Drifting Memories

Art and Words to settle my mind


Visions art of an emptiest past,
They’re dancing within my dreams,
Utterance of nothing but broken word,
All within the quiet of my silent screams,
The slow control of all that was,
Life once held inside, now gone and burnt,
Within this darkness now nothing but my pain,
Only nightmares to show, despair shines brightest,
Endless thoughts, what could have been, forlorn regret,
That is but only just a common day,
My core lost among the shattered pieces,
I pray and pray as memories slowly fade away,
No answer comes, no healing of my soul’s slow death,
I embrace my coming end…

The Lost One and The Road Back

I am lost, and I have to find my way back
I have journeyed into a darkness of my own making
A darkness that I sorely needed
Needed to escape from another darkness too impenetrable to bear
An ending so heartbreaking and soul rendering that I could not abide
So I ran. I had to run, for pain and loss were too much
Too much for me to allow myself to continue
Yet I had to continue
So I ran

I ran deep inside myself
I pushed away the tears and anguish
Buried the hopelessness and helplessness
Hid the doubts and troubles, the guilt and the anger
Pushed my very soul so far from reach
That no one or nothing would be able to touch it again
Not able to attend the funeral I needed so badly to close my loss
I tried to kill and hide forever the parts of me that make me who I am
I remade myself so I could never hurt like that again

I took all of me and stowed it away
Down in that dark emptiness that I now carried in my soul
Burned there by that brief instance of nightmare, the very end of forever
I put away my ego, my self-respect, and all cares for myself
I allowed no inner joys, no dreams of the future, no future at all
And yet I denied myself the present also
Denied myself even the simple pleasures of the moment
That made up so much of me before
I cast myself out of a world I yet traveled

Turning my focus outward, I made my entire existence to do for others
My reason for being became taking care of those I still had with me
All my energies were now directed outward for all those around me
My time, my thoughts, every breath I took
Every friend in need, every imagined cause to be fought
Anything, and everything, except for myself
And as long as this remained my focus
As long as I kept the burning pain trapped deep inside
I was safe. No fear could touch me. No guilt could trample. Safe

And as the days and years went by, it got easier
The lies I tell myself became believable, became my new reality
Each new problem, whether lessor or dire, tragic or heartbreaking
Became for me the center of my life, all of my life, my existence
For each instance took me that much further from having to look within
Made it that much easier to keep the demons hidden
And, though I knew the demons were there beneath the surface
Crawling and clawing in that festering, and never healing wound
I was safe, for no one could know, and none get close enough to hurt me again

But there was too much of me left
Too much of me that needed to live, to live a real life
To love and laugh, to find those simple pleasures I need so badly
So, a battle enjoyed between my real self, caged so deep
And the fantasy I had created to steel myself against any return
Bad choices taken, driven by the tiny voice I refuse to hear
Mistakes generated by the conflict within resulting in more loss, more pain
Errors in judgement guaranteed to fail
To fail because my fantasy self would ensure their failure

And now I fear, my time runs short
Already so many of those I used for my focus have moved out of reach
And too soon, I will loose the few left to me
I will be alone, alone to deal with that I cannot deal with
That which I cannot face, even after all this time
What then will be the meaning for my continuance
All I base my life on now, will be lost
Where will I find purpose to hold back the darkness
Where will I run from the pain?

I must find a way back…

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre November 14th, 2008

My Shadow

Passing through years of time, making me who I am now
Each wrinkle and scar a testimony of life well lived
Time wroth furrows mapping each bend in the path
Life’s blood runs now slow in these old veins
Once golden hair now awash in the white of snow
Yet I still hold to life as death touches cold against my cheek

I find myself in this old picture, young and strong
Not finding what I am, but what I was
Mirror leaving no doubt, not else to believe
Yet though I’ve altered, much remains the same
As I was drawn, I still retain that which I am
Complexion and stand, here I still find me

It is my face staring back, my friendly smile
My never empty well of love, still seen in reflective eye
Here I find, my care and compassion still live
With abundant enthusiasm, the zeal of a youth
Denial perhaps, of ruddy lip, or hair of less youthful dye
So as I behold the frail old man I’ve become
I find my shadow less changed than I thought…..

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre December 23rd, 2007


All night the clock ticked, and outside a moon like day,
And I, in the ravages of sleep, head on a stranger’s breast,
Shed tears, like a task not to be put away….
In the false moon light, overwhelming grief in my happy bed,
An ocean of tears, set to undo joy’s rebirth.
I would not wake at your word, I had only tears to say.
I clung to the dream and they were my soul,
And let pain’s derisive hand had give me rest
From the night of living flame, and the darkness within.

We do not get over grief.
But over time, we do learn to live with the loss.
We learn to live a different life…with our loss.

Steve ’Easy’ Whitacre November, 2005

The Last Flowers

With despair I watch, as they slip away one by one,
Their short-lived beauty now fading, their frilly dresses now brown
Some laying face down covered with the morning dew.
Little by little they will disappear and fade from my view

But oh, did they not have their glory, their day in the sun
Still, I hate their demise, cannot bear to lose even one
And when this day is done, this suffering wait over,
I’ll be sorrowful for a while, then an old friend will come
Aster will be dressed in ardent purples and blues,
And with her those friends with colors, burnt orange, rustic gold,
And ruby red, the most pleasant to the eye.

I will not lament, I will not wail,
For the show they put on is breath-taking in renewal
And, though in death they share their last beauty
I will still remember them well when the first snowflake falls…

For you my friend, a small reminder of the glories of life, and the inevitable ends.
The endings are false, but brief pauses as we change to another path.
Be at peace my dear friend…for there are no endings, only changes in state.

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre December 31, 2005