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The Beginning.

by leinad 

Posted: 03 February 2005
Word Count: 543
Summary: The first of three poems titles 'The Beginning. The Middle. The End.' 'The Beginning addresses the first in a trilogy of views from a man with a deep resentment for having not lived.


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Kicking. Screaming. I tried, I swear,
With little care to hide despair.
As closer, closer towards the light,
The start of what they call 'life'.
Clutching, grabbing.
I lose my final hold.
As Wrenched out screaming I enter the cold.
Where a coated man pronounces 'four ounces six pounds',
While the sobs of happiness are drowned out by my desperate sounds,
Pleading, pleading.
They show no remorse.

And so the pages of my first few years,
Flick before my eyes still red with tears.
Silenced, I'm unable to communicate,
As the meaning of life I still debate.
The answer to which I never discover.
Not me, not them or any other,
Can decipher life's great cryptic cover.
Or enter its gilded pages.

One. Two. Three.
The ornamental cake reveals another turn.
Four.
But is it true, am I still alive?
As I lay incapable, limbs acting of their own control,
Attached to a harness like a thief on parole.
But they don't care,
As it seems too much to bear,
And as I wail my grievances,
To my silent confidant, the moon.

The others, they seem happy, full of glee.
But no, no. That's just not me.
I never wore those bright striped suits,
Or dressed up in those 'cute' red boots.
I wouldnít, I wont.
I'm not the rest,
Not setting out to be the best.
Head arched over, down to the ground,
That free life spirit yet to be found.

To the moon I ask 'what can I do',
But all he does is stare straight through,
Casting down his pure white waves,
That somewhere nowhere reflect off a bespoke grave.

I never swung upon the swings,
Or experienced the joy it apparently brings.
I never found my feet in summer waters,
Or skimmed some brilliant stone like a deadly mortar.
I never tumbled on grasses lush green,
Or ventured my mind to places never seen.
I never laughed at brainless words,
My fathers voice I never heard.
Just the sounds of sobbing,
Over a vacant face that never returned.

I started school for all my sins,
And took full force of all it brings,
Barely looking up from my comrade pavement,
I never saw the friendly glance never stared,
Or ever took ear to the cheery greeting never spoken.

I never joined the playground show,
Always hiding myself in the back row.
Never ask, never answer.
Forever screaming, never speaking.
Pen in hand I scribble idle nothings,
As quickly forgotten as they are preached.

My childhood drew on in painstaking years,
Confirming all my many fears,
As the pain of growing up scolded deep,
Gouging cracks from which remaining hope seeped,
Replaced by bitter resentment and fear,
And a yearning for an ending to loom near.

I read the morning paper in the hope of reading my own obituary,
But no such luck.
Just the tainted ink subliminally telling victims that bullets speak louder than words,
Its headlines screaming prophesies of the beginning of the end,
And the destruction of the world.

The others, they looked down on me,
But they didnít see what I could see,
The pain. The torment. The despair.
They didnít listen. They didnít care.
But I knew truth. I knew.

I knew.

Dan Cooper. 2005






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Comments by other Members



paul53 [for I am he] at 21:51 on 10 March 2005  Report this post
Dan,
This is powerful stuff, but it poses more questions than it answers.

I see by your profile you've been a part member since 03, but only recently posted this. Did you leave and then return? Not being a full meember and not being in a group means the only chance anyone has of seeing this is picking it up - as I just have - on the Random Read.

I am loath to offer any critical comment until I know more about the background to this piece. It suggests the subject of the piece has a disability bordering on paraplegia, but perhaps I am reading it wrong.

There is much in this piece - perhaps a bit too much to take in. A redraft making it shorter might give its readers more insight.

Neezes at 10:52 on 09 November 2010  Report this post
As above, i saw this as a 'random read'...so for what it's worth:

Good comments above - it has some good stuff but is a bit long and I think it would be more powerful if it was clearer what the persons problem/disability is, otherwise some of it sounds a bit self-pitying without the reader knowing why.
For example:

never wore those bright striped suits,
Or dressed up in those 'cute' red boots.

Unclear why even a disabled child would be unable to wear striped clothes?

A redrafting needs to make this more explicit
Also cut some verses, I suggest the last two should go (possibly be moved to your follow-up poem) and 4$5 could go... The school and playground ones could perhaps be combined. All of this will make it shorter and punchier.

Hope that helps, good luck.
Jonathan


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