ALIVE TILL I’M DEAD: A POEM

They say cold hands are indicative of a warm heart but I’ve discovered way too many exceptions to the rule. Maybe it’s not a ridiculous theory, sometimes the coldest thing to touch can offer the greatest inner warmth, a wholesome snowfall, lovers skating across an outdoor ice rink, an ice cream bought by a parent. Perhaps people don’t differ, I met a person a few years back, so seemingly cold they seemed incapable of compassion, deadened eyes and a bleak indifference to whatever confronted him. I merely thought he was a mean old bastard but after talking to him for sometime it became apparent his icy demeanor was merely a bulletproof vest he wore to protect his deeply sensitive heart. He cared so much about everyone and everything and wanted peace and contentment for every person he met, he wanted fairness, he wished well on those who wronged him and so deeply cared he couldn’t cease to think about the amount of suffering and inhumanity he’d witnessed over time. He’d torn himself into knots thinking about everyone and everything. The years rolled on and the colder he grew. Dumfounded by our need for love and our capacity for hate. I shook his hand and went on my way, his hands were cold, but his heart was warm

ALIVE TILL I’M DEAD

Shivering till I’m warm

Quivering till I’m steady

Too happy being forlorn

Body is light till I’m feeling heavy

Reliably misinformed

Restless till I’m ready

Violently peaceful

Peaceful till I’m violent

Truthfully deceitful

Loud till I’m silent

Shaking till I’m still

Waking till I’m asleep

Can’t swallow this pill

Too shallow till I’m in too deep

Dreams unfulfilled

Dry eyes till I weep

Quietly screaming

Scream till I’m quiet

Publicly gleaming

Spotlight on me till I’m private

Preaching till I’m a believer

Teaching till I’m ignorant

Phone ringing but I can’t pick up the receiver

Passive till I’m belligerent

Serene griever

Unsure till I’m adamant

Misleading truthfully

True till I’m misled

Reflecting ruefully

Alive till I’m dead