Poem: The Spark In My Eyes (Will Never Die)

Something is always trying
to crush the spark in my eyes,
trying to wear me down slowly
until it disappears forever.

Trying to wear me down
with routines,
with values,
with cold expectations
that pretend they are loving,
until there's nothing left.

Trying to convince me
that none of it is real,
the things I know in my heart,
the dreams I want to create in life,
the things that come out
through this spark in my eyes.

Trying to tell me
I'm wrong to believe in love,
that it's wrong to have fun
and live in joy,
to believe in passion,
to want a revolution
inside everyone's eyes.

Something is always trying
to destroy the spark
that comes out of my soul,
the spark that's screaming to you,
join me and fight
while we still can breath
and bleed
and cry.

Trying to drain it out of me
with commercials and newspapers,
with logic and rational thought,
with religion and mythology,
with insidious lies
that are really lies because they claim
to be the truth.

Trying to suck it out like a vampire
slowly drinking the blood
that is this spark in my eyes,
but the blood just keeps flowing
and the vampires just keep drinking.

Something is always trying to blot out
this precious spark in my eyes
so that you can't see it,
so I can't see it in you,
until, utterly defeated and sad,
we finally stop believing
that it was ever there to begin with.

Trying to isolate us from each other,
trying to convince us we're all alone
and that this is the way
things really should be and are,
that life is a bitch
and then you just die.

Trying to make us all believe
the important things in life
are money and cars,
your job and your credit score,
your career and the things you create,
your nation,
your biological family,
your responsibilities to society.

It can't seem to understand
this spark that shines in my eyes
when I look in the mirror
and remember who I really am,
this spark that I see
when I meet someone who has remembered
where they really came from.

It can't seem to understand
that no matter how much it tries
to wear me down,
to wear us all down,
that spark will always exist
in somebody,

It doesn't understand
what the spark means
so it does everything it can
to bury it in the dusty mud
of the graveyard it tells us is our lives.

Something is always trying
to crush the spark in my eyes,
trying to wear me down until it's gone,
but it never will
now that I know
the spark is there.

Francis's picture

Nice poem JaiMe, very reminiscent of some of the stuff I used to attempt to write, the portrayal of everything we would do without, the things that constantly barrage our peace of mind while on our spiritual quest.  I, too, tried my hand at poetry for a while and hope you don't mind if I use your inspiration as a platform to share my own.  Please excuse the rhyming first of all, a little phase I went through, and any foul language that may have been thrown in for emphasis.  Not necessary in hindsight, but worked at the time.  Funny, I read your profile about wanting to meet ex-alcoholics, another dark road I've traveled in this life, thinking I could find truth in excess, but ultimately found only despair (in my defense, if you could call it that, lol, I grew up in LA and found inspiration in the works of Bukowski, in his defiance of not giving in to mediocrity - defiance, not a path I would recommend . . .)  Anyway, here's my own little poem:

the mirror    

at first glance I did not recognize
myself but looked back with much
wonder and curiosity,
for what moved there did not feel
like me and I stared and stared
until both laughter and tears became
familiar on my face.

soon pride crept in and
beckoned me to stay,
whispering its deceitful secrets
I found myself enthralled,
commanding my attention
I remained to hear them all.

she whispered promises of power
to tame the world and make it mine,
tempting me with beauty
both temporal and divine.

but the world had other plans
and soon I caught her in a lie,
unmoved she called me weak
when she heard my stung outcry;
I sulked home like one defeated,
embarrassed and ashamed,
and stared at the fractured pieces
of my cherished victory day.

in the season of distaste the lines
of my face grew more severe,
things of beauty now looked empty,
those of meaning full of pomp,
as I spied the golden prop of vanity
and smashed the face within the wall.

disillusion’s tough meat to swallow
when lonely and out for love;
fury hardens the once soft heart
to see love’s favors bought and sold,
for in a land where money’s king to be
the queen makes you a whore.

and so my face grew harder still,
the outside world setting its sharp stamp;
I steeled my heart to ward off pain,
let eyes announce the new harsh truth,
to prove the world no match for me
I paid the price in tears of blood.

in the season of excess pursuit
of pleasure stole my days,
every object filled with purpose,
quickly used and tossed away;
vice stood at my side and
fueled my hard desire
to slap the Spirit’s face—
go out in demon fire.

I ran all day and night,
found pleasure anywhere but here,
an easy smile in violent light,
to dispel my darkest fear;
and in the sheath of night,
locked deep in her embrace,
as I breathed the conquest’s breath,
felt anything but whole.

I pursued and bombed the flesh
till the spirit cried no more,
then dropped there to my knees
and collapsed amongst the gore;
gasping at the bitter end I waited to expire
but fate’s patronizing hand reached down
to mock my last desire.  So gathering
broken spirit I trod with head bent low,
and pondered on the flesh that should
withstand such’ fearsome blow. 

I retreated from the battlefield,
found shelter to lick my wounds,
as the outside world lost all allure
I repaired the broken mirror.

a definite change had taken place since
my return and whether real or only sensed I
couldn’t be sure, but I stared at the face now as
upon one dead, and as I stared time stood still,
frozen, waiting for the decision, the dead
eyes asking the question, what now?

I didn’t have a clear-cut answer but
thought I’d look upon the extra time as
a gift, extra time—it was eternity!
and if this was eternity I’d be damned
if I was going to use even an ounce of it
on anything unworthy.  but what was worthy
of such an endless amount of time?  what was
worthy of eternity?

only I could answer this question for myself.
it was as though I’d been baptized through pain
and was on the verge of being reborn into
something wonderful – something of eternal
wonder and design.

to find the answer I looked deep within
and continue to do so to this day;
whether here or there in life, no matter,
the truth in spirit will lead the way:

the day shall come when lines break free
where time will crack upon inspection,
those who have eyes, let them see,
heaven’s found in true reflection.

And I wanted to ask you if that was one of your paintings - it's similar to something one of my good friends painted. 

In the spirit of sharing and being inspired, and hoping others will do the same,



JaiMe's picture

Thanks for sharing this Francis, I can really feel what you're saying. The rhyming works well too, it really doesn't feel forced or contrived to me, although I know an author is their own worst critic lol. I would also say, though I don't really see any, "foul language" is useful for expressing strong emotions, and far less harmful than expressing them physically once they have gotten stuck through not expressing them in other ways. The painting is by Alex Grey, I was present when he was painting it and it reflected very strongly the energy I was feeling and flowing with in that space and time. It also very much resembled a piece I had been using at the time as my profile pic on many sites, so I chose to use this one. Thanks for reading!

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