The Cold Ones

Inspired by a friend's beautiful poetry.

 I lie with the cold ones, dead and alone, we writhe in faux pleasure, we fake every moan. We prefer this false love, it’s better than naught, but it’s no substitute for what we once sought. We live day in and out, stuck in a rut, finding our Zen in obscure smut. It seems to feel right because it’s what we now know, anything else we feel; we refuse to show. Difference is a crime in this world of masks and veils, and this is why our society fails. We need to come back to what we once were, even if it means shedding minds and re-growing fur. We launched ourselves towards something great, we came so close, but lost ourselves to hate. Now, rather than being people we’re content to fill our role, no wonder few of us feel truly whole. No longer unique, we’re just a part of the herd, embrace the hive mind or reject the absurd. Choose one or the other, don’t take too long, know this one thing: apathy is wrong.

I lie with the cold ones, but none of us rest, each thinks about their own personal quest. More than a quest, a detailed plan, we do for ourselves what we each can. But for others we do naught but what, we think will be returned, and that’s not a lot. We live in our houses, no longer a home, stuck in one place while our stagnant souls roam. We dance to the beat, but not of our hearts, we follow the steps, we all play our parts. Any problems we see, we sweep out of our way, so we can ‘truthfully’ declare “it’s a fine day”. How can we grow in a world built on fear? Taught to run from a death that is always so near. But, why must we hide from the inevitable end, death is a law one cannot ‘bend’. We run and we hide because we are unaware, one thing is for sure: acceptance is rare.

I lie with the cold ones, we speak through out fists, but all we end up with are a few broken wrists. Nothing is solved through the methods we use, you want proof? Go turn on the news. Resistance is futile, but compliance isn’t right, what should we do with that urge to fight? Where should we hide the rage that we feel, when we swallow our pride, sigh, and kneel? When did we lose the ability to mend, the cuts and abrasions to which we know we must tend? Who can we turn to in this time of need, who is our saviour, whose gospel can we read? Why is our world in such a sorry state, is it God’s will? Our excuse can be fate!

I lie with the cold ones, but I’m trying to warm, I want to be separate from this doomed swarm. I want to be different, I want a new path, I’m being led by my insight to the fiery hearth. I used to be afraid of the big, bad Grim Reaper, but I’ve found that fright just makes life cheaper. I take responsibility for the state of the earth, and I’m trying to clean it, for what it’s worth. It may not be fun, it may not be fair, and even though it’s raining outside the cold ones’ lair; At least now I’m moving, walking my way, not festering in that place, each and every day. I don’t even feel a withdrawal from it, on seeing the difference I know life was s**t. I like the feeling of just being me, others who try it are bound to see. I once lay with the cold ones, of that I’m ashamed, but my eyes are now opened and life is more than they claimed.