The Old Man

Reciting Keats yesterday made me dig into my old writings. I'll lay down a few of my old ones, written well before I started following Jesus. Tomorrow, I'll post some of my newer ones. Stark difference.

1.
Constructing the machine
to destroy the person.
Utility is served
yet the situations worsen.

Feeding the frenzy
to feed the swarms.
This entity of destruction
in its many forms.

Absorbing the tools
to obscure the facts,
the mind gets clouded
and actions lax.

Success is achieved
at the cost of innocence.
But the moment, not rued,
for the loss of sentiments.

I wrote this one while taking a training course to become a stockbroker, fresh out of UT. Needless to say, I was struggling with the implications of the career path I was on.

2. Waiting
Boredom drips from my brow like a badge of failure. My eyes unimpressed with everything they see. My ears despise everything they hear. My fingers are like nicotine-stained nuisances. This body is a mass of rotting flesh. Where does life go from a path of self-destructiveness?

3.
There is a hate brewing inside. More and more are added to the list. Encompassing all I see. Why is there this hatred? Why must they infuriate? Their petty little notions and trite little glances and obnoxious little words and tiny little minds and shallow little souls . . . God I HATE them! I look around and see all that I hate, thinking of why. But then I look in the mirror and see the root.

4.
My life has been flat,
Hurdles not to be found.
And yet I feel lost
And wander around.

The thought comes to mind
Of why my sadness grows:
Adversity is needed,
Like friends and foes.

My youth is a blur
Of worried nothingness.
I wandered through life
Blind and thoughtless.

Now that I see,
Joy and pain are one.
But they are feelings,
And finally I have some.

5. Denouement
It was after the fall. My heart thumped against the floor. Eyes found it and fled. Voices resembling screams leapt into the bystanders' ears. Burst! Pain. Fear. Shame. Where now? What to do? Fetal images raced across my mind and initiated movement. Impulsive actions had taken control. Whimpering, fear, terror all had settled in. This was it. The final act. Nowhere to go from here. The facade had played its last part, revealing to all its terrible innards. Oh God, why me? Strength that had once been firm now fled like youth. Each second ticked away more armor until all that remained was mortal flesh and feelings. A pitiful mass. Melting into one large pool of failure, I gave in and submissed. There was no chance for recovery now, so why exert what was left to fight the inevitable fate. As I regressed, all walls crumbled and fears fled. For the first time I felt free, but at the cost of my sanity.

This is one of the more personal things I've ever written. The image I had in my mind was the moment when I would be found out; when all my insides would be exposed for all to see. And how terrible and shameful that would be. I didn't think I would be able to deal with that moment. Hence, the end of the poem.

These were written between August 1990 and June 1992, some of my darkest days. While typing them, I had strong impulses to delete everything I just typed, as these were painful, desperate, hopeless times. But, it is good for me to remember now, fifteen years later, how much my life has changed. I have such sorrow for that young man, and I never want to forget how lonely and lost I was back then, so that I can never forget where Jesus found me and how he has worked in and through me.