A Hidden Volcano

Is there a sorrow in happiness?
Or a happiness in sorrow?
I see your smiles,
The happy glances at the ones you love.
Yet your eyes show through paths unknown,
The volcano of your heart.

Why do you not show it?
Why do you not show me?
I see it, it's underneath your film.
It's underneath your happy exterior.
Like a wall covered in bright ivy,
Your dying wall lies beneath.

Or in your sadness.
You grieve silently, alone, unhappy.
You don't show me your face,
You don't show me your smile.
How I long for it to brighten these dingy rooms!
These rooms we call our homes.

"Home is where the heart is,"
Then I have no home.

My heart is yours,
But you do not accept it.
Therefore I'm alone.

I live in constant wonderment of you.
Waiting, watching for your acceptance.
When you are ready,
When the wild volcano is cooled,
When the smile shows its face again,
Then I will be there.

Look towards your future, and I will be waiting.
Look to me, and you will see yourself,
Gleaming in my eyes.

Marked Walls

I walked past the wall. I stood near the wall. I leaned on the wall. I liked the touch of the wall. It’s differing rocks. It’s warmth from the sun.

So many stones made up the foundation. Some were cracked and chipped, rough, unshapen. Others smooth, white-washed, uncommonly perfect. None were extremely beautiful, but all were different. I liked that.

Behind each lay a vision, a bright unfailing memory. Of the past, of the future. Behind some was pain. Behind some was joy. And behind all were people.

Behind one that was homely, and rough, but clear and white: a boy with curly black locks walked under the wall with his mother, dropping his prized possession. His blankie. He doesn’t notice till later his emptiness.

If you wait but a minute:

A small girl, blonde perfection, also walks past with her mother. She picks up the blanket and claims it as her own.

If you but wait still another 20 years:

A beautiful wedding. Decorated with finery, bright lights expanding the purity, music blazing into brightness. A happy couple sailing around the room. Floating. They greet and hug, kiss and laugh. She, a perfectly blonde wife, he a curly-haired bright-eyed husband.

Two years later:

A baby. It’s present from mother: a tattery old cloth. It’s blankie. It had retained it’s color. Baby blue. It had retained it’s smell. Snuggle bleach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another stone, black and porous, stood out from the surrounding others. It did not give way on the first tug, but after a little work it gave way. As I pulled it from it’s rest a billowing cloud of smoke spat forth from the empty crevice. And a most horrific sound of wailing appeared through the smoke.

As it cleared, I could just see a woman bent over a lifeless figure, deformed and bloody. She too was blackened and I could tell was in extreme pain, from physical or emotional I could not tell. Her arm was broken. But with that broken arm, she nestled the young man’s head. The car had expelled him upon collision, throwing him into this wall. He had died instantly. His mother had been driving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yet another stone. This one was broken. Broken into many shards. It’s sight saddened me.

The person behind resembled the stone. Broken.

Her chipped nail polish: broken.

Her eyes: broken.

Her life: shattered.

She sat alone. In silence. In her own wasting away. Her pockets were full, her heart was empty. And she pondered the death of the world. She loved only one person. And she waited here to meet him. He told her he would be there. By this wall she waited to see if she could possibly feel happy. This moment would change her life. It relied on the man she trusted. Yet in her mind a black cloud covered hope.

He did not show.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I laid this stone in its place and walked away. I was weary of the broken stones. There were many more broken ones than whole and bright, and it made me cynical. I left the wall knowing that more stones would be added to it in time. But for now, I could no longer fathom them. I could no longer think of the pain that so easily found its way into every foundation in this city. I tried to think of the happiness here contained, but I could only see gray. I could only see through a magnifying glass, seeing only interiors, not angel-faced exteriors. It hurt too much. And what hurt more was looking into my mirror.

Dull living.

Dull sleeping.

Twilight.

The Pained Child.

Her supposed friends abandoned Her, Her hands were dirty, and the tea-set was broken. She hunched over the last shards, Her fire-hair aglow in the setting sun. She cupped Her hands under Her chin as She scanned the broken fragments and frowned at the disorderliness. She liked things in their place. And now it couldn’t be. Not only that but Her best friend had said that She was still a little kid. She played with stuffed animals. And she was right. Then the tea cups broke. Once again, her best friend ranted that Her parents didn't have enough money for real glass. Just cheap plastic. And she was right. Then they all called Her a loser and ran away. Were they right?

She started to cry.

The sun lost its grip on her sunflower dress, and a shadow took its place. He was there. She looked up into His dark eyes, He looked into Her bright eyes. All was going to be OK, because Daddy was here. He looked at Her mournfully, but with a look of future happiness.

He pressed his oversized hands onto her face.

He dried Her tears.

He took the shards.

And He fixed them.