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Ralph Carusillo
http://ralphcarusillo.purpledream.com
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Blank White Page
04/09/04 |
My eyes behold a vast expanse I once had promise to fill
A task much less daunting when I wielded greater skill.
Some think better of me, that I possess all of it, still...
Would their minds be changed if they beheld my arid quill?
My story had come to a quiet end a very long time ago
When I decided to escape or become lost in the undertow.
Another chapter I had finished, I had many more to go...
If only I had the foresight to the conclusion I now know.
Imagine what I would've given to any wandering sage
Or what I would have sacrificed for the hand of a mage.
None have ventured upon me, towards my darkened stage...
Everyday and one I add to my life another blank white page.
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Under The Blue
04/24/04 |
She arrives here,
Under the blue -
Promise fractured the haze;
Safe from the storm,
Umbrella of tranquility:
A blanket on the black
That reflects the blue...
She cries here,
Under the blue -
Two hearts sunder from one;
Why was happy so hard,
Shame deprives pride:
A memory of the black
That denies the blue...
She leaves here,
Under the blue -
Too deep of a fall;
Cannot make the trip,
The elsewhere calls:
A retreat to the black
That hides the blue...
She returns here,
Under the blue -
To sleep it all away;
Years spent running,
Searching for a home:
A shelter from the black
That fades the blue...
She dies here,
Under the blue -
The sky holds her tight;
Softly goes her soul
Into this gentle hue:
A dagger into the black
That frees the blue.
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Coming To Terms
05/10/04 |
Balancing delicately on emotion
One more expression you'll tip.
You felt too much up 'til now
How much more can you permit;
There are letters crowding a shoe-box
Waiting restlessly to make their trip.
Do they speak of a long-dead past
To some allusions you haven't gripped;
What keeps you from sending them
Why keep these words so tight-lipped...
Come to terms with the fear, child
Sooner or later we all must sail that ship.
Pools of hate at your feet
Wringed from your desperate hands.
They clench as you bend reality
In your head to fit your demands;
The blood of your bitter torment
Flowing from the body of an icon.
He is the target of your rage
The one you have seeked revenge on;
Will his death seal the vault
Or would that add to the hole.
All dying is temporary, my lady
Forever will last guilt within your soul.
Do you feel the loss of faith
That dwells under humiliation...
There are no fruits on the tree
That was fed by your degradation;
Do you feel a chill of remorse
For this script you have wrote--
Will this evict all the demons
Be worthy of the time you devote;
Consider the sweat on your brow
At what conclusion did you arrive?
Those feelings of hate are still there:
All the labor-- the icon is still alive.
Reminders of the horrid past
Show up on your lovers' faces.
Words meant for minor pain
Turn back some virulent pages;
The ink is still fresh and clean
And the paper gleams flush white.
From the margins a mist rises...
You turn pale at this ominous sight;
All she's done exposed in sky-writing
The message seen is still so unclear.
Slowly you breathe in its meaning
But as words it doesn't come anywhere near.
Seas of disarray toss your mind
As this mystery grows ever vague.
What you knew breaks its chains
Each piece runs away to stravage;
Grasping for your scattered consciousness
Trying to assemble this evasive puzzle:
All the pieces look the same shape
Perseverance and sanity is being guzzled;
About to give up all dangling hope
The connection suddenly becomes plain--
The answer lies within the victim:
Time has come to end this outdated game.
The abuser was within the mind
Fists were fighting inside the brain.
The fault was lying not in the scars
But wrapped and tied into a name;
You made yourself the typical victim
Kept untold yesterday's violent truth.
Held from others the whole story
That's when shame had secured its roots;
At last the tale has been told
Here privacy will be guarded:
Look around, this story's not unique
But its unveiling has only been started...
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Sea Of Faces
05/26/04 |
I sit crooked in the dimmest corner watching the sea of faces go by.
The gaze of a distant mourner catches on the narrow of my eye.
The grin that draws me closer to causes my spirits to evacuate.
" A shell of " is all I'm left; Too am I left a brief time to evaluate...
Down in a home now polarized was I brought into this breath.
Soon after, to me, was galvanized the quixotic manners of death.
A single voice called the dawn, with a stench drenched in fire.
Three children this being spawned: the Sordid, the Timid, the Liar.
Released into the crowded waters were these three so incomplete;
The wraths they were to incur would summon mighty fleets.
Defeated and captured by armadas whose aim was total reform,
They were each left on peninsulas to either disintegrate or conform.
As I look out from the shore at the freedom of the sea of faces,
My best I did to argue and implore that I deserve the chance to go places.
The headmaster leered, then locked-- this I've seen many times hence.
His mouth was loaded and cocked-- again, my pleas were dispensed.
Meanwhile, on the other isles, them two broke their levees.
I heard they traveled many miles but their loads grew too heavy.
Wish I saw this from afar...the "pens", though, were too near.
From their wilderness came my scars, although some were made right here.
One escaped, kept himself unseen; the other was there and back.
She's the one with the ivory sheen, which once so often turned to black.
Here I travel from here to there, made believe I was righteous:
The truth was I shouldn't have cared instead of pretending to be chivalrous.
Today I see from a window high the sea of faces easily drift along.
The dream I dream is to say goodbye but my will isn't that strong.
Up here in my silent, quiet abode, I script a show never to be done:
A story of a life on a stoic road with everyplace available to run.
The maps are open at my feet, all roads out blaze green neon.
This one I stay on, it's no treat but its destination I lean on.
Those others are not so familiar, with names like Onus and Duty.
The winds on this are much cleaner-- I avoid the ones which blow sooty.
Stern voices greet this creed saying someone must be served.
You are not wrong, I agreed, though this you must observe:
The choice of who I follow is one that I'll always hold;
As soon as I find one to swallow like you, I'll be in the fold.
When the winds carry off my dust, will I be proud of my traces?
How will my remnants be discussed, those passed to another sea of faces.
When my footsteps become hardened, will someone fill in their spaces?
How far will my path be trodden; will one emerge from tomorrow's sea of faces?
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Revealed
06/10/04 |
How useless it is to watch the slow whirl of the clock
It's useless, too, to answer that loud, echoing knock
You can just sit 'n' stare until your time finally runs out
That will reflect very well on what you were always about
Surveying life from a corner or from the back of the bus
Were you too scared or too proud to join the rest of us
Inside, inside, inside, playing games of no real consequence
Sadly, or insidiously, you thought it was at our expense
I see you sitting there now, like yesterday and every before
Skin a haunting white, the knob glowing pristine on the door
I know you left the room, even prisoners have a need to eat
Only you would welcome those chains clamped to your feet
Silhouetted within silence and shrouded away from faces
No one near to hear you hide or to pick up any taint traces
The mountain you are becoming is getting harder to climb
I see the object of your actions, even you cannot stop time
Leave pieces of inspiration around for everyone to glimpse
Tell them how you once danced with the muse and her imps
See their faces go pale and the smile that slithers to your lips
I wait and wait until, from the cage, a single, stealth tear slips
You buried your soul with your dreams and lost ambitions
This agreement you signed, were these truly your conditions
The fine print evaporates and the termites are crawling away
A blank, ivory void screams white-light at your lump of gray
I've seen you catatonic before but never saw you this still
I fear you will be next as the ink dries and cracks on the quill
Hands form the casket cross as you stare at mumbling walls
They once asked where you've gone, and heard nothing at all
The ghost tower keeper's stolen your wings and taken flight
You bewailed "In Us Confide" all through dapple-gray nights
Watching the skies for either their return or your piece of mind
In the stone of the tower you etch a message no one shall find
Once you rambled on about some trip taken on the dream train
I remember you said something about not coming back again
Was it really you who rode to the end on those dead-end rails
I think you tell it to capture the pity of others, and it never fails
Labor all you want to play your cards right, it doesn't matter
Even if you play them perfectly you still become fatter and fatter
These chances you are facing, what are the odds they're worth it
You belong right where you are; the trouble is you face up to it
The dolorous line between us is limping closer to the edge
It was drawn by your hand and pounded down by a sledge
You can keep your distance and soon will arrive its windfall
Winnowed will be pretense and down will come the stone-wall
Who will hear your caterwaul after the metallic echo of the gate
Even the iron walls crumble in escape after figurin' out their fate
As lone spectator you sit, your last chance distant and concealed
At last, to transpierced eyes, you're now unsheathed and revealed...
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