A Walk Amongst My Tombstones

"It is the songbird turned to dark"

"It's the loudest when the rest of the world is still and quiet. When the bustling and laughter cease and the carefree conversations of those so lucky to have them come to rest, that's when he finds himself so boisterous. So vain as to relish his voice above all others, he chooses first a whisper to gather my attention just as when you hold your breath to hear creeping thunder on the air of distant storms. I don't want to listen; I don't want to hear these heavy burdens from this forked tongue. Such pestilence drips as honey from the comb to claim my ear for rest. My chest grows tight and the frost comes quick, anticipating wicked chastisement from behind slick teeth. What began as the softest of indictments has become deafening despair. He plunges his belittlements to the deepest caverns of my consciousness, basking in delight as they echo throughout. So much truth in these lies. So much despondency created from miniscule seed. He has many names, but in my ear, he calls himself Depression."

I'm nothing. I'm nothing but a father whose children look to him for guidance and unconditional love. I'm nothing but a son whose parents want the best for him. I'm nothing but a loyal friend to those so lucky as to call me such. I'm nothing but a broken child of God.

From its twisted petals radiates the faintest scent of watermelon. Memories of summer sun and the sounds of Independence Day mingle with smiles and laughter as if tomorrow will never harm us. You always saw to that. We laid you beneath the wild mallow today. A place you would have loved to have lain above, resting your eyes beneath a summer sun, knowing you couldn't possibly be loved any better. Finding comfort in simplicity and beauty, I would have lied down with you, my head on your back and your ears finding my hand to scratch them as always. I'd have unburdened all of my woes upon you, and you would have lain there among the mallow listening intently, the occasional kiss of my hand for comfort. In my thoughts and memories you will always be as jubilant as fireworks on the Fourth of July, and the scent of watermelon will bring a warmth to my soul. Beneath the wild mallow I have laid my heart.

I don't want to forget. Though all these memories are tainted with sorrow, I want to remember. Every fleeting scene filling my mind's eye like old movies painted in their blues and grays. It's a nostalgic flickering that paces with the beat of my heart just as a metronome would set time for the loneliest of strings. I don't want to forget. As my mind writhes in ceasless agony, I can't turn away. I'm baptized in waves of grief on shores of hopelessness, while watching the moments I found most beautiful. Love is as cruel as it is sweet.

Maybe in another time, life could be beautiful again.

-jahaig