Drowning
By Joshua Whittington
Written in isolation, November 2022
She floats in a river of sorrow, drowning in memories of a time passed by.
The waves of melancholy bring her along the currents of her own demise.
The eyes tell her tale.
Looking in them feels as if one is standing on the precipice of an abyss with the urge to dive in.
She is irresistible, yet closed off to the world.
I call for her, but hear me she does not.
Slipping away, sinking further, the river becomes an ocean of misery.
I ache for the chance to help her. I am invisible to her deep blue eyes.
I reach out, and for a moment I think she will take my hand, but she goes under the waters of her own destruction.
Gone. She is gone.
There is only one choice. None can matter except for this.
All is forgotten except for those eyes.
I am lost, and yet, I am found.
Enveloped, I cannot bother. And then, all is right.
Warm breath fills my lungs. As I open my eyes, there they are, just inches away. Those eyes that hold the abyss. One deep breath and I jump.
We are together forever, forgotten in time, but remembered forever.
Salvation
By Joshua Whittington
Relations of my inner turmoil, summations of pain.
Delusions of grandeur, let go with third eye blind.
A plethora of ghosts invade my inner sanctum.
Disperse the spirits and quiet the inner chaos.
Disastrous trauma of this child’s life could not show.
Energized and dedicated, put use to hone skill with steel.
Disciplined yet erratic, this insatiable soul shall relent.
Contentment comes with the passing of the seasons.
Duly chastened with perpetual loss, this guy is now a man.
Grown in body, yet both precocious and juvenile in mind.
The soul is what has always been and shall forever remain.
Violent memories are all I have, to make new reminiscence I must.
A better existence for what I’ve spawned, stronger, better, smarter.
What satisfaction this man would get to be bested by his young.
Learned all he could, then disposed of useless tool.
An abacus only teaches so far before it is a toy.
Taken from reality led to my salvation.
Motivation for growth found by forced perspective.
Solitary in mind due to predicaments.
Locked away, but always free inside.
My Son
By Joshua Whittington
Ripped away from your life, Not my wish, but what my actions caused.
I am at fault, but my intentions have never been to harm.
No amount of time spent can mend time lost.
I will try at any cost.
Getting to know you through intervals of 15 minutes.
Break through walls you build, but ones I’ve caused.
This love is unconditional, abandoned you shall never be.
Though physically I am never present, there for you always in spirit.
I cannot prove my love, but trust in me you put.
Proud I will always be, for you are my greatest accomplishment.
Because you live, this game of life I’ve won.
You are the world, my son.
Love’s Misconception
By Joshua Whittington
Time goes by, adoration fades. Wondering why the sensation cascades.
Emotion and devotion with permanent intention? Presume or love my own pretension.
With jubilation, I meet love’s reception. To reciprocate would be my deception.
To be blessed with such embrace. A feeling of lust I often misplace.
Around my heart exists many palisades. Break each one with romantic escapades.
Atrocious the notion, my arrogant contention. To feel such love requires extension.
With elation I meet the resultor conception. To exaggerate shall be my inception.
I’ve confessed with such disgrace. For my heart I must displace.
The accumulation of many decades. Feels I’ve played a life of charades.
Suspicious this potion, with conventional invention. A blasphemous vixen who wins my heart’s retention.
With caution I meet the object of my perception. To elaborate with her will be my exception.
A taste of love might erase. To make me feel, I would abase.
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