Will I?

Is there meaning,
a plan, a pattern, a script or a screenplay,
a recognisable shape to this disorder?
In the end, on the day after my last,
will hindsight justifiably explain
the inexplicable.
Will a moment arrive when, suddenly, unannounced, all the lights
will go on and
a delicious sigh of understanding will breathe:
"Of course, who would have guessed, if only I had known?"
Will I live to say:
"Thank God for these days?"

Grrrrr... greyness descending

life is leaching out of my pores
like sweat on a humid day.
my sense of purpose has sunk
in the mud of yesterdays.
hope? ah, there's a word for the optimists,
but, for me?
I continue to wade knee deep in the consequences
of self imposed disasters
and I just want to
find home,
.. if only i could see clearly
and think with the mind
of my friends.

i must close my eyes,
for the vision is far too bright.
it glares at me
stark
brutal
reality.

the mirror is not bathed
or flooded.
this light is scorching.
it sears my soul
seeking out the silence
that lies behind the teeth
of my justifications.

oh callous image.
oh cruel visage
your age has not dimmed
your childishness.
selfish,
you still seek your own,
dismissing love
as an empty promise,
discarded when inconvenient.

you chaser of shallow illusion,
dancer upon the dim stars
of ego and affirmation.
the stage is empty now.
the spotlight cold
you may leave the building
any time you please.
the audience has gone.
your performance done.

go home clown.
remove the greasepaint
there is no more applause,
not even your own.