He is Nothing

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Why do we seem to ignore
Or forget
Or exclude
Those who want to be there the most?
 
I cannot run from you, from me, from we
And I’m tired
Tired of chasing
An invisible shadow
Lost in the creation of its mind
Running from itself
From me, from we
From the nothing in her to the desire in me
The sadness shows, it grows.
 
It’s easier to turn and fight
And absorb the blows and stitch the scars
Than it is to run from her
Or to her, chasing the shadow
Or wish for something that is not there
As the blood runs down my weary face
I wish I was them, those who seem to matter
As the pain helps me lose the thought of her.
 
The Fighter needs no one
For the corner of his box is empty
Until the bell rings
And he meets the other lonely Soul
In a place where only one can survive
He stands and withstands
Without excuse
Fanfare is only for the champion
The beloved one.
 
Please, my old friend Rage, come and talk to me
Raise me up and turn me to stone
A rock, hard to the touch but a treasure to the sculptor
The one who sees a treasure in the mess that I am
And loves the art more than the air she breathes. 
 
There she might caress me
And turn this stone to wonder
The man to god, this god to Love
There is nothing in between
But a blur as her hammer goes to work.
 
Or there she might sing to me
Lull me to sleep with some sweet melody
Sooth the savage beast as Lovers often do.
Silence. Instead.
There is nothing in the darkness for me.
 
For them, plenty.
For me, the emptiness of space
As I inhale he ether and pretend it has a flavor
As I hear my old friend Rage calling out to me
“I am here, and you will never be alone.”
 
I smile in the rendition
But sigh in the subtle resolve
Gone to sleep in chaotic melancholy
The Fighter, the Lover, the man
Left to stray as some reluctant memory
He cries, alone, waiting for the bell to ring at last
Knowing that as the blows rain down from places he can’t see
That darkness, sweet darkness, will be the loser’s prize.
 
For he is nothing
And he has lost without even parting from his stool
It was not his fight to win
He was simply the body paying the price for the heart’s own folly
So now he stands
Waiting for the lights to fade.
 
ω