?
This thread, strand, tendril,
All that holds me here to earth
From living beings, bidding me stay.

Battlefield Whereon I Lay...
Beings bidding me yet stay...
Naught but emptiness held today...
Where can I go?
To what may I stray?
When can I say
What I must, but can't, say?

beatingheart2

Battle's Lull: A Plea

A lull in the battle, my warriors return.

We know death well.  Never safe, we have learned.

Evidence of tragedy we see from our mound.

Broken souls, and bodies, 'pon yon lower ground.

Our brothers and sisters, our friendships and kin

Have given their all so that we might win.

How so very many have traveled below.

This our great sorrow.  We begged them not to go!

This war has taken so many away,

When we wanted them, needed them badly, to stay.

Now arm-brothers gather into a group so tight...

Arm-sisters too, with us in this fight...

A family of loyalty, 

A kinship true.

A fierce need have all embattled we

For You.

You, who read these words,

Fighting wars of your own.

We hope with all we have

You are not yet turned to stone.

We reach to You, in hopes that you'll share

Your reasons, your drive by which You dare.

You dare to give each moment 

A further shot,

No matter that perhaps all You wish for 

You have not.

The battle awaits You

The war ever rages

Fatality ever rises

In all further stages.

Will You lay down your lay down,

Open up your heart's doors

Let out the wondrous strength

We know you have in store?

Please share your battles

That we may fight them too.

Sword-bearers need sword-brothers

And sword-sisters.  You need us.

We need You.

beatingheart2

Oath

And yet I still, now I've had my fill,
And love and joy have gone,
Carve deep upon my soul's wall
An oath to carry on.
Life will tear me asunder
Too many times to count,
But the more I hurt, the higher I crawl
'Pon this, my shattered mount.
Friends have kept me standing
When to stand I know not how,
But while friends of light hold me upright,
Dark foes, 'gainst me, make vow.
As if, like so many, I'm worth battles' blood
As though many give life for me.
And though tis through my vision blurred
I'm taught anew to see.
To see or glimpse the smallest part
Of what my soul's made of.
While near all my heart is cold
I feel a glimmering of love.
Perhaps I have not died inside
Maybe my heart still beats.
Maybe twill be a happy thing
When love again I meet.
Till then I'll struggle up my mount.
Once at the top, I'll stay.
Whatever comes tomorrow
I've kept my oath, today.

beatingheart2