A Simple Understanding

It would be as though
 the sun does not exist
Darkness would rule
 the hours of the day

What would be the point;
 nothing to see
Light is not needed
 to view nothingness

The cooling winds
 would no longer be present
Quite probably,
I would not even notice

The air would seem stale,
 and even bitter
My body no longer able
 to sense the difference

When night would fall,
 there would be no stars
No twinkling,
 no need for wishing upon them

The absence of the moon,
  would be like a stab in the heart
No emotional response
 to what is no longer there

Hunger, thirst, and the very need
 for emotions of any variation
Would all be lost somewhere
 in the stillness of my mind

Growth, the need to advance
 or even the concept of existence
would all vanish and be viewed
 as obsolete gestures lost with time

Sleeping, or even a moment of rest
would be a thing of the past
Numbness would dominate
 the constant exhaustion

 Dreams develop
 into a distant memory of nothing
All lost somewhere
 in the vast darkness of eternity

With each new day,
my soul is drained a little more
The life sucked from me
 by this massive void around me

No longer willing to understand
 life before me or behind me
My mind would no longer
 see the necessity to understand


And yet, something so very simple
 awaits within me in all its radiance
Removing this nothingness,
 and restoring all, to what it should be

All that is truly needed
 is to open my eyes each morning
And to know within my heart,
  that you will be there beside me...

vic damico © 2010

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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This Is Real Pain

After five years
you would think we knew each other
Would have fine tuned
feelings that have made us what we are

It had been perfect
We were as one
I needed her
and she needed me

I was there when she needed me
and even when she didn't need me
My life revolved around her
All I had was hers

It was not one-sided
Her feelings were made clear
I responded accordingly
It was not my imagination

I was deeply in love
she told me the same
All time available was hers
and she felt the same

I remember that last Christmas
It was so very special
All hints of all she wanted
were fulfilled on that night

Her favorite book
her favorite perfume
her favorite music
And, yes there was a ring

I placed the ring on her finger
I gave her my heart at that moment
She seemed filled with happiness
That is all that mattered to me

The days went by
We grew closer together
Any time spared was hers
and she felt the same

That summer, we took a trip
For a week, we were on a beach
It was all so very perfect
We were as one, totally in love

We returned from the trip
I thought I was going home
But even after this week
She told me to stay the night

The next day
after getting home from work
I called the one I loved
Anticipating simply hearing her voice

It didn't happen that way
I never heard her voice
Instead, I heard a recording
The number you are trying to reach
has been changed

How is that for closure?
How would your feel?
How well would you sleep?
How would you trust anyone?

This is a void in my life
A closure that will not come
I fight with this daily
How will I trust again?

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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Just some thoughts

In
  Washington,
resides
a
selfish
group

A breed that is exempt
 from moral aptitude
They seem to hover
 above the normal universe
And mold it to their own design
 and specifications

Their
eyes
see
what
they
are
allowed
to
see

That which will resist
 internal, personal conflict
That vision is for them,
 and them only
It is their decision
 as to what they will share

Their
ears
hear
absolutely
everything

Yet, they filter out
that which is controversial
It must be acceptable
 to the people
But only after being masked
 by their artists

What
their
hands
touch
is
automatically
tarnished

A stain that can never
 be removed or even hidden
Covered with filth, grime,
 and pure evil intentions
Once it happens,
 it represents what should not be

With
our
voices
we
scream

of that which is being forced upon us
Many of our voices are silenced
while the rest of us are ignored
We are pitted against each other
in an effort to confuse our communication
A strategy that has existed for decades
and what an effective strategy it is

This
division
that
we
simply
allow

is a distraction from what they do
As we fight that which is not the enemy
The enemy in Washington moves on
The right seems to hate the left
and the left seems to hate the right
An orchestrated societal war is being waged

While
the agenda
 of the true enemy
in Washington
 proceeds
with
the coolness
of a
fox

When will we, as a people
finally wake up and respond
Not in anger
against
the opposing political party
but
against those
who are choosing personal agenda
as a priority over the good
of the nation
and the people
who call it home

We, the people have selected our leaders
and we, the people
have failed

The select few in Washington do not control
they
represent
us

Being the political party in charge
means absolutely nothing
What good is it to be in charge
of a country that fails?

If you consider only the promotion
of your selected party,
You are supporting a group...
Unless all within that group
are worthy, and honorable,

you
have
won
nothing

Elections are upon us
Decisions must be made

Both sides in Washington are the same
They want what is best for them
They are both wrong, and are simply trying
to remain in office, a selfish agenda, indeed

We
need
honesty,
honor,
integrity,
and concern for what is best
for the nation
and those who
live within
its
borders...

It is just
that
simple

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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The Clock On The Wall

I have a clock
that hangs on the wall
above the fireplace

It was gift
that was given to me
by my grandmother
upon her death

The clock has been
in the repair shop
a couple of times
over the last few years

It keeps perfect time
I can live my life
based on its accuracy
winding required once per month

The chimes do not work
no sounds reminds me
of the hour at hand

Except

Every morning
at four o'clock
It speaks to me
Four times it sounds

That is when it happens
It always interrupts my sleep
I usually just sit up in bed
and listen to what will follow

I cannot explain it
I stopped trying years ago
No one would believe me, anyway
So, it remains my secret

First I can hear the rocking chair
squeaking as it moves back and forth
Here, my grandma would sit each morning
reading the morning edition of the news

Then the sounds would move
into the kitchen
This was grandma's heaven
her personal domain

I could always hear the rattling
of pots and pans as she worked
Preparing the morning meal
as only she could manage to do

Next came the dining room
I could hear as the plates, silver and glasses
were placed on the table with precision
I remember that glorious presentation

Sometimes I could even smell the food
Eggs, bacon, biscuits, and the coffee
Somehow, it always smelled better
just because it came from her

The simple strike of four
by this malfunctioning clock
Returns to me the understanding
of what was and will always be

Memories stored within me
of what was life at its best
Unconditional and endless devotion
to those who saw her for who she was

I stopped trying to get the clock repaired
not because it could not be done
But because while it sat in the shop
My four o'clock memories did not surface

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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Darkness Can Sometimes
 Lead You Into The Light

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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Some Of Us Are Blinded

Many of us seem to stroll
blindly through our daily lives
Finding themselves isolated
 within their chosen environments

Living in a world that has become
 unique to the individuals, themselves
Having no choice but to respond according
To that chosen environment of the individual

As we look
into the forest
we concentrate
 on a single fallen tree
and with that
 negative observation
the healthy trees
 are unnoticed

We look into
 a field of grass
focusing on the voids
 left from a brush fire
So much focus
 on the ugliness
that the the flowers
 within the field are ignored

We look at a stretch
 of a white sandy beach
 and see a few scattered
 pieces of trash
So angry at
 such an unwelcome sight
we do not notice
 the children playing

In the distance,
 an oil refinery
 can be seen
Dark smoke billowing
 into the sky above
We scream and point
our fingers at others
While the beautiful blue sky
 remains there for the viewing

In the middle of a field
 is a pond, still and quiet
Bottles and paper gathered
 at the edges over the years
Frustration engulfs us
  as we stare at the sight
Yet we fail to see
 a little boy fishing
in the distance  

We complain
 of not having all we want
a better car,
 or maybe a bigger house
While we complain endlessly
 of this selfish non-sense
many are hungry
 and have no home

We scold our children
 for petty disagreements
Arguments take place;
 they hide in their rooms
We view this time
 as peace and silence
yet, time with them
 on that day is lost forever

Men hanging out
 at the local club
Looking for a night
 of pleasure and escape
Yet in their drunken state
 and absence from reality,
their wives and children
 never enter into their minds

We complain
 of minor ailments and pains
feeling sorry for ourselves
 for undeserved discomfort
While others all around
 us suffer helplessly
Many will not live
 to see another day

We find ourselves living
 in quite an ugly world
Not because it is ugly
but because we have become
  so preoccupied by greed and selfishness
 
So unaware of what we have
The blessings that fill each day
The good that surrounds us
and all that truly matters

We
Have
Become
Blind
To
What
Is
Really
Important

Take time to see the beauty
and the true blessings in life
They are everywhere, and are endless
What a shame to not see them

Take the time to just look




















vic damico © 2010

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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Josh's Diner
(October dark writes #1)

It was a city that never sleeps, although it was just a small, quaint existence as opposed to much larger cities.  Downtown was a single street, one store after another and all seem to have their own contribution to the overall survival of the people who called it home.  Yes, even in a town of only 562 people, Main Street lived up to its name.

At the corner of Main and 1st Avenue was Josh's Meat Market, the only place in the city to buy meat.  Josh was known to all, and he was also one of the three police officers of the city.  I think that is why the city seemed so strong.  Almost all who lived there seemed to have more than one title in their daily part of the societal existence of this little part of the world.  Josh was a man in his mid-forties, single by choice. He seemed to be a loner, and even though he was a large part of the functioning of the city, no one really knew too much about his personal life.

Next to the meat market was the diner, which was the only place to get a good meal other than at your own home.  In a city such as this, going to the diner was a night out; an adventurous evening with a friend or a lover.  The diner was owned by Josh of the meat market, and operated by Michael and Alison Ellington.  Michael and Alison were both born and raised in the city, and had been a couple since their high school years.  They were married just out of high school and have been together as man and wife for just over twenty years.  Michael was also one of three police officers in the city, and also Josh's brother.  And yes, all within the city are somehow connected.  All of the meat used in Michael and Alison's diner came from Josh's meat market. 

All that was needed to keep the city functioning and continuing was located within the two block area that made up downtown.  There was a cleaners, a dollar store, a doctors office, a drug store, a small fire department, a two cell police department, and a combination gas station/auto repair shop.  Then there was the church.  It was a non-denominational church, where all were welcome and treated as the same.  The pastor of the church was Samuel Adkinson; he had been the pastor since he had personally financed the construction of the church some twenty five years ago.  Everyone in the city could be found at the church every single Sunday with the exception of one person.  Josh Lambert has never stepped foot in the Church, not even for a wedding or a funeral gathering.  Many wondered about his total absence from the church or anything related to religion, but never felt comfortable or close enough to him to inquire about it.

And then, there is me.  I am the evil within the city that is unknown to all.  I exist within every aspect of the life source of the city and all who live there.  I exist in the shadows, the underbelly of all that is dark, and represent the ongoing deception forced upon all without their knowledge of secrets of which they do not know.  My secrets are not a source of power, but a feeling of accomplishment to myself; started as a game and grew into an obsession to see how far I could go with a cruel joke.  And the once, simple joke had transformed into a massive deception that engulfed the entire city and all who called it home.

You see, Josh Lambert doesn't really remember me.  I had a confrontation with him about ten years ago while driving through the city on my way to a nearby town where I was to start a new job.  Josh, the police officer pulled me over for speeding through the small city and decided to use me as an example for others who did not obey simple laws.  For the simple infraction of a minor law, I was confined to a cell for long enough to serve as an example, which just so happened to be long enough to prevent me from my new job.  I knew within myself that I would get even with Josh, and I knew my revenge would go much further than a simple example as he had in mind with me.

Now, in order to explain the deception to you, we must revisit the diner.  The diner was always busy from morning to night, seven days each week.  It was known mainly for a single dish, and it was by far the most popular of all on the menu.  Yes, the country fried steak was the favorite of almost everyone, and they could not get enough of it.  The country fried steak was Josh's gold mine, and this is where I came into the picture. 

The steaks that were supplied to the diner were purchased every week, and I was the supplier.  The steaks were tenderized and packaged individually, specifically for the diner that allowed the favorite item to be possible.  I prepared the meat, myself with no help from anyone from the beginning of the process until they were delivered to the diner.  My revenge spread to more than just this city.  Each month, a neighboring town would lose someone in the process.  In order for the supplying of my meat product each week, I took a single life each and every month.  Small portions of that individual were included into the tenderizing process and the end result was that my friend Josh got a little extra to serve his customers at the diner.  What started about five years ago as revenge, has now become so profitable, that I cannot bring myself to stop what I have started. 

My true intended revenge was to inform Josh of all I had done, and to expose it to the city in a manner that would connect Josh to the deception.  I guess I will just wait for Josh's next screw up before I take it to that level.  But for now, I will just continue to be a business man...        
   

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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 The Edge Of The Woods
(October dark write #2)

The car began to sputter, and then finally the engine died.  My hopes of making it to the next gas station did not work out quite like I had planned.  I was trying to make good time and to reach my destination by midnight.  I guess that did not work out so well, either.  I fell asleep after a few minutes, and woke up about an hour later.  My mind felt cloudy, like something was not quite right.   

I stepped out of the car, and for a moment just looked around to get a focus on where I was and what to do.  My options were not just limited, but there was but one option for me to consider.  That would be to just begin walking toward the next city and to hope someone else would come along and find me.  At this point, I was not too optimistic about either.  I grabbed a flashlight and what I needed from the car, locked everything else in the trunk, and went on my way to where ever the road may lead.  And still, I had this eerie feeling like things were not as they appear.  I felt a little puzzled. 

After an hour or so, I was beginning to feel the exhaustion begin to consume me.  I had not slept in almost twenty-four hours, so the feeling was hitting me pretty hard.  A loud sound startled me, and I looked to my left to where the sound seemed to come.  I turned on my flashlight and shined it along the road looking for the source of the sound.  Right at the edge of the road, on the other side, was a woman just standing there.  Typically, a woman standing by herself would not create a fear in me, but this was far from a typical situation.  There was nothing for thirty miles in any direction.  What the hell was she doing here, and how out of all the places to be, would she be standing before me.  After several minutes of just looking at her, I decided to approach her.  Just as I reached her, she spoke.
 
"I have been waiting for you." she said and had a slight smile on her face.  She spoke again.  "I knew you would be here, tonight." 
I honestly did not know what to say, but finally uttered the words, "Do we know each other?" 
"No, but I knew you were coming." She answered.
"Follow me." She said in a soft voice, as she turned and began walking into the woods.
My first instinct was to just go on my way, and just dismiss the woman and the eerie feelings I had about what had just happened.  Of course, I did not follow that instinct, and instead, walked into the woods where the woman had gone, disobeying that voice within me saying to not do it.

The woman moved swiftly through the thick vegetation with ease, while I fumbled, walked into things, and even fell while being the one with a flashlight.  After walking for about five minutes, and I would guess about a half-mile into the woods, the woman stopped.  She turned to face me, and told me her name was Andrea.  I extended my hand to hers and told her my name was Stephen.  She looked into my eyes and began to speak.
"Stephen, I cannot explain this, so I will just show you."  She then told me that she would talk to me about it in a few minutes. 

Andrea then turned and leaned forward.  There were two doors flush with the ground, much like the old storm shelters.  She grabbed the handle on one door and lifted it, and immediately I was almost blinded by the light.  She began to descend the stairs beyond the door, and I followed closely behind her.  We must have walked down at least twenty steps, and finally, we reached the bottom.  What I saw before me could never really be explained or believed unless you saw it for yourself.

It was like I had just entered a city.  As far as I could see were houses, stores, and even multi-story buildings.  It was lit up as though the sun were shining, and it was the middle of the night.  I felt weak, and I guess Andrea sensed it, because she held onto my arm and held on as if to hold me up.  I finally could stay silent no longer, and knew I had to ask about this place. 

I looked at Andrea, and asked her if there was somewhere we could sit down and talk.  She said that we could go to her house which was just two houses down from where we were.  We walked in and I was amazed at what I saw.  It was a typical house, all the modern attributes that somehow existed in this  place.  We walked into the dining room; she grabbed us a drink, and we sat down.  Andrea was the first to speak.

"This is confusing to you, Stephen.  I understand that." She said.  "But in time, you will come to appreciate what has happened."  She then explained that everyone here had come across this place for basically the same reason.  It was simply their next step in life.  It will eventually make sense.

I stood, and just paced for a moment.  My mind was flooded with confusion.  Then, I turned to her and spoke.  "I do not understand.  What do you mean, the next step in life?  I don't plan on staying, so why would you tell me it would eventually make sense?"
"This is your home, now.  Stephen, you have no where to go." She grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the chair.
"Look, Andrea." I said in an almost angry voice.  "I ran out of gas.  "I just need to get someone to help me get my car so I can be on my way.  I have no intentions of staying here."

"You do not remember what happened, Stephen.  You did not run out of gas.  You fell asleep and your car hit a tree.  You were killed instantly.  That was almost three months ago.  This is your final stage with your life.  This is where you will remain.  You have no choice with this."  Those doors that led down to where we are no longer exist.  There is no exit."        

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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The Other Side Of The Mirror
(October dark writes #3)

Even though you are totally unaware, from the other side, I can see you.  Often, I am only inches away, and yet you never know me to be there, nor feel my presence.  I speak to you more than you could imagine, almost every day, but you cannot hear me through the glass.  I am trapped, locked away in total seclusion; no one sees me, although they look directly at me.  I live in a world beyond you all, just a short distance, yet so far away, on the other side.  I hear all you say, your secrets, your lies, as you talk to yourself, even though you do not talk to me directly.  I see you in all areas of your life, your expressions speak to me more than they do to yourself, and it happens simply by walking past me without even knowing it.  I think constantly, wondering what it would be like to be free, to finally escape the darkness on my side of the world.  I live so close to the light you take for granted, yet because of my life in darkness, the light is simply beyond my reach.  I watch you laugh, I have seen you cry.  I have watched as you just sit and are held captive within your own thoughts.  I have seen you smile; I have seen you angry, and you have even thrown things at me without even knowing it.  But, one truth remains, and it tortures me constantly with every second that passes.  I am always here, and no one even knows of my existence.  All of you just live your lives, and I am forced to witness what is before me, sometimes more aware than even you may be.  Quite often I ask myself of the possibility that even one of you may know that I am there, and that possibility gives me a moment of comfort.  I also wonder if anyone ever has a single thought as to what may wait just beyond their reach.  And just maybe you will think of me the next time you do look into your mirror.    

Tags: Poetry, Poems, Writing, Vic Damico

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