"The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved".

-Mother Teresa (1910 - 1997)

"Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for."

-Dag Hammarskjold (1905 - 1961)

The Black Hole Masquerade

where am I to belong

if not to the present

or even to the past

(with my slow worthless existence)

or to the future

with my likely failure

will I just drift aimlessly

a figure in a masquerade

hidden

yet when it comes time to reveal my face-

there is nothing

an empty space

a gaping black hole.

Everyone thinks I am a black hole

of nothingness

but they just don't know who I really am

maybe that's why they move away,

scared that they too

will be sucked into the

emptiness

HELP! Help….help…help…help…

Why is it that when

people call "help!"

everyone looks away

and pretends they

can't hear

after all, it's probably

just someone being silly-

or something that we don't

want to get caught up in

maybe in the future, whenever

i need help-

i should really call "fire!"

Those who need are those who walk alone

You come for me now

knowing you are safe

in the darkness

which blankets

the secrets of night

but i still have control

who are you to stage battles

in my head-

conflicts and painful wars

of decision-

what is real and

what is not real

my tears are real

they cleanse and soothe

and only leave

stillness

you are not real

the darkness sometimes

brings sleep-

kind sleep in which

you do not come-

can not come

can not penetrate the

walls of my dreams

for you are not there

but soon the loneliness

might invite you

in

but it mustn't

my dreams are my escape

and i know you do not belong

sometimes you seep

through a hole in the wall-

preying on my loneliness

intimidating my weak

convincing them we are

friends

but you are not my friend

you are not real

you are just a parasite

taking over

growing

filling-

taking over...

soothing the loneliness

The Outside people think i am

crazy-

but they are not in

they don't understand and

they just turn away their eyes

while their children stare

and I am alone.

no-

i am with you

but you are not real

i will block you out

yes i am still here

and then you leave

and i am alone

hush...

you will come again

you will be real

you will be my friend

Stolen

walking along

something makes me stir-

I stop

slowly feeling the air-

the warm scent that

carries with it the memories

of everything I knew

the smell of the dust

and the sound of old tribal songs

brings pleasure to my face

and lets my soul fly

I feel the burning sand

on my tough feet-

my fingers lingeringly brush

the sides of a tree-

the familiar peaks and crevices

of roughness

and in doing so,

I brush against something else-

I close my eyes and stand still

taking time to remember what

I know once has happened

suddenly it begins-

the past starts trickling

through me

until it is running down my veins

and flooding my senses-

surrounding me until

I am back

back to the times of

the bora ring, the corroborees

the sacred ceremonies

and the memories of a happy past

Suddenly a loud and awkward

beeping of a car horn fills

my ears

this ungainly noise does

not fit into the beauty

and elegance of my world

I open my eyes

and I see my 'trees'-

the tall apartments and offices

where the people waste away-

as though the power emanating

from every dark suit

is the life of the wearer

slowly being drained away

reducing the people to clones-

powered by the

'importance' of their jobs

and the things which

'must' be done

the warming sand

molding to my feet

becomes the dirty city concrete

to whose paths we are confined

and the sounds of the birds

as they sing and soar

as the kings of the air -

are now the stifled and choked

cry for release from the bird

in the cage that remembers

the time when it once was

free

just like me

I look at my watch-

I must be on my way

in this place time is more

than an empty number

I continue walking

my world has once again

been snatched away