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Apathy Denied

Apathy can be the birthplace of regret.

Shall I tell you a secret?
If I deigned to keep yours?
I had not a heart that ticked anymore
it beat each breath
and it drank such blood
yet when It falls unto death?
Did it imbibe, derive what it should?
Consume and become?
All that it so, conceivably could?
but so you see, between you and me
between love and regret
perhaps, its taken a lot
but it has not finished, not just yet
+++
And before it dries
back into dust
between now and then
I cannot wait for the trust
staying still where its always been
under the sun
into the soil
when alls said and done
upon the air
and under the water, ill be known as the heart
that just couldn’t bother.
+++
to watch ones life through a window, filthy
from the outside in, to stare
it has its way of waking one
from a dream, monotonous, yet lovely fair.
Jolting you from comfort yet still a nightmare.
+++
resigning
retreating
awake but receding
withdrawing long before the battle begins
shielding the soul from the fear of sins
letting blessings pass by for the fear of error
to feel such terror
of the misconstrued, for a mistake could loom?
writing never, for solecism skulks in the shadows
never walking the deep night under a flawless moon
for a vile fiend, afar doth bellows
so in summation a soul cannot grow
never knows what truths may show
Solace and repose is not always safe
what feels good is not always the way
yes! give me the pain that is fleeting
before that unending numbness of never bleeding
what is life without my blood not seething?
the heart is human
let not this engine of flesh pump blood
only to freeze cold in the limbs of a machine
dare to wonder, tear asunder, dare to dream?
embrace not the caress of ice
never let life not unto you, entice
to fathom such beauty, such vigor, such love
find the grim, though intermittent, can take you above
to feel and discern the pain of the ages.
we were not born to lock our souls within cages
to crawl youthful and pure, willing, into the grave
so long before the heart hallows, and its hum stops
from such a fate, risk all, be brave.
cut the poppy bloom from out of the copse
and in its place the seed of a rose red
and graft yourself tight, eagerly intertwine
and so avidly bind
and this insipid skin shed
long before withering and both falling dead.
in simplicity tis this, ignore the road of self-sympathy
proceed beyond the deep mud of apathy.
trap not such fire from the soul
beneath the safety of a coffin door
take heed of your indifference, and from these heights, extoll
before your clock itself ticks no more
+++
Woe be, to the extreme fatalist
and those that live without breathing, bemoan!
is it not a comedy and a tragedy, perhaps a gift?
when one can see this earth burst open and shift?
I cannot feign to understand that which cannot be contained, even if it were in vain.
Let one attempt to explain
Escape the the soft bosom of the game
that which must, your told, be played
never fear being set aflame
for all to soon such a flame will fade
defy your compass and weather the storm
dare to be dauntless, when such a spark is born.
is explicit consent?
clear and straight agreement?
what if one never gave in?
finding the nerve to grin
at a powerful master
to stand firm beneath
the ensuing disaster
one may search the righteous divine for an odious hell and find it there waiting
and then breath in darkness to truly see the face of pure light pulsating
you may find what you have always been awaiting
for a life wasted and you never even knew
its what you were craving.
+++
Apathy has an ugly fist
its grasp brings with it
something worse than contempt
the silence of love under water
while it brittles its bone
yet still, the weakness of its grip
is stronger than stone.
 
—C.R.Stanger
© March-2020
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