Weekly update.

Okay. This last weeks writing group gave an assignment I couldn't figure out. A poem on child abuse. Ick. Got some stanzas done, but couldn't finish them. Frankly, I am blessed enough to have no frame of reference.

Looking forward to next week. In the mean time, I am writing a 1k word short story for submission to an online website. Wish me luck.

Poetry, We Die Alone.

Life of sorrow, life of pain,
My life it ended in the rain,
No matter what its all the same,
We die alone.

No matter what time nor what place,
No matter what color or the race,
Even if you have god's kind grace,
We die alone.

Surrounded by family, blood and kin,
Cared for by doctors, nurses, or friends,
Forgiven by clergy for all your sins,
We die alone.


That final pass we take on our own,
The darkest road we've always known,
The final day our future's shown,
We die alone.

But nothing afterlife is certain,
No one knows whats behind the curtain,
No priest, no prophet, no prayer at matin,
Because we die alone.

I, for one, believe we come back,
That this life isn't over, no matter the track,
With fear, but eagerness I'll face the path,
When I die alone.

My soul is ready, but will I rise?
Is it light I face, or a dark surprise?
My soul shall sing this final reprise,
When I die alone.

Poetry, The Need in the Dark.

The whisper in the dark
My blood does chill
With songs of loneliness
My heart grows still

I have no purpose,
I am alone,
My heart is empty,
It beats like stone.

The need moves down,
The sanguine hall,
The room becomes cold,
still and silent as fall.


My hand, It creeps
My heart does fight,
yet still I reach.
Despite the light.

To hold the fear,
I bring a glass,
The monster is near,
I do not pass.


I cannot stop the desire,
I cannot hold it back,
My hand reaches out,
The need attacks.

The bottle is warm,
The liquid thick,
It glugs in the glass,
My mind is sick.

I feed the need,
It dribbles down.
The liquid is sharp,
It's color brown.

The void feels filled,
my heart beats.
the monster is happy,
yet I am weak.

I smash the glass,
I cry my tears,
No one can save me,
no one is near.

I grab the bottle,
I drink it all,
I throw it away,
I watch it fall.

It shatters on paint,
The shards fall away,
My heart in taint,
My soul it prays.

Raise me up!
Take me away!
Only darkness answers.
Only silence is swayed.

I collapse in a chair,
no further to fall.
I ask why I am here,
whats the point of it all?

Only darkness has answered,
Only silence replies,
In my heart, in my head,
Part of me dies.

I am alone with this monster,
No one is coming to help.
No light in the future,
No one here but myself.

In time my eyes grow heavy,
In time the world fades.
Light will come soon,
With pain as its trade.

The need will come back,
Of this I am certain.
need will not leave me,
until the final curtain.

It's ally is pride,
it's its healer is shame.
the monster attacks,
it knows my name.

I close my eyes,
and pray for light.
The pain it brings,
will restart this fight.

Will I be strong?
Will I be weak?
This time I promise,
This time I shriek.

The monster will not have me!
it will not win!


 
Then I reach for the bottle,
I pour more in.

- J.T. Perk

I have returned.

Life is funny. You come to realize just how far things have gotten off course far too late to do anything about it. By the time you see what a stupid choice you made, its often far too late.

The truth is I haven't been writing very much. As cliche as it sounds, artists have to be tortured in a way to produce. Picasso had his drinking. Van Gough had his depression. Both of them made huge contributions to the artistic world.

I will never say I am in the league of such gentlemen, but I understand now how art requires sacrifice. for me, my status is bordum. I hate it. Yet when I am most bored, I am most creative. Go figure, ehh?

I was involved with a woman who took my writing away from me. At first i was happy. Loneliness is hard to bear. Yet, I found inspiration in being alone. I created worlds, postulated ideas, used my time productively. I made a list of story plots and I am writing hard. Work is slow since I am under watch at my job. They planted me right in front of someone who can see my screen. Makes writing difficult.

But it progresses. I am slowly crawling out of the ashes. who knows what I will produce?

In the mean time, I leave you with my pride and joy. Come spring, this will be how I get around.

Its a trike. I ride a Trike now. Trikes are cool.

Wish me luck.

I will return...

Coming back soon, sorry for the delay, but i've been occupied.