Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for life
Perspective
Broken and desperate for someone to fix me and knowing that there is nothing to fix leaves me in an odd state, a state of frustrating acceptance that smells like apathy.
Seeing the great arc of my life, I am impressed with how much I’ve accomplished by living in the moment, but not this moment–not this moment.
At THIS moment, I am empty, and when I live in the moment, what I feel seems eternal, and eternal emptiness, though so ZEN seems so lonely.
Maybe I need to turn my head just so to get a different perspective.
The truth or a lie
My deepest memory,
my mother said to me,
life’s a fairy tale
with happy endings.
Life
is either
the truth
or a lie.
Could
be neither
or both,
tell me why
I never got my happy ending
I did my time and walked the line and
I’m losing all my faith
in human kind.
My mom and sister died
and left me all alone
With no one by my side
Nowhere to call my home
Pain
is either
the truth
or a lie.
Could
be neither
or both
tell me why
The world is full of death and anger
racing madly ever after
I can’t catch my breath.
I”ll lose my mind.
You walked into my life,
an unexpected joy you said,
welcome to my world
and happy endings.
Love
is either
the truth
or a lie.
Could
be neither
or both,
tell me why
I feel like I can’t love without you
Knowing all I do about you?
I need a piece of you
and peace of mind.
Broken (inappropriately lyrical)
Oh, I feel bro ken.
Though I know it isn’t true,
these words unspo ken
by others and by you
make me feel bro ken.
Hey, what am I to do
to fix this bro ken bo dy
……….bro ken mind and
….bro ken heart and
bro ken life…
Oh, I feel bro ken.
What am I to do?
Shouldn’t You Be Painting My Eaves?
The way you stood there
waving that brush around,
asking about MY name,
asking if you went to school MY sister,
makes me wonder if you want me
to tell you more than the facts, ma’am.
The way you stood there
asking for a glass of lemonade,
talking about how the bad mojo of someone with YOUR SAME NAME
ended up on your credit report,
and spelling your name,
middle name and everything,
makes me wonder if you want me
to know more than your name.
The way you stood there
all hips and arms and attitude
telling me how you wanted to be different from everybody else,
how you wanted to STAND OUT,
so you got a phone number that spells B-E-R-Y,
makes me wonder if you want me
to call you at home.
The way you stood there,
leaning in,
telling me about your OLD jobs,
your OLD home,
your OLD life,
your OLD love,
and how you found your way to MY world
from another, harder world,
makes me wonder if you just might want me
to gentle your world.
The way you went on and on
about the NEW love of your life
telling me about HER eyes
HER arms,
HER lips,
makes me wonder if I wonder too much.
Beauty, Death, Life
Beauty, in desperation, pauses to catch sight of that which eludes her, then resumes her frenzied search.
Death, in desperation, seizes the moment and steals life from beauty.
Life watches carefully, as beauty and death struggle mindlessly.
