Foreword

Love and the Loser

Our society is changing, yet not obvious at first. But on a deeper level there is an injustice that’s crept under the back door like a fungus that is only attracted to healthy relationships. Infecting them as a virus and leaving emotional carnage in its wake.

I don’t know why our culture suffers so, nor if it’s isolated, yet the nemesis looms.

Has our material mindedness brought us to a point where objects outshine people and creation itself?  Perhaps the media has taught us that it’s normal and acceptable behavior, or maybe our new credo is not one for all but rather all for oneself as our seething selfishness erodes moral boundaries; one can only surmise.

Not two years ago I watched as the last of the married couples I had known crashed and burned. I can’t say for sure why this one affected me more than all the others, I had been involved in the others just the same, yet this one caused me to break down. I think at that time I was beginning to see the big picture as I cried out in rage, “Why doesn’t anyone stay together anymore!” I tried everything to keep them together, not wanting to see those children I had grown to love suffer as I did as a boy when worlds collide.  I felt helpless watching the dynamics of bitterness unfold as their relationship mutated into a vile creature of malice and revenge, inadvertently getting caught in the middle.

This poem capture’s the essence of their struggle just it has for many here at the nest, where heretofore this silent witness shall stroke the python as love’s lament spurns a rainbow with each tear. But before I begin let’s ask ourselves why we feed our ego’s with intellectualisms and frivolous pursuits, selling out on the only thing that makes sense in this mixed up world; our hearts?

Wilted Gardens

By H.J. Cruz

7/07/07

And do you Mr. Love struck loser

Take this woman to be your…

To have and to hold until

The Earth no longer orbits the sun,

Until her breasts scrape the path

Well worn from sacrifice and servitude?

Young lovers sequestered in earnest,

Such promise, such passion, so precious,

He was handsome, gentle and kind,

She was vivacious and oozing her prime.

I was the best man!

I give unto thee symbols of longevity

Wine to ensure your happiness,

Olive oil to garnish and lubricate

Seeds, sew your credible garden proliferates

Turn the page

Love made manifest, a child was born,

Then their were two, life’s all shiny & new!

The golden children the focal point,

Lives redefined their future now primed,

The world at their finger tips.

Turn the page

Somewhere in the midst

Life’s inadvertent twist,

While in a tizzy to provide

That tender selflessness fell aside,

A fecundity for fungus.

Turn the page

Arguments instead of discussions,

Sleeping quarters, collective borders,

My house, my money, my life!

What was plural became singular.

Tears enshrouding young cheeks,

Listening beyond contentions corridors.

The fungus silently crept.

Turn the page

A vehemence rages out of control

Leaching idealisms, sacking loves soul.

Now the ax falls; infidelity reigns.

Words become missiles intended to maim,

Bloody efflorescence: sharks encircle,

Legal predators feeding on the flesh of misery,

Motions are cast; judicial injustice!

The fungus blooms consuming hopes remnants.

Turn the page

The Aftermath:

I returned to help sweep

Razor sharp shards now in a heap,

Yesterdays mirrors once housing reflections,

Aspirations and dreams; two lovers collection.

A walking corpse of a man,

With hollowed out eyes and trembling hands.

 The power of forgiveness I should reiterate,

But then I realize it’s much too late.

Dare I attempt to remove one of a

Thousand poison daggers supporting him?

I dare not.

I shall steady his trembling hand in mine,

Let my ears become spittoons for heart phlegm

For born suffrage knows no solace.