Alive

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By all means marry; if you get a good wife, you’ll become happy; if you get a bad one, you’ll become a philosopher.
Socrates; as referenced in A Father’s Book of Wisdom; H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

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I have a good wife, but that was not always the case. EjG

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There comes a point when one can no longer hold their tongue. And that time is tonight.

It’s amazing how bitter one soul can be. How miserable it must be to have daily bitterness, hatred, and paranoia. A shallow existence to which there is no fruitful outcome.

You never truly part in divorce when there are children. But, to dwell in hatred of perceived inequalities does nothing more then provide a futile existence. Let it go.

Her hatred comes straight from hell, and this evening, the devil incarnate itself spewed forth its sharp tongue. Amidst the statue of the Virgin Mary at my son’s school, she expressed profanity and proclaimed the hatred my son has for me. He does not.

But, he does have sadness. She cannot see this, nor is willing to tend to his expressions. Rather, she satiates her insecurities with madness and fear.

The wickedness of jealousy does nothing more than feed her demons. And yet the tragedy is the emptiness and pain my son must feel.

Though there would be some cathartic pleasure by continuing to write stories on this nonsense, I do not wish to take up much more space than this with her madness. Nor do I plan to waste my time further on her futility.

Turns out the gold at the end of the rainbow was fools gold. Infidelity and jealousy were her fools gold.

Yet, she is determined to make my son, my wife, my family, and me pay for her sins and sadness.

The more I try to piece together sensibility, the more illogical some souls come to be.

What a waste of life, time, and space she is...

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Alive

Alive, but still searching for tomorrow.
Alive, yet running from today.
His imagination becomes his friend,
and his enemy.
He seeks the evermore,
while seeking you, seeking me,
seeking them, seeking us,
seeking the sunset, and seeking the rain.
The child cries for absolution,
absolution from this insanity.
You can hear it in the rains,
in the night,
in the echoes,
and in the silence.
Over and over,
he cries in the night.
He cries for relief
from her madness,
this insanity,
and she negotiates (negates) his existence.
So he seeks the freedom of his soul,
the freedom of his mind,
and yet only finds the echoes,
the deafening echoes,
Of silence.
He cries sanctuary. EjG

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I now hold my tongue on this subject once more.

Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven

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Dudley Dee