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Now that winter is here the damask roses are shivering.
I want to gather them up in a gentle embrace, a fierce effort to keep them warm
but my fingers are frostbitten with distant chords uncharted. My heart is frigid, my soul is frozen, every fiber of what I once was has withered and perished.
There is nothing left of warmth, nothing left of my fragmented past. Nothing left but pale traces of distant wounds that stab like ice encrusted knives.
Forget the past. No one is left to embrace it. This persistent winter has expunged hearts and souls. Nobody cares.
I should look to the future, but there is none. Winter is a ruthless, thankless, endless obstacle. The very thought of a possible spring is inconceivable. It no longer exists.
Jon Varga
Caught in the lethal jaws of an unforgiving midnight
My writing, my words, my unintended thoughts and images are merely SHIT. Forget them.
P.S.
I do not believe that there will ever be surgery on my arm - - they are stalling again, as usual, after five months. I have no help here whatsoever. Prayers won't help. I'm ready to EXPLODE!!!
I hear you. And wish I could take your hand and help. But this is all I can do.
ReplyDeleteThey ARE not, Jon. Your words are powerful.
ReplyDeleteI’m here, reading what you share, and keeping you in my thoughts.
ReplyDeleteI do so wish things would change for you.
ReplyDeleteI hope the surgeon can finally take care of your arm.
Being stuck in hospice--that alone would make things feel dark.
I keep praying for a surgeon to enter the picture.
"Prayers won't help."
ReplyDeleteGive me a specific prayer to pray. I will pray it. You pray it. And we'll see.
They are not, Jon! As often happens, a phrase will feel immensely relatable. For instance: "Forget the past. No one is left to embrace it." I'm copying that for my own someday memoirs.
ReplyDelete