Feeling the warmth of the sun on a cloudy day. A glimpse into a blind billy goat's unique, ever changing perspectives.

2017 05 22: Journal Post Page 5 May 22, 2017

Filed under: Essay,Faith,Family,Life,Perception,Personal Challenge,Writing — DP Lyons @ 7:07 am

Hello again, and I hope everyone is having a great Monday.

This is another excerpt from my personal journal. The following was written in April of 2011, and describes the happenings of July 8, 2010. This particular day was a vertical romp of immense emotional instability for me. Putting it in different terms, it was a frigging electric shock to my goat fuse box that had me running through the wild kingdom’s dictionary of altered emotions.

Anyway, thanks for putting up with the ramblings of said goat.
Take good care.


Page 5
July 8, 2010

Lynne and I arrived at St. Joseph’s hospital in Bangor that Thursday afternoon around 2:30. We went in, found the Hyperbaric Unit, and sat down for a preliminary interview with one of the nurses. During the interview, she asked me if I smoked, and I said yes. She seemed troubled by this and asked me when the last time I had a cigarette was. I told her about a couple hours ago. At first they didn’t want me to have the treatment because of the underlying health concerns related to smoke and the lungs. The capillaries in the lungs would be greatly affected by the treatments and having them laden with nicotine was of great concern. I don’t know why, but they agreed to let me proceed with the treatments. My heart sank and lifted again in a matter of seconds. I don’t know how I kept from going through a mental break down, because I sure felt like I was going to. Take my emotions and put them over here, then again over there, and then yank them back over here again. Thank you, and yes, tug them back now. There you go. No, not there, over in the next room. There, much better.

I really felt as though the treatments would have a positive effect on me. I felt it in my heart that there was something that would rescue me from my dark corridor of despair. Something had to get me the hell out of here, and this had to be it. It had to be.

I felt so good, and so full of faith and hope. My God how far could my emotions swing? There had to be a limit.

I was told to undress into a Johnny and then I was slid into the chamber. There was a 2-way intercom set up in the chamber so that I could communicate with the head nurse during the procedure. I was excited and scared and hopeful and fearful and just plain worn out. The session started with the oxygen level pressurizing to 100 percent oxygen. This took roughly 20 minutes and during the whole time my ears were closing tight. It was rather painful after a few minutes. I had to keep clearing my ears every 30 seconds or so. The speaker was hooked up to a TV in the room, so I could hear it. The whole while I was reaching 100 percent oxygen, or as they call it, “going down”, the nurse was talking to me to make sure that I was doing ok. I made it down all the way, and then my ears felt fine. I stayed at 100 percent for roughly 1.5 hours and then they brought me back up to normal air levels.

I could have sworn that while I was in the chamber, my eyesight was doing some weird stuff. I could see bursts of light and shades of contrast that I could not before. I started crying a few times because I felt as though I was getting some kind of positive results happening. I don’t know now that I received any positive happenings from the treatments. I guess maybe that I was convincing myself that something good was going on inside my head. I was just so damn hopeful.

I came out of the chamber certain that I had received some benefit from the procedure. The Doctor came in the room and was very inquisitive as to the results. She did seem sort of disappointed after she realized that there was no major changes in my sight. I tried to convince her of the certain improvements that I had convinced myself of. This had to work, right? It just had to.

There was a feeling that I was going through. I felt as though I might have to lie to her so that she would continue the treatments. If she knew, or thought that there was no positive results at all, maybe she would terminate the sessions. She would terminate any chance of me seeing again. I needed to convince her that something good had happened. She had to understand.

I look back now and wonder if I was being completely truthful or not. Was I stretching the facts? Was I suffering from some sort of delusion of reality? Had I convinced myself that something good had happened when it hadn’t? Was I grasping for a little more hope?

I know now that what I was experiencing was my last grasp at sight. My last chance to see my world again. My last chance to control my destiny. My last chance at a normal life. As normal as I could ever perceive it to be that is. Pitiful how we think we are in total control of anything. We are in such non-control that it is funny.

Well, I left the hospital that afternoon feeling that after 3 or 4 more treatments, I would start to see some good results. I would get some of my sight back. I was sure of it.

The McDonald’s food, sadly so, calmed my nerves on the ride home.

Another sightless day was winding down, and tomorrow’s forecast looked like another roller coaster for sure.

To be continued…


2017 05 21: Journal Post Page 4 May 21, 2017

Filed under: Essay,Faith,Family,Life,Perception,Personal Challenge,Writing — DP Lyons @ 9:49 am

And it’s another beautiful sunny day here on the ridge.

This next excerpt was written spring, 2011, and describes the summer, 2010.

Those first few days in early July, 2010 were a blurred, chaotic mess of emotions that I had never experienced. I wanted everyone around me to know how bad it was, but I think that most of all, I showed them how unprepared I was for the rest of my life.

Oh how true those words are.



Page 4
July 7, 8, 2010

I stumbled around the house, crying and in a perpetual state of shock for the next couple of days. I don’t remember too much of those 2 days, except that I was fully reliant on my wife. I could not do anything, and fully expected the rest of my life to be like that. I must have seemed like a lost puppy.

We were in constant contact with my parents and siblings. I don’t know what I would have done with out them. Without my wife. She was, and has been incredible. I know that I am not the easiest person in the world to live with. I can’t imagine what her mind was going through those first few days, but I know that by me being totally helpless, well, it couldn’t have helped in the least.

Topping off all of what went on in Boston was the fact that while I was in the hospital, I was finding out that the health insurance that I had purchased just a couple months before, was only for accident coverage, and not for illness. This was solely my own fault, seeing as I am the one who bought the policy. I was looking to save as much money as possible. I was informed in front of a hospital room full of people that my coverage did not cover anything that I was having done. My heart sank and it just added to all of my confusion.

Well, there I was, stumbling around the house for 2 days. Completely oblivious to anything else in the world that was going on, I was wrapped up in a blanket of turmoil that I couldn’t escape from. It was a living hell that I was sure would never end. Perpetual torment and complete anguish. I felt like I was stuck in hell, and I was pulling everyone around me down with me. I knew it, and didn’t like it, but I couldn’t control it.

My wife Lynne had been in contact already with State and Federal offices to find out what we needed to do to get all of our collective ducks in a row. Lynne was somewhat familiar with the agencies, and that helped a great deal. I will continue to tell you that if not for her, I have no idea where I would be, nor do I like to think about it. Thank you god for bringing her into my life.

The next day, Thursday, was going as screwed up as the few days prior to that day. I sat in the living room all morning, crying and listening to Lynne working on the computer. I got a phone call from one of the doctors in Boston who told me of a procedure that involved a hyper-baric chamber process. I had been told a little about this while I was in Boston, but they told me that the chance of having anything positive come out of any treatments was poor at best. I was in the mind set that anything was better than nothing. I was also in the mind set that there had to be something that would reverse the damage done, and that I would have my sight, or some of it, restored. There just had to be something that would make this hell go away. This couldn’t be the rest of my life, could it?

The doctor from Tufts told me that there were a couple hospitals in Maine that had these chambers and that he was in touch with them. He was trying to have them call me and set some treatments up. My mind was racing like hell. He told me that there was a chance that they would refuse the treatments because of the slim chance of any benefit from them. He also said that the best results had occurred from these treatments with the affected person receiving the treatments within 24 to 36 hours of the initial trauma. I didn’t care about all of the details. All I knew was that I would do anything to be able to try. Anything.

A few hours passed from morning to afternoon. It seemed like an eternity. Once again, my mind was like a race horse cut loose in a pasture. From here to there, it was bouncing all over the place. Uncontrollable at best.

I did finally get a call from St. Joseph’s hospital in Bangor that afternoon on the 8th of July. The call came in around 2 P.M. and the director of operations at the center told me that I needed to come in that afternoon as soon as possible to receive a treatment. She told me also that the chances of any positive outcome were very slim, but I didn’t hear a word of it. I was talking to her as I was smoking a cigarette outside in front of the garage. I hung up the phone with her, looked at Lynne through the kitchen window and gave her the thumbs up sign. I walked into the garage and fell to my knees, crying and sobbing like a baby. Like a blind baby. I was overcome with emotions. A full spectrum of emotions all at once. I felt so damn good and relieved and a sense of exhaustion was starting to take hold of me. I think that right there I knew that from then on I was in God’s hands, and it was up to him. All I needed was the strength to get through it all.

A lot of my old AA sayings came into play. Turn it over, let go, Let God, the serenity prayer. The first three steps probably the most, I can’t, He can, I will let Him. The slogans raced through my head over and over.

And there we were, my wife and I, on our way to St. Joe’s hospital in Bangor.

To be continued…


2017 05 20: Journal Post Page 3 May 20, 2017

Good morning everyone.

This is the third post of my journal series. As I read through these pages, I am taken back to those days in 2010 when it appears that I started this next chapter in my life. Although the going was tough, it enabled me to experience a series of tests that I would have never been introduced to, had it not been for the loss of sight.

Life is what we make of it, and here’s a small slice of my life seven years ago.



Page Three:
Early July, 2010.

For the next two days, I was put through a barrage of tests which all came back with the results that I was dreading. My vision was permanently impaired, and would not ever get any better than it appeared to be right then. My heart sank when I heard one of the specialists say that there was nothing they could do for me. It was Tuesday morning, and I was just coming from the last series of tests.

They had ruled out all of the other probable causes of the stroke, and pinpointed the root cause as a central retinal arterial occlusion. The blood flow had been cut off to the retina from in behind the eye. It appears that the walls of the artery collapsed, thus shutting down the blood supply. This is what happened over and over again, and the final few times on that Saturday morning finally did me in. It was just too much for the retina to handle, and it finally shut down.

It was also thought to have been caused by the continued lifelong deterioration of the arterial wall, which was the direct result from the radiation that I received as an infant to combat the retinal cancer. This form of radiation, which was very new, as well as severely intrusive on outer lying tissue, was the culprit.

I will never forget Dr. Witkin’s comments made to me in his Waterville office a few weeks later. He said that in his opinion, I had been given 50 years of vision in that eye, and from his perspective, that was a miracle in its own right. I had never thought of it like that, and have never thought of it any other way since that day. He spun my mental state around 180 degrees that day, and I owe a lot of my rehabilitation, or ability to stay focused enough to move on, on those comments.

After all of the dust had settled from the tests in Boston, a call was made and Matt came to take me back home. I was never so happy to see him as I was that afternoon when he arrived in my room at the hospital.

I did not want to be in Boston for one more second. Not one. I had had enough bad news, and wanted to say goodbye to the town where so much hope had been shattered. The dwindling hope faded as we drove closer and closer to Maine and my Battleridge home.
I had not had a cigarette in over 2 days. So I think I smoked around a pack on the way home. We stopped at Mickey D’s on Rt. 1 on the way back to Maine. The food never tasted so good, and the caramel ice coffee hit the spot.

When we finally arrived at home, I felt completely alone. I know that my wife was there, and the comfort that I had in knowing that she was waiting for me is indescribable. But even though she was there waiting for me, I felt as though there was a huge blank sheet of paper in front of me that represented the rest of my life. My life was at that point and time, very uncertain at best. It was as though someone had taken my life story, and ripped it in half and thrown it in the trash. What in hell was I supposed to do now?

So much of my life was based on pure complacency. So much of it was just robotic at best. I liked my life, but probably most of all I liked the unchanging ways of my life. There was a routine that I had grown to accept as just the way things were. I had routines that I had created, and that was just fine with me, just fine and dandy. What in the hell was I going to do now? I felt completely vulnerable and totally at risk to everything around me that I couldn’t see anymore. That was the scariest and probably the most frightful times that I had ever felt. I was completely at the mercy of everything around me. My senses were all messed up. My thoughts continually veered the wrong way down a one way street. I could come up with a thousand metaphors and they would all fit. Every one of them.

Those next few days were some of the longest of my life. I was receiving phone calls from my family continuously. They were very far away, but they seemed so very close. I did a lot of crying and complaining those next few days. Hell, those next few months. I guess I still do go through some of the same feelings now as I did back then. I feel as though I can handle the emotion swings a lot easier now.

I did continue to smoke those next few days, and that must have worried Lynne to no end. Just think of it, a blind guy banging his way outside through the garage to light his fingers on fire while trying to light a cigarette. Crazy is the best adjective I can think of. That would all come to an end sooner than I ever imagined. Thank God. I never ever saw myself quitting smoking. Never in a million years. I saw myself choking on those damn cigarettes until the day I died. Pitiful.


2017 05 19: Journal Excerpt Page 2 May 19, 2017

Good day readers.

The following is an excerpt continued from my 2010 journal. This is page 2, which started on the morning of July 3, 2010. This was a rough day for the Battleridge Lyons clan, but through it all, we stuck together and held each other tightly. I thank God I had my son and wife there, and am grateful to have them with me still today.

And away we go with Page 2.


Page 2

When I woke the next morning I was in the midst of another episode, a stroke in my right eye. I lay in bed and waited for it to subside. As it finally did seem that it was ending, I started to get out of bed. I didn’t make it very far though as I slid right into another one before I could pull my shirt on. Down in bed I lay again.
Funny thing was that during these 2 back to back strokes I never felt like my vision would be permanently damaged because of all this. I guess that after all these years with good vision, even though it was in only one eye, I was convinced that I would always be ok when it came to my vision. Gullible? Naive? Complacent? I guess I was a lot of things.
So there I was. Confused and a little disoriented by what was going on. I did manage to finally get dressed and take the dogs out for their morning walks. I was having trouble seeing as I walked them, but I did get around the back yard with no problems.
I got them back inside the house and started back in preparing for the day we had planned. Jack was supposed to come out and spend the night with us. We had planned to take him to see the fireworks in Dexter that night. From what I can remember I seemed to have 1 or 2 more small episodes in the next hour or so.
Finally, I had one happen around 10 o’clock. This one was the one that did me in. It seemed to come in waves and waves. Finally after an hour or so I noticed that my vision was not returning as it had done so many times before. I was left in total darkness except for a little light around the outer edges of my fields of vision. Time passed and my son and grandson arrived. I was starting to get a little scared that maybe things were a little different and that maybe I was not going to get it back.

After an hour or so my wife called Dr. Lavin and he told us that he would meet us at his office in Waterville. It was a Saturday so he would have to come in by himself and open the office.
The 4 of us piled into vehicles and headed for Waterville. Dr. Lavin met us at the office and we all went in. He took me immediately into the exam room and proceeded to give me a going over. He did pretty much the same things that he did back in June when I had my initial bout while working.
After the exam he got online and did some research into what was happening to me. He also got on the phone to Dr. Chang at Tufts Medical Center in Boston.
Dr. Chang, after consulting with his boss Dr. Duker, told Dr. Lavin to reduce the pressure inside the eye by extracting fluid from the eyeball with a syringe. It did not work and we left for home after an hour or so with me in the same condition as I went in with.
Over the rest of the afternoon we waited around the house, not knowing what to do, or what was in store. The rest of the afternoon Dr. Lavin was researching and communicating with Dr. Chang. He called us up periodically to see if there was any change in my status. There was none for the rest of the afternoon and into early evening.
Around 8 pm, Dr. Chang called us up at home and told me that I needed to get my butt to Boston quick as I could. It was like someone flipped a switch and we were off! We headed into Waterville to get Matt to take me. Luckily we, Lynne managed to wake him as he was sleeping. He was supposed to work that night. Matt and I flew down the interstate and arrived in Boston around 1 am. I was surprised how easily Matt found the way. Even though we did get lost in and around the city, it seemed relatively easy for him. I imagine that he was quite nervous and maybe a little uneasy or scared to say the least. He is quite a guy.
That particular day, Saturday leading into Sunday, seemed to never end. It was from my perspective, the day the earth stood still. I have to recreate it in bits and chunks in my mind. It all seemed to happen very fast at times and then again at times, it was a dramatic blur of a nightmare. Not once during the day did I realize that my vision was permanently impaired. Not once. I guess that I was naive to say the least. Probably by myself having always been naive, it helped me to handle everything a little calmer and more relaxed? If that be the case, then I hope I continue to have a smidgen of naiveté for the rest of my life.

To be continued…


2017 05 18: Journal Post: Page One May 18, 2017

Today is May 18, 2017. The following 1 page excerpt is taken from a journal I started in the winter of 2010. I haven’t read through this piece of writing since I wrote it, so I figured I would start posting it, page by page, to this blog.
I had not been writing long when I started this journal. A few emails back and forth to family and friends was just about all I had been doing, as I had only recently learned touch typing, as well as using a screen reader with the computer, which for me was a very strange, new world.

Ok then. Here we go.


Page 1
December 2010,

OK so I have been through quite a lot. I have experienced probably more in my life than most people. I don’t feel any different or special because of it. Most of the time, I feel as though I have just lived a life. A life that is not really different than most people. Not any more difficult, or hard, or more full of obstacles. I am just the owner of another ordinary life.
I have had a few obstacles put in my path, but haven’t we all? Aren’t we all handed a boat load of life bending turns and hills and twists and hairpin corners? Don’t we all seemingly go through similar hardships and rough times? I hear every day of tragic events from all around the world. My life seems rather good when compared to what other people are going through on this hectic blue marble we call earth. In just one revolution we are transformed, propelled, enabled, held back, stepped over, left out, included in, forgotten about, lied to, sung about, hugged, punched, kicked, pulled, stepped on, stepped over, walked around, helped through, sent back, pushed aside, and on, and on, and on. It never stops. Life just keeps coming at you whether you are ready or not.

I have felt on many occasions that I was not prepared for life, and have seemed, on many occasions, that I was winging it, we must all feel that way quite a lot, I would imagine. Life sure has a way of throwing a bag full of wrenches at you.

I suppose that situations in my life have kept me from really concentrating when I should have been. I always seemed to be preoccupied with some things other than whatever it was that I should have been paying attention to.

I have recently become blind as of this past summer. It has been a rather trying 6 months for me. I should tell you that I lost my left eye to retinal cancer as an infant.

The recent problem with my right eye started last June when I lost my sight for roughly 45 minutes. It did return that day, and I was left with a blind spot almost directly in my line of sight. The doctors told me that an artery inside the eyeball had collapsed and the loss of blood flow had caused the temporary blindness, and the blind spot. It also was the cause of the glow that surrounded everything I saw. My hazy blurry condition lasted a month, and had actually gotten a little bit better. It had gotten better to the point that I was going to try to go back to work on the day after the 4th of July. I was sort of actually enjoying my month off. I was able to get outside and do quite a lot after a couple weeks because my sight had gotten that much better. I had my garden all in, the Japanese Willow bush behind the garage had been dug up and moved. The trees and shrubs out beside the barn had been pruned and cleaned up nicely. I was rather happy with the amount of yard word that I had been able to do. The last week of what was adequate vision was a good working week also. I had managed to weed the entire garden except for about 2 rows. I was feeling good. Tired, but well. That afternoon after Lynne finished work, she came out back to ask me if I would like to go get something to eat and run a few errands up to Skowhegan. I said sure, as I was bushed and could use a break. It had been warm and sunny all week out in the garden. I was hot, sunburned and hungry as hell. We were off.
The trip to Skowhegan was like any other of the 4,231 trips we had taken there in the past. We got some food from Mickey D’s and I went in to Hannaford’s to get a few items we needed. I did see my friend Artie’s wife at the checkout. We exchanged conversation and I asked her how the hell Artie was doing. He has been through his own hell these past few years.
I exited the store, got into the van, and we drove out of the plaza. As soon as we got out onto Rt. 201 I started to have another episode with my right eye. This time it was more sudden than the one on the 2nd of June. It was the 2nd of July, and the geometric prisms that were dancing in front of me were Pink Floyd’ish psychedelic shapes that I had only dreamed of before this day. All I could say to Lynne was, “OK, here we go again,” At the time I was not concerned about the vision loss, as I was sure that it would return, just as it had the first time. Little did I know that I was in for quite a ride the next 24 hours.
My vision did return just as we were getting back home. I noticed that things seemed a lot more blurry and cloudy and all bright and hazy. More so than after the first episode in early June. I managed to walk the dogs and a few other normal things that I usually did as the day was winding down. My wife Lynne and I watched Ice Road Truckers, but I couldn’t see what was going on on the screen. It was quite uneasy for me, but I still believed that it would get better. Later that night I noticed that the blind spot had crept right in front of my line of sight. It was noticeably worse than before and it made it quite impossible to watch and comprehend anything that I was seeing on TV. As was the case in early June, when items were in the blind spot area, they were intensified in a color schemed rainbow sort of distorted prism. Hello Pink /Floyd was all I could picture. It was weird indeed.

I fell asleep that night still comfortable with the feeling that everything would get better. Little did I know what was in store for me that next morning.

To be continued…


2017 05 17 Essay, Poetry: Old Habits May 17, 2017

Hey there.

I just finished another semester at college last Friday, and as the dust settled down, a thought occurred to me. As much as it feels like I just finished something, there’s something else that’s just about to start. It’s as if I needed to finish one thing, so I could get started on another. Ain’t life funny like that sometimes?

I guess it’s all about the task at hand, like life is one “thing” after another. Don’t you dare loosen your grip, because there’s another one coming around the corner with your name written all over it. No time for self adulations or being able to take a break. Nope. None of that, well, that is if you’re not one to grab a seat and take it easy for the rest of your life.

Granted I don’t take on things like I used to, but on the same note, it seems that things didn’t slow down much when it comes to me. I guess my memo didn’t get out on time or something.

I think we are who we are because of what we do. Perhaps you can spin that around to look at it as though what we do is because of who we are? Maybe it’s a little of both?

The way I do things totally changed these past few years. My abilities changed, my perceptions changed, my reactions to certain things, how I move through my day, how I interact with folks, it’s so different today, and to think that with each day I see, feel and react to new things, or are they really new?

A year ago I lost the rest of my sight, and the changing happened all over again, or did it just continue? The light from the window, the shine of the chrome, the sun in the sky, the contrast of white on black, it all came to a screeching halt, and as I changed again, the way I think about things, realize things, perceive things, absorb things and search for things changed, again. I don’t see my vision changing any more. I don’t see myself trying to find the light, the shine, the morning haze, the evening stars, the full moon, because even though they’re still there, and I can see them in my mind, I’ll never actually see them again.

It’s funny though how I catch myself turning to try and see something going on around me, still. Standing in the bathroom a few days ago, I heard a strange bird call outside. I leaned over to the window and looked at the spruce tree outside, or where I thought the spruce tree should be. I didn’t realize I couldn’t see it until I had looked out through the window and up at the tree. As soon as I realized what I had done, I smiled, chuckled, shook my head and turned away from the window. For those few moments, the picture in my mind turned itself into reality, and boy did it feel good, if only for a moment.

I do these same sorts of things a lot while I do up the dishes in the kitchen. When I am wiping them dry, I turn to put the dish away in the cupboards, and sometimes I reach out to grab the cupboard door handle, and I can see it. I reach out for it, and there it is, exactly where I reach, exactly where it should be. Man oh man how the mind can help to fill in the blanks.

Old habits have a hard time dying sometimes, or is it that I’m still trying to live?

The ability of the mind to see is a habit that I hope will never die.
So far, so good.

The following poem was written a few years ago, but it seems to fit in with this essay. I guess I’m continuing with the theme of April. An essay, a poem, a mark in time.

Thanks for stopping by, and have a great day.



Mindful Sight

Darkness to the left and to the right
The vision, unseen, lies just ahead
Trudging on through muddled footsteps of the mind
The glimpse of light stolen from sight

With staff in hand the journey begins
Step lightly over unseen paths
The mind wraps around it all
Announcing the unseen visions

Walk through the fear and anxious days
With eyes not seeing, the stories still unfold
The pages turn one by one
And endless chapter of a new journey begins

Helpful hints arise amidst the countless curves
The paths walked before call out with familiar phrase
Twisting there and here against the grain
Rolling on towards sunlight’s invisible touch

With memories of sighted mind
I reach for the light within
Cascading down through the limbs of life
Refreshing the heart, mind and soul

Falling forward, life tumbles on
Unknown roads and unseen faces
Call out a familiar name
Reaching out a familiar hand

Oh humbled soul, take the steps
Walk the mile of frozen fear
The book is open and lesson learned
True visions lie from deep within the pages

Sighted past, forget me not
Remind me of the colors I still see
Explain what I’ve been able to feel
Build shape from the things that I touch
Give voice to the faces dancing in my mind


2017 05 15 Poetry: Bitter Grin May 15, 2017


Addiction comes in many different forms, but they are all very similar. The capture of the spirit and soul leaves the addicted with a feeling of helpless, hopeless destruction that can happen slowly, or quickly. Deception is the key, as false promises tend to fool even the strongest of hearts.

I have suffered through periods in my life where my addictions controlled how I acted, reacted, believed, and with a simple alluring stare, the addictions convinced me that I couldn’t live without their influence.

Through the help of loved ones, the halls and my God, I have been able to keep away from the spiraling decent that darkened so many of my days, but in reality, I only have today, and my oh my how many of the todays can seem to last forever.

The following poem was written with respect to addiction. It’s a rather dark poem, but it’s also a reality check, from my own perspective anyway.

Thanks for dropping by, and please remember that no matter where you go, there you are, so try and make a good day out of it.



Bitter Grin

Beasts of desire approach a vacant soul
Scattered notions of sympathy lend nothing for a fevered lust
Broken fingers reach for the hand of a deceitful friend
Agonizing hope beside a bitter grin become common place

Soldiers of sorrow hungrily loom over their pleading prey
Character of doubt accepts the tainted promises from a darkened enemy
Merciless pawns of destruction revel amidst a weakened foe
Spiralling depths completely consume an altered stare

Weapons of suicide are thrust into a hollow victim
Shattered dreams are paired with unforgiving reality
Innocence of the addicted wanders through the haunted night
One single choice is disguised as a thousand possibilities