MUSINGS AT 3AM

Musings at 3 am

Arms to hold me forever tight
wrap me, contain me throughout the night
weathered and beaten by the past storms
heat and passion can calm your form
losers and cheaters take it all
winners destined to take their fall
hearts filled with hate stand on top
those with compassion become a mop
lies and untruths travel afar
innocence will land you behind the bars
words and actions that come from a heart
tossed and discarded in a garbage cart
sirens blare and no one cares
memories stream for all to see
pages burn to remove the history
smiles appear and then retreat
endless pain as a river flows
find a rock and never let go
grasp for the wind and make a wish
passion burns beneath your wings
smoke and flames the song that sings
dreams alive because you dared
sadness and sorrow come to bear
body smolders have been let down
ashes gather on the ground
walked and trodden beneath your feet
this you witness from your seat
thoughts traverse on a runaway train
ghosts and demons bring more pain
still alone and no one there
silence screams are deafening to hear
time speeds by no end in sight
one hopes the darkness of life
will soon bring light

Die In Life

Courts provide the cover for those who hate and
use beliefs to suppress and preach racist diatribes
and dance with friends while pumping gas. Enjoy
life in a mundane and non-understanding society,
an insult to the religion of those who seek reason
to spew vicious words that lead to a fight. Stand up
for your rights and those which you believe. Don’t
back down and only speak the truth. Hate is armed
with guns and knives and silences a love that he believes.
The breath I breathe will soon be gone, and the life
I will succumb and cease. The joy I brought lives
despite my death, becoming a rallying cry for all who believe.
Those who dance and those who sing, those who write and
those who paint. Art doesn’t die when the artist rests in
an eternal sleep. It lives in the hearts of all they touched.
Death brings truth for the world to see, to cry, and to learn that
this world isn’t what we long it to be. Though sad about
their loss, I mustn’t give up; in the death of an artist, their
flame burns brighter. I will never forget their unselfishness
and their sacrifice of life. Through death, compassion lives
and grows stronger. Artists suffer, artists die, and those who live
continue their legacy; when I, too, pass, my legacies will carry on.
Don’t be sad as I will see you again: To write, dance, paint, and sing,
brothers and sisters in the arts will always live.

Bruises

Bruises are battle marks upon my skin
reminders of what I’ve seen and where
I’ve been. To hell and back a vacation
for me. It's a reminder of all I’ve seen.

Hatred for others from shore to shore
beatings and killings from here to there
and every place that lies between,
a reminder of all I’ve seen.

Cuts in battles from a war of one.
bleed and scarred, but no one won.
demons who visit throughout each day.
this is a reminder of who I’ve seen.

Pain and hurt run rampant everywhere.
no escape and nowhere to hide. Put up
your fists to fight, eyes now swollen, and
with no sight. a reminder of what I always see.

Each one carried like a medal on my chest.
the bruises will live on year after year. All is
alive that exists so deep inside me. The
courage to survive is there for all to see.

Forever Haunted

They began when you put me in prison.
the lies you told to prevent me from speaking the truth;
If you only knew, I wouldn’t divulge all I have learned about you.
as payback, you come for me every night, once, twice,
three times, and more. I see you floating above
me, watching me and waiting for me to slip into
a slumber, slither down the wall to enter my head, bringing
your demented, perverted owner along. You torment me!
I feel your vampire's teeth bite into my chest, tearing
and ripping my flesh to grab my heart, pulling it out of my body,
holding it in front of my eyes, licking it before you take a huge bite,
salivating at the taste as if you are sucking the juice from a peach.
You are enjoying dissecting me as I breathe. Slowly, you force
what’s left of my beating organ back inside. Swallowing what you
bit off, licking your lips, and relishing that I will never be whole
again. You savor the taste of my blood as it drips off your chin.
You come so often that I wait for you, never disappointing me
as you arrive every time I sleep. I’ve seen you die and am
unable to save you. I sit up, trembling, screaming, and punching
the dresser. The meds I take to stop your visits can’t prevent you
from breaking in. You avoid my attempts to stop you; I can’t
escape your reach. You find me, haunt me, and keep me awake.
I wish I could hate you, but I can’t. The piece of the organ you
left in me contains the love, hurt, and pain I will always and
forever carry. I feel you here beside me; I hear you speak and
call me to sleep; I am ready for your visit and to succumb to your
needs. I can’t fight you anymore, I can’t forget you, I don’t
want to forget you. The agony you caused, yet I know,
I survived all you did. I now accept that you will
always live inside me and feed on me as I do you.

John Ganshaw retired to follow his dream of owning a hotel in Southeast Asia after 31 years in banking. This led to many new experiences, enabling John to see the world through a different lens and to write his story through essays, poetry, and an unpublished memoir. John’s work has appeared in Dreich Magazine, Story Sanctum, Post Roe Alternatives, Fleas on the Dog, Ambidextrous Bloodhound, Free the Verse, eMerge, Unapologetic, and Sucarnochee Review among others. Nothing is as it seems; experiences are meant to shape us, not define us. Life has hope, truth, and adventure, leading to stories that must be written and told.