Is Happy Really Happy

I sat at the table with my creamered up coffee and felt that famaliar wave of sadness hit me. It always came just after I had been awake long enough to remember what was wrong. Except nothing was any more wrong today than the thousands of days before this.

Staring into the day outside my window, I wondered what other people were doing. Were they laughing or working? Maybe working in their yard because the morning was the perfect mix of warm sunshine and gentle breezes? I did none of those things. Did everyone feel sad like me? Maybe this is normal and how we are meant to be. Maybe life goes on but never feels any better. Could I live here in this darkness? Is this all there is?

Happiness is something I cannot describe but I long to feel and longing is a strange beast. It’s something you desperately wish for but yet are afraid to have. I am afraid of that elusive feeling. Finding happiness means realizing the depth of the pain I’ve worn for 30 years. It means I look behind me and know what I could have had but didn’t get. It means a taste of pleasure that fades away leaving the darkness colder than it was before.

As caffeine begins to roll thru my brain I take a deep breath that turns into a sigh, and get up from the table. Client interviews and office cubicles and angry co-workers were waiting for me to brighten the atmosphere with my smile and positivity.

I waited for the numbness to overtake me and stepped into the shower.

Happiness is so overrated.

Alone at a table

Dementia

Jabbering incomprehensible
Thoughts
Hoping the melodious ensemble
Somehow
Flows into yesterday’s memory
He waits.
Traffic breathes slowly into the
Night
Methodically keeping pace into
8 am deadlines
While unheard mentions drip
Drip drop.
Scattered dreams lost among
Reality
Gives pause to a lonely man’s
Soul.
He looks to the world with eyes
Clouded
Waiting to hear her voice sing
A lullaby.
Hands worn and rough hold a
Picture
Edges torn and color faded
To gray.
He doesn’t know the face he
Sees
So he it draws it closer to feel
The love
His soul will not forget.

At Last

Elegance long forgotten
Wrinkled skin upon her hand
She looks to the horizon
Toes buried in the sand

A heart that  has been broken
Too many years to count
A smile’s faded glory
And a memory full of doubt

Did she waste her life on dreams
That she never saw come true
Did he  give a thousand promises
But never follow through

Did she stay because she loved him
Or cuz change is hard to take
Would happiness have followed
If she hadn’t feared the ache

Questions without answers
She can’t go back again
The past is set in stone now
The futures in the wind

Will it be a faded glory
Or a sign among the stars
A sunset on a mountain
And a healing in her heart

That finally sets her spirit free
To follow her own path
And begin to find within her
A happiness at last

©ljhgeist 10-2020

Life is Lie

Mesmerized by the crystal silence

Of a 4’oclock morning

I still my breath and listen

To the sound of your heart.

I remember the days

when every beat

Called me closer,

Every touch was a whisper

Every thought was a blurred

Sensation waiting to be filled.

Time was insignificant

Without an end or beginning

Yet it did what it always does

And passed unknowingly,

Carrying us blindly along.

Here. It is now, this minute,

This day of yet another lie.

The still of the pre-dawn passed

To frenzied morning noise.

You stir and I pretend to sleep

I hear the coffee begin to drip

A baby cries. The dog is waiting

At the door…

The Color of a Whisper

Today I learned
The color of a whisper
As it dipped right by
My sleeping ear…
Breathless and sweet
Quite yellow and bright
It folded itself
Lazily across my brow.

It swept down
My lashes then carefully
Danced along my nose
Dropping The scent of love
Into a forgotten dream
Before fading quietly
Into a Haze of modern noise

In a corner
Of a grunge colored
coffee shop
Behind a half raised shade
I watch the steam rise
From my comfort mug
And twirl along the
Rays of a quickly
Setting sun

A sip of
Sweet surrender
Brings a warmth
That fills my mind
With the color
of your softest voice

Here’s to a
chamomile memory
In the softest shade of gray
One that smells like laughter
In the early summer rain.

©Lyn Geist 2019

Who Pays a Poet?

Wrapped tightly in a poets mind
Just above the threshold
Rich with unspent emotion
Lie the vast empathic
Expanse of every tortured
Soul begging for an ear.

Listen. Poets hear
What isn’t spoken
Caressed and loved
They wrap it gently
Adding it to their collection
Of broken things.

They build an inner voice
And contain its steady hum
Until it becomes a roar.
It spills over like a boiling
pot on the fire and
Becomes a constant reminder of times best forgotten.

Surrendering relieves the pain
As it always does
Release is sweet, thoughts are rich
Yet the page is blank.
Forming words from
Memories and expectations
Let’s the unknown become known.

The effort to live in
Gently wrapped memories
And through vulnerable words
Threatens the delicate balance
Between happiness and despair.
Danger lurks as lips move
Across the page
Everyone’s a critic.

Thou shalt not fear
For the expressions
Hanging from the cuff
Are pressed between
Solid bound covers
Placed On a dusty shelf.
Upon their death
Memory stirs in those
Left behind.

Searching for answers
Their life is dusted off and
Pages are carefully turned
Until they become
Bigger than what they were.
Now infamous, they shall
Finally be heard…

Life is a Lie

Mesmerized by the crystal silence
Of a 4’oclock morning
I still my breath and listen
To the sound of your heart.
I remember the days
when every beat
Called me closer,
Every touch was a whisper
Every thought was a blurred
Sensation waiting to be filled.
Time was insignificant
Without an end or beginning
Yet it did what it always does
And passed unknowingly,
Carrying us blindly along.
Here. It is now, this minute,
This day of yet another lie.
The still of the pre-dawn passed
To frenzied morning noise.
You stir and I pretend to sleep
I hear the coffee begin to drip
A baby cries. The dog is waiting
At the door…

Loyalty

An old redwood fence,
grayed and cracked from years
Beneath an unforgiving sun
Wraps itself proudly
Around a red stone house.
It has seen young lovers grow old
And watched children flourish
And play under its watch
Only to leave and start a life
of their own.
It Stands proudly now as if
The weeds and wild flowers
Were kingly adornment
And pretends not to notice
It’s usefulness has passed.
Under the hot sun it sits
Embracing the broken red house
Steadfastly, Refusing to fall.

Subtle Moment

My eyes met yours
Quite by accident.
A glance across the room
As I listened to polite conversation,
Not really looking at anyone
Until you stepped through the door.
You filled what space was left
In an already crowded room.
I noticed your dark hair
Contrasted nicely
against your white shirt.
As your eyes looked into mine
Muffled conversation died
And I heard only the
Beat of my heart.
Looking away for the
Briefest of moments
I caught my breath.
Uncertainty turned to dissapointment
As I looked again
And you were gone.
The room suddenly turned
Cold and loud with chatter.
A forgotten void crept
Along the walls of my heart.
Only a moment but I’d
Never be the same.

Her Name

Her name,
carried by the evening breeze
Swept past the cherry tree
and danced around the dark vacant walls of the old Hanson place.
I could hear it still as it lunged into the canyon below,
And it echoed in my ears like a lost love.
From the darkest corner of my mind
And the brightest spot in my heart
Memories came crashing around me.
I closed my eyes which only served to breathe new life into every scene.
Under the yellowed glow of a city street light,
I stood and I waited.
I whispered, “don’t go” and flung my arms wide as though I could capture her name in the wind.
Garbage drifted past as I gazed
At a man walking his little dog.
He didn’t look at me. Was I really there?
Maybe I was just a dying name in the wind.