All The World’s A Page

FACEBOOK POEM III

This poem is not intended to be anti-Facebook, anti-social media or critical of anybody who posts thereof. You have to read between the lines and see the larger metaphorical picture, which is that we’re all just seeking to be approved of, accepted and relevant in the world. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, in and of itself. If there is any criticism in it, I’m really just acknowledging my own faults and defects, admittedly probably being way too critical of myself. But that’s ok – it’s just part of self-improvement for me.

Mama’s Sacrifice

Drove her girls home from school that May

Seemed like just another day

She always liked their after school songs

But she woke that day feeling something wrong

 

Turned the corner, opened the garage door

Someone was laying in pools on the floor

She saw through the glass it was her mate

The gun and whiskey sealed his sad fate

 

Anguish erupted with bile aftertaste

Her love and dreams in an instant erased

She suffered in circles of emotional pain

Haunted by visions of those crimson stains

 

She couldn’t allow his daughters to see

Whisked them away but nowhere to flee

Left with no choice but live in her dad’s home

A widowed disaster, afraid and alone

 

Returned to his daily, drunken abuse

She had no escape, felt there was no use

Beaten and battered in alcohol rants

Her girls tucked in hiding like terrified ants

 

She searched for and found disastrous release

To stop the voice, make the tolling bell cease

A bar she could run to, where she could hide

Kindred spirits in glasses inside

 

Sat down by a man with crystal eyes

She returned his gaze with trembling thighs

He swept her away in a satin embrace

Her heart raced in circles, a lost paper chase

 

Months passed by from that one night affair

A son grew inside her, a gift of despair

Shamed by a bar parking conception stain

But her love for him could not be restrained

 

She wanted him to live, to be set free

To receive the gift of new destiny

Not doomed to suffer with her in that cell

Sentenced to a live out a bottomless hell

 

At birth, she sobbingly gave him away

A living abortion, a love castaway

The rest of her life spent in tortured wonder

What ever happened to her boy blunder?

 

Decades past by, then a stranger’s letter

She hoped for once it was something better

She fainted after she read what it said

Flooded by the dam that burst in her head

 

It was a note from her son, and it began

with comfort, he’d grown up a contented man

Concluded with love to her he hoped would suffice

“Thank you, Mama, for your sacrifice”

 

Copyright © 2017 by Chip Schaller

All rights reserved

8th Step Struggles

I was plucked from the nest, left at the door

Had no mothers warmth, felt her no more

She did what she had to, was left with no choice

I would never meet her, never hear her voice

 

Fostered and raised by soldiers of care

I was bruised and beaten for wasting air

Dismissed or abused, treated like rust

Drowned in the holy water, swept with the dust

 

 They had discussions but never with me

Never what I thought or what I could see

Relegated to clown hood, just a dumb joke

I was wheeled out to perform, to prod, to poke

 

My fear and anger both burned from within

A back that was broken with oppression of sin

Guilt trips to nowhere on shoulders of blame

I was saddled with guilt, ridden by shame

 

I later found freedom, a way to get out

A sweet escape, an alternate route

A road to destruction, a sure path to hell

But a way to drown out the tolling bell

 

Stopped all the voices, let me be here

In the now and present, free from fear

Inherited genes, a loud within voice

Made the bad choices not even a choice

 

Where’s my amends? That’s never asked

Who’s sorry to me? That ship has passed

Decades of suffering, but there’s no amends

Years of abuse, but no one else bends

 

Will I hear ‘I’m sorry’ for all the harm done?

A mea culpa for an abandoned son?

These worn out steps are of no use to me

Recovery zombies who can’t even see

 

They don’t even know me, these steppers of doom

who say “make amends”.  For What and to Whom?!

 

 Copyright © 2016 All rights reserved

Note – this is a poem that expressed what I was feeling at the time that I wrote it. It should not be construed as denouncing 12 step programs or any community groups in any way.

Coming Down To Detox

COMING DOWN IMAGE

My reverie door to a new life in a new town

Slammed shut with the hell of coming down

My numbed escape of visions and dreams

was changing to terrified sobbing screams

 

The weight of the panic was compressing the air

It pulled on the noose, tightened the snare

I felt weak and drowning, trapped at sea

With obsessive thoughts of what could or should be

 

Suddenly terrified of the future to come

with the hortator beating on the funeral drum

I was pounding and scratching in futility

on the locked door of redemption, no handle, no key

 

With trembling lip and tremored hands

Nowhere to run, I could not take a stand

I was cornered and lonely in a crowded room

While the creaking door slowly closed the tomb

 

Stripped and thrown naked on a lighted stage

I spun in circles in a hamster cage

Their eyes judged me and jabbed with a spear

There was no place to hide from fear of the fear

 

I swallowed blame for pain that was caused

Choked on shame for lives that were paused

My eyes stained from tears of failure and fault

When the endless anxiety started the assault

 

I tasted the bitter hot bile of despair

Bound and gagged with no wing and no prayer

I was draped in a fear-soaked wretched gown

With all the feels of coming down

Copyright © 2018 by Chip Schaller
All rights reserved

 

The Ghost In Black – A Poem of Addiction

GHOST IN BLACK IMAGE

Broken hopes and shattered dreams

Despair begins it’s cruel attack

Faceless fears and voiceless screams

Hosted by the ghost in black

 

Part One – The Man

Abandoned at birth to a foster cage

Rejection fear, his only friend

A living abortion on a lonely stage

Exiled to a cell in a life without end

 

Raised and abused in brutal care

Childhood cries all laughed aside

Hijacked by hurt, no wing or prayer

Concealed his pain from his expectant bride

 

Married their mistake, divorced his ambitions

With a flask he hated but never laid down

A fish in a bowl of alcoholic perdition

Escape and suffocate or stop swimming and drown

 

He built a wall and decomposed

All or nothing thoughts left no way out

Depression welcomed, unopposed

Bones picked clean by vultures of doubt

 

He threw desire to change away

Sped the erosion, his collapse

Routine boredom’s fast decay

Made yesterday’s traps today’s relapse

 

Their last five years were wasted plight

This straw on his back, these latest fears

A final drink to purge the sight

Of hurt and sadness in her tears

 

His wife and child were late fall grass

Their little girl, the apple of his red eye

On a ship in a bottle with a half empty glass

He’d never get a chance to say goodbye

 

Part Two – The Woman

Three years now since they found their life

Face down dead in their living room

His mournful eyes revealed his strife

His toxic blood had sealed his doom

 

No way to support them or means to bother

A stack of bills, unable to pay

Moved back in with her drunken father

Crying on her bed each day

 

Her white picket fence passed away

Where were her dreams and plans?

All collapsing on that day

They died beside her only man

 

The doctor’s pills brought her relief

Numbed the hurt and soothed the pain

She took them to erase the grief

Nothing to lose, nothing to gain

 

Tortured with her only child

hiding, crying, trembling with fear

Her tragic loss unreconciled

Too much pain to form a tear

 

With a bath tub of warmth and pharmacy friends

A way to escape, to turn a blind eye

No way she could ever make amends

She’d never get a chance to say goodbye

 

Part Three – The Girl

Ten years had passed since mama’s death

Thirteen since her father’s wake

She whispered black tar under her breath

Hid tracks of a life she chose to fake

 

She got her wings, a sweet escape

A prison break from an inherent cell

A welcome diversion, a way to undrape

To silence the endless tolling bell

 

Anguish and anger’s burning voices

Guilt trips to nowhere on shoulders of shame

On this path she had no choices

Saddled with sorrow, ridden by blame

 

So many partners, no way to know

Who the father was, no way to be sure

Her baby boy still starting to grow

Was born dependent on more than just her

 

Fought the thoughts of her newborn’s pain

She wanted to live and begged to die

A fatal dose of lost love in her vein

She’d never get a chance to say goodbye

 

Epilogue – The Baby

 In the foster home, the baby was crying

Alone but bundled with detached care

Invisible to sight but eagerly smiling

The ghost in black was waiting there

 

Copyright © 2017 by Chip Schaller

All rights reserved