#deadicated

CREATED FOR DESTRUCTION, CEASELESS CYCLES of birth & death, casting a blade & having blade cast into oneself. these words set off some familiar rage within him, something concealed with no room for breath. he’s held it captive in his palms, where sweat forms at his lance, where his fingers clutch for the sheer ounce of reassurance that this world is real & that he is alive. he doesn’t want it anymore. he never wanted this. some sick game of fate left on repeat, where pain knows nothing but hurt, sorrow, & rage. none of his father’s words can sweep the scars from his flesh. none of his words could right the wrongs of the past, or the treacherous fate which has stripped him of EVERYTHING. there is nothing for him here. 

the blood of one’s kin means nothing but the blood left to dry at the tip of his blade. he stands with eyebrows knit so tight he can feel pressure swell within him, headache’s onset forming beneath a shouldered mask ( the weight never relieves the pain beneath his eyes ). nothing is revealed but the scowl that he will not let falter, despite how it pleads to quiver with the grief buried beneath guilt, shame, resentment & some false facade of hatred. he never danced with the touch of forgiveness.

                                                       ‶  Your words are naught but excuses.  ʺ

it takes everything to speak, to carry the words through his tongue, & to sound so absolutely repulsed to a man who he so desperately craves at least the bare touch of. the man of whom he loves so fervently & cherishes like he never got the chance. he cannot bear to let him in because he can not bear the tragedy that fate has already showed him. he cannot bear the waves of tears that stain his eyes with dry pain each morning he wakes after what little sleep he just barely managed to obtain. he is bitter. he is a boy worn of death & defeat, a child who knows not what it means to love or be loved because all that he loved was stolen so soon. so he stands now, minerva at his side, feigned abhorrence in his words, never breaking this barricade he’s reinforced for so, so long. he stands, with aching hands & shaking knees, because he can just hardly hold onto the idea that his father believes he does not care for him.

                  oh, how he yearns to let himself forgive. he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

                               ‶  You were careless. Leave me at once.  ʺ

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine

And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung

Would you hear my voice come through the music?

Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken

Perhaps they're better left unsung

I don't know, don't really care

Let there be songs to fill the air

Ripple in still water

When there is no pebble tossed

Nor wind to blow

Reach out your hand, if your cup be empty

If your cup is full, may it be again

Let it be known there is a fountain

That was not made by the hands of men

There is a road, no simple highway

Between the dawn and the dark of night

And if you go, no one may follow

That path is for your steps alone

Ripple in still water

When there is no pebble tossed

Nor wind to blow

You who choose to lead must follow

But if you fall you fall alone

If you should stand then who's to guide you?

Revisiting ‘Deadicated,’ the Trailblazing Grateful Dead Tribute Album

When the album “Deadicated: A Tribute to the Grateful Dead” was initially released by Arista Records on April 23, 1991, no one could have predicted, in a little more than four years, the band’s iconic guitarist Jerry Garcia would be gone. But as this August 9 marks 25 years since the man known as Captain Trips took his final journey, the groundbreaking album is also coming up on a major…