The Cleansing

Black and grey from each edge of the horizon,
The Rain falls down and washes so much clean,
It is a light rain really, made more intense,
By wind and rain, cold and fog.

I have been in the rain before,
Alabama rain,
Oklahoma Rain,
Rain in the Jungles of Central America,
Rain in Monsoon torrents in Korea,
Even rain in the Desert, fleeting but dangerous flowing down the wadis,
And it all meant nothing; it was just the condition of the world in which I was living.

But now I look to the rain to pour down,
And wash away my pain,
Wash me clean, like a newborn,
That I will see the truth of myself,
Not just the things I have done.

Pour down and reach my very soul,
And rinse the crimson stain,
Which drips from it all the time it seems,
Just as the rain drips from my hooded jacket.

And so I peer into the sky,
Blessing the black and grey that stretches across the horizon,
And cursing any flash of blue which signals the end of the falling moisture,
Which means the earth will become dry and dusty once more,
And my heart and soul will become dry like the sands of the Mojave,
And the stains that are there will remain.

So let the rains come,
Softly, torrential, cold or warm,
And cleanse that which ails me,
So I might live in peace.

Quincy R. Tatum
March 13, 2012

Full Moon

What is it that takes our minds to the dark spaces,
That brings out the devil in the details,
When you swallow the urge to fight,
And know that you cannot flee from it.

What triggers these boughts of melancholy,
Interspersed with violent rage,
And speckled with paranoia,
And eased by passing moments of joy.

Why is it that what makes us happiest,
Is overrun by that which tortures us,
Like an army, swarming over the wire with bayonets,
Shining and thirsting for the internal crimson of a man.

I long for peace,
And yet constantly stand poised for war,
Welcoming the release of all my humanity,
To the madness, that my very being seems to create.

I feel as though I am always the agent of the chaos that engulfs me,
And all those I love, and it makes me afraid,
Of the future, and whether I can sustain this stability,
Or whether I should seek life away from the trappings of man.

It comes upon me without warning,
And I fear the day it boils over,
And I will grow so weary,
That I let the chaos simply engulf me,
And cross the point of no return.

But right now I will hold back the tide that threatens,
And be the rock upon which the waves break themselves,
I will not give in, I will not give up,
For this life is mine, and I intend to keep it.

Quincy R Tatum
March 8, 2012

Broken

What is the sound of a soul as it shatters?
I imagine it is something between the wail of the grief stricken,
And the shriek of the mortally wounded,
Ringing out in the darkest night imaginable.

There was a Time when I know I heard this sound,
As my soul was broken, shattered like a pane of glass,
Hit by a thrown stone, cold shards like razors,
Invisibly piercing every aspect of my being.

The sound is only heard by the holder of the soul,
And the wounds created by the shards are bloodless,
But the appearance of the the holder of that soul changes,
Ages, as if time has taken them well beyond their years.

This is how I feel so many days and hours,
Moving through the world on step in front of the other,
Even as the scraping of the shards tears me apart,
From the inside out.

And after a time, the hurt digs in so deep,
That I feel nothing at all, numb as though all my nerves are dead,
And all that is left is the pain of the real world,
To remind me that I am still here.

Joy turns to sadness in an instant,
Just a look, a thought, a word,
And I am despondent, and crushed,
Sick in my core, bur still struggling on.

And so I feel nothing,
Taste nothing,
Smell or touch nothing that brings me what I need,
What will help me make it through another day….but for what?

This life has broken me,
I feel all used up,
And I fear the love I feel,
Is no match for the cold inevitability,
Of eternal solitude.

I remain adrift,
With few answers,
That I desperately need,
But fear I will never get,
From the broken pieces inside of me.

Quincy R Tatum
February 27, 2012

Words

Words mean nothing,

A woman once told me,

Only actions count in this world,

It’s not what you say,

It’s What you do that matters.

For a poet it was a death sentence,

And it was the death of my words,

That began the road I walked for so long,

Until I found myself quite literally,

Without anything to say…..

And now, I have found words again,

But I still fear that she spoke the truth,

Because the things I have done,

Seem to make the things I say…..

Irrelevant,

Useless,

Powerless,

Against the overpowering weight of reality.

Words are what I have known,

All my life….expressing me without reservation,

And yet when I spoke with conviction,

Spoke with truth,

After holding secrets for so long,

It meant nothing, it saved nothing,

It changed…..

Nothing.

I cannot believe that silence is the answer though,

When I have finally found my voice again,

And yet the damage has been done,

And even as I write I second guess myself.

I want to scream at the top of my lungs,

I want to lose whatever sanity I have left,

And just be a poor poet again,

To feel the love that the words make,

To feel the passion that they carry,

To feel that words can be enough,

That Words can change things,

That the words can make a difference,

When actions are futile,

And impotent in the darkness.

In the end it matters not,

The world keeps turning,

Life goes on,

And the Ink runs from the papers,

Tossed into the gutter by the wind and rain.

Words Fail me,

Actions haunt me,

What is left?

Quincy R. Tatum

February 14, 2012

Lost and Found

The light has a way of finding the things that matter most,
In the Darkness, where most things become lost.
When I was a child like most children,
The darkness was a frighting place,
A place where things were lost,
And sometimes never found again.

But one day I found that the darkness was not a frightening place,
Though much wrong is done there,
And there is much to be afraid of,
If you don't have the strength,
Or the stomach to face what lies there.

I found that the darkness was good for me,
And bad for me at the same time,
For I had a light that shined inside,
That made the bad things in the darkness frightened of me.

But one can only spend so much time in the dark,
And after a time you lose your light,
and you become more dark than the darkness itself,
And you find there that what was wrong seems right,
And you become that which goes bump in the night.

For too long I have been lost,
Been too long a part of the dark, without my light,
But I have found it there,
Like a match struck to put flame to a candle.

It does not shine as I remember yet,
But it is there,
And everyday, love adds to the flame,
Becoming brighter and warmer,
with each smile, each touch.

And so my light has already found things that matter most,
Things that the darkness and my embrace of it had stolen away,
And as I find the things which matter most, my light shines brighter,
And illuminates my heart and soul.

I am still of the darkness, I spent too long there,
And cannot ever shake its folds from my heart and soul completely,
But now I don't find my way because I am part of the darkness,
I find it through the light that shines again,
So I am Lost AND I am Found,
All at once, in a brief moment in time,
And I know the way it leads,
And will be at peace once again.

Quincy R. Tatum
January 26, 2012

Upon a Rainy Friday

The rain falls from skies grey like the skin of the dead,
I walk through the puddles, and find my boots leak,
Not like Soldiers boots, my soldiers boots never leaked,
But I am not a soldier anymore,
There is a lot I am not any more, whether I like it or not.

Today marks the end of one more thing that I was,
One more thing that I beleived in and put my whole soul into,
Only to find my devotion was left wanting,
Lying in the mud feeling abandoned and alone,
Never able to wash my hands of the blood I see upon them.

Everything comes to an end they say,
And perhaps somethings don't end soon enough,
And somethings end too soon.
And so the latter or the former, one thing ends and another begins.

I look into the grey sky,
Feet wet but my soldiers jacket keeping me dry and warm,
And I feel the rain on my face,
Drops falling with as much uncertainty,
As the Future seems to hold.

I have hope, and I have dreams,
and I have the drugs the good doctors say,
To keep the Demons at arms length,
and let me see my hands clean for short periods of time.
Perhaps these things are enough,
To fill the spaces of what I am not anymore,
While I rediscover what I should have become,
Years ago......

Quincy R. Tatum
1/20/2012

Time

Time on my hands,
Time to kill,
Time for Reflection,
Time left to my own Devices,
These are not the times I need.

Times like those sink me,
Like a floundering man overboard,
In the sea filled with memory,
Filled with Pain,
Filled with Uncertainty.

I have spent too many years in those times,
Living in a hell that there was no one to share with,
Living a life that I filled the empty time,
To keep me from going mad,
To keep me taking care of those who I was responsible for,
Because that was the only duty that mattered,
The only thing that might regain my honor.

Now I must fill my time with Love,
And Laughter, and joy,
I cannot fall into that sea again,
For this time I may not resurface,
I must live in the words,
And the music that fills my soul,
And no matter how deep the ocean,
No matter how brutal the storms of time,
I will survive, I will overcome,
And I will be the man I am meant to be.

Quincy R Tatum
January 16,2012