THE EMPTY ROOM

THE EMPTY ROOM

Plain white walls broken

by the odd window and

a paint chipped door.

The wood floor makes its

own statement with ancient

scuff marks and a coating of

dust highlighted by rays of

sunlight peeking through

dirt stained windows.

An iron cot rests in the corner,

covered with a paper thin

mattress, a loose threadbare

blanket thrown roughly over it.

The empty room offers no warmth,

only the distinct smell of a spavined

chamber, a reminder of what

once was, or could have been.

I am the prisoner, locked in my

own silence, a broken heart

beating in a withered chest.

The random memories pulsing

in my head are like pebbles

in a brook, rattling around

then washed away with time.

The room is empty, I am there,

raging against the dying of the light.

TRACKS TO NOWHERE

TRACKS TO NOWHERE

Twin rails stretching out

so shiny and cold, frozen in

time with stories not told.

Bound by dark ties, separate yet

tethered,the rails cannot meet

though placed close together.

One searches for love on any

condition, while the other has

travelled the road of perdition.

This is the rail bed where fear

is a factor, only isolation bears

witness to a defect in character.

The irony here can be held as

so daunting,as both of the rails are

cursed with the same haunting.

They stretch out in solitude

oblivious to one another

sadly they are bound with

neither father nor mother.

There is no beginning, nor

is there an end, they reach

out to nowhere with neither

hope nor a friend. There are

no trains that pass over these

rails, just a journey without end

and a story that pales.

JON GOLDSTEIN

FEBRUARY, 2011

"PLATEAU"

There is a plateau in my mind,

Endless in size as it is flat.

I wander it’s smooth surface,

Overcome by it’s dimension,

Frightened that I can see no

Depth, nor landscape offering

The answer to why it exists.

I want to race to the edge, peer

Over the side, that omnipresent

Dangerous edge” sans safety net.

I yearn for anything that may provide

An outlet to this boundary, this single

Dimensional purgatory. My endless

Plateau-always shrouded in a stark

Hopelessness-penetrating every

Nook and cranny of my mind.

It holds me back from a real-or

Imagined-glorified destiny of purpose.

The drinking stopped, the anger abated,

The allowance of others to be first,

All an effort to move off this plateau.

Do I live that timeless quip:“Horror Vacui,

The fear of the nothing that is”?

So often I ask:is the end no more

Than a remorseless coffin?

Is this really the last plateau?

If I peer over the edge,

Will anything be there?

ONTHE STAGE?

ON THE STAGE?

I am trapped in the fifth row,

The theater that is my mind,

Waiting for my father to race

Across the footlights, leading

The way to my destiny(?). Yes,

Giving me the script of life to

Follow, the path to tread, and

How to behave like a man.

I am that forever actor, a

Frightened subaltern waiting

For my “director”to place me

On the right “spot” of the stage

To play my part in life, yet

Knowing when the curtain descends

That thunderous applause

Will be for anyone but me.

DAYS GONE BY

Every day that I have trouble

Getting out of my bed,

The bones start to creak

And the circus starts

Playing in the back of my head.

Is this what it’s like getting old

And all gray, my skin starting

To wrinkle with seventy degrees

Much too cold for the day?

I lay there wondering

Which day will be my last,

Then I crowd out those

Thoughts with memories

Of days long past.

Playing ball in the park

And riding on my bike,

Swimming at the beach,

What’s not to like?

There were party’s and

Girls and dances galore

The music was terrific

And I always wanted “more.”

I wish I could forget the

Mad behavior and drinking,

The damage I wrought,

What was I thinking? But

I have to concentrate

Just on today, leave yesterday

For the biographers and

Hope for another good day

" 10B1141"

The sharp clank of

the prison doors,

then the deathly quiet,

leaving only a chill

and sudden emptiness

that screams despair.

You are surrounded by

the pale, lime green walls,

dirt caked windows too

high to see out of, and

steel bars, steel bars

where ever you turn.

You want to scream,

“let me out, I’ll never do

it again”, whatever “it”

might be that landed you

here in the first place.

Inmates stare at you, those

vacant eyes, devoid of hope,

or any expression of humanity.

You look down at your forest

green “uniform”, worn thin by

those who came before you.

The block letters of your new

home, the name faded by

too many washings. Echoes

of furtive conversation suddenly

broken by the harsh commands

of “The Man” twirling his baton,

grinning wolfishly in hopes that

he may find his next victim..........

There is no individuality, no statement

that separates you from someone else.

Your identity has been replaced by

a number, one of many lacking a

past without hope for the future, nothing

but counting down the days and weeks

until the sun shines again in your eyes.

TRUTH

TRUTH

The search

for truth lies

within the soul.

You cannot see

You cannot hear

You cannot taste

You cannot feel

You cannot smell

TRUTH

It is beautiful when

used wisely, cruel

if used as a weapon.

Truth resides in all

mankind and its

purity is in its use.

My truth is not your

truth, nor is your

truth my truth.

It is the path between

the finite and the infinite

Happily, truth is the

foundation for love

and hope for tomorrow.