We Let Play God

Were it all to end tomorrow, if I were to step in front of a train or off a cliff, splattered on the end of an assassins' bullet or quietly in my sleep from the grace old age and depth of sweet dreams, upon my ascension, looking back before turning away to face the oncoming hereafter, I strive now to have one observation, to look at this life and say; I did the best I could with this collection of blessings and demons. 

I hope to have been a worthy friend, husband and father, to have written some good words and painted some good pictures. I've danced with the shaman, endured and survived tragedy, been the conduit for miracles, blessed by lamas and consecrated by bishops, stood center stage before standing ovations, been drawn back by my guardian angels from the hand of my own undoing and somehow found the courage to defend and persevere when all around was injustice. 

If this life, abruptly, right this moment, ended. I would leave happy. I've known true love. We created beautiful children. Realizing that I am supremely imperfect and learning to love myself nonetheless is among my greatest victories and fount of constant nurturing and attention. Striving day by day to apply the same acceptance of myself to all of mankind and history. It is a life's work that will never be complete but I'm doing the best I can. 

The first images of the poem that follows were inspired by the David Bowie song 'Always Crashing in the Same Car' and subsequently egged on by memories of encounters with various people over the years that I came in time to realize, much as I loved them, I could do naught else for them but to step back, leave them to their miseries, trials and ordeals and pray for them to arrive at what would be, for each,  their wisest and just conclusions. For as much as I wanted to help each of them, theirs was not my fight and this was the best I could do. I mean, fuck it, at the end of the day, it's all God or anyone can ask of us and not be disappointed at the results. 

I tend to my wound
as best I can
trying to find its source.

Cutting and salting the flesh
deeper each time 

crying out for those who ride 

in the car
that crashes
again and repeatedly again.

Glass that flew
innocent steel
turned into swords
against its will
coerced into destruction
then running away
from its unintended malice
quickened decay
and chivalrous relinquishment
to the former angel
who sat by God’s hand.

I feel for them
as I do for myself
except that I am not
soiled by time.

But perhaps I am
I ponder while bleeding
and clutching to keep
my soul for pouring out
and my ear to be turned
away into deafness
cast into trash
lining the alleys
streets and the doorways
encumbered and doting
homeless at home
lost inside
with the maniac
pounding the door.

Light extinguished
blue tarp draping
windows and walls
hushed from within
while the needle
stitches the flesh
back to itself
closing and simmering
this unlighted world
while I cut
just to see
the world within
the light
shrouded in darkness
the ridgid dissolve
and the power
of what lies beyond
when we leave all this
and return
back to his side
to his hand
away from the evil
we let play God.

As always, thank you so much for reading.

All my love always. Bless your life.

Max