Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for pain
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.
Your Picture
After all these years,
I found your picture on a friend’s Facebook page,
and when I look at you,
a small part of me (a very small part)
thinks that wanting you,
having you,
would steal the wonder of you away from a deserving world.
But mostly,
when I see you, and your eyes,
(those eyes!)
full of hope and joy, I just want you.
I want you all to myself.
I want you completely.
And I want to give myself to you holding nothing back.
But you’re a continent away,
and you have undoubtedly forgotten
the pull between us,
the tension,
the lust,
the powerful urges.
And you have undoubtedly forgotten
the push between us,
the pain,
the anger,
the heartache;
Otherwise,
your eyes wouldn’t be so
full of hope
and joy.
Something stirs
Something stirs within me,
something lifts my head from the pillow,
and I lie awake
feeling like I’ve forgotten to do something,
or I’m late,
or I’ve left something behind,
but I just can’t put my finger on
what it is that has woken me up.
Silver moonlight shines through the window
and casts blurred shadows
in the room
and in my mind.
Cold settles into my bones,
but this vague feeling of unease
is so persistent
that I get out of bed anyway
and look around,
listening for something,
anything to explain my concern,
but the silence that night
is covered in goose down
or six inches of new-fallen snow
that quiets every noise.
I wonder then if someone I know
is in pain
and they are reaching out to me
in ways that we do not understand,
and that even though I don’t get the message,
I know something is wrong.
I lay my head back down on the pillow
and pull the blankets close.
Will I remember this feeling in the morning?
Doubtful.
I drift off to sleep.
Fortune 2
Fortune is mine, but not vulgarly bright.
It’s the realization that I have tried.
It cannot be weighed or counted or such,
and yet I am richer than most by so much.
No one can possibly improve my gain,
for I discovered my wealth in the depths of my pain.
And until I hit rock bottom again,
I’ll be so much richer than all other men.
Jagged Edge
Standing on all four
lurching.
moto speed.
Quickly going nowhere fast.
Pressure builds
inside a candy-glass sphere.
Tiny fault lines
shiver
along it’s inside surface.
The shattering is muffled,
you hear nothing.
Years later,
the broken glass
in tightly locked room,
cuts you.
You remember the pain
and taste your blood.
Malcolm James Furst 