This is for Someone...

You know who this is for...
Posted 'specially for you.
:)

Kicking Trees

Why do we do the same things as others without thinking?

Giving Up

Wrote this a couple of months ago, but something happened last night that made me really feel it, so I'm posting it now.


I'm giving up, G-d.
I've done all I could.
I've traveled the roads
Climbed all the mountains
Built bridges
Sailed seas
Yet it seems I've remained
Where I began.

I'm giving up, G-d.
I've tried really hard.
I've dug tunnels
Squirreled through them
And back again.
Ran races in endless circles.
Flown over each tree
And bush.
But I haven't seen progress.

I'm giving up, G-d.
I thought I could
Do it all
But I was mistaken.

I’m giving up, G-d
And leaving it all up
To You.

Thank you, G-d.

One Tear

All I was waiting for
was one tear.
One little tear.
I needed it.
Needed to cry.
To let it all out.
But it wouldn't come.
I worked my self up
into a frenzy.
Screwed up my face.
Rubbed my eyes.
Waited
and waited
for that tear
to come.
But it didn't.
I couldn't cry.
Why?

Issues

Why do people like to create issues where there are none, yet disregard the very issues that are causing others to crumble?

Some things just plain irritate me, and this is one. Why make a problem out of something innocuous?

Grrrr.......

Hey Brother!

Hey, brother!
We haven't spoken for a while.
Well, maybe just a hello
Here and there,
But nothing like what we used to.

Remember Friday nights
When everyone else went to sleep
While we stayed up and chatted?
I miss those Friday nights.

Remember those school nights
When you'd be coming up from the basement
While I'd be coming down for a drink
And we'd sit at the kitchen table
And just talk about anything?
I miss those school nights.

Remember when you left for yeshiva
And though I couldn't see you much anymore
We'd still make the time for each other
Shmoozing on the phone
On each Friday morn
Wishing each other a wonderful Shabbos?
I miss those phone calls.

Lately, we just have not spoken.
You called me yesterday
And I put you on hold
And then you put me on hold
And then we were disconnected.
And I just couldn't get through again
To tell you just how much
I love you.

Good Night!

When people wish you "Good night" what do they mean?

Should you sleep well?
Not wake up sweaty?
Be able to wake up the next moring?
Be able to fall asleep?

I wonder...

Getting to Know You...

I ring her bell.
Barely a second passes
before I'm buzzed in,
though in the past
it took a couple of minutes.
I walk into the apartment.
She's sitting there.
Waiting.
I say hello
giver her a kiss
and ask her how her day went.

And then we begin.

I take out the camcorder
and ask a couple of
questions.
And she talks.
Tells the story
of a time I can't even
Imagine.
Of a place harsher than my worst
nightmares.

Tells of a time she barely
remembers
yet one that she feels
more than yesterday.

With nary a tear,
she speaks of the atrocities.
Of the family that was
but is no more
except in her heart
and in her dreams.

I marvel at her strength.
This short,
petite
weak woman
has such fortitude.

The half hour's up.
I get up
kiss her goodbye
and tell her I'll be back
next week.

Bobby
It's difficult
getting to know you
But I'm ever so grateful...

Sound of Silence

I love this song...
An old Simon and Garfunkel...

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk with you again,
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of
A neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.

Fools said I, you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you.
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed
In the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon God they made.
And the sign flashed its warning,
In the words that it was forming.
And the sign said, the words of the prophets
Are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls.
And whispered in the sounds of silence.

Source of Disillusionment

It irks me when I try so hard to forget the negative effect someone had on me, when I force myself to believe that what I remember is a figment of my imagination, when I've given too many excuses on her account...

It hurts me to think that I almost excused her for everything she did, that I placed the blame of disillusionment on myself, when in reality, nothing changed.

It pains me to realize that though I thought I was way past the biting remarks, the chaste stares, the subtle yet open hostility, the blatant ignoring, when faced with all that once more, I again felt inadequate.

Why does she always make me feel like I'm two?

I thought I was finally ready to forgive her, but I guess I can't just yet...

Underground

I came across a strange sight the other day, while I was going about my regular daily schedule. It kind of caught me by surprise, though I guess it shouldn't have.

There I was, strolling down the avenue, when I saw some people bent over, their heads stuck in the dirt. I quickly ran to get a shovel, to try and dig them out, but when I drew close to help them, they each declined assistance.

This struck me as abnormal. Why would someone dig a hole in the sand and bury his or her face beneath the soil? So I asked, and was given this reply "As long as our heads are buried in the sand, the world ceases to exist; all problems disappear. Why risk taking our heads out and reinstating the problems?"

All pleas to these interred fellows to see that the world continues was for naught. Trying to explain that their children were running into the street and were being run over, hurt and broken, fell upon deaf ears. "If I don't see it, it's not happening. I told my child not to run into the street; why would he disobey me?"

Please, I beg you! Ignoring problems will not make them go away. I'm giving you the shovel - won't you dig yourself out so that we can begin to help your children?

The Artist's Paradox

The master
artist
stands there.
Paintbrush in hand.
Dabbing color.
Smoothing lines.
Bringing life to a
blank canvas.

Take a step back.
Look at our
artist.
Straggly hair
half hidden
by a tilted
beret.
Paint spattered
smock.
Standing in a
sparse room
with naught but a
wobbly table
a glass of water
a bar stool
a slice of bread
and his pallette
and easel.

The finished
masterpiece
now devoid of the
artist
hangs
gilt edged and framed
above the
mantelpiece.
Below,
a fire crackles.
soft, dim lights
ensconce the painting
casting shadows
revealing depth.
Smooth velvet drapings
and shiny polished marble
surround the
masterpiece
and elevate it
to glory.

The maker.
The presenter.
Two different
worlds.

One creates the
beauty.
The other
uses it.

The creator of
beauty
seems barren without
yet rich within.

And the receiver?
He's beautiful without,
yet inside...

What a paradox!