Our Own Hell

                                                Our Own Hell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nothing compares to it really as

we toss and turn in our sleep at

night and pray for deliverance

from it.

 

We’re stuck in our bodies whether

we like it or not, we twist our

souls in our sheets trying

to survive it.

 

Dissolving slowly like all our

past lives, lived and counted out,

or taken down by disease, there’s

no escaping hell.

 

Except for those who have found

their god on earth and heaven

above, but could they be wrong?

 

With this sweet song of repentance,

love and forgiveness for all who confess

on bended knee to make it through the

eye of that needle. I toss even more in

my bed with questions.

 

I’ve rubbed myself up against so

many hard days from my past

and they are not comforting bed

fellows. No escaping them, I am

stuck in my body not yet shed,

simply dissolving, dissolving like

a rancid pool of dripping sewer

water thrown out with the waste.

 

Picking my coffin when the time

is ripe, the salesman will laugh

when I ask him to let me try it

out for size and then inform him

that the cardboard box will be

just fine as it burns for a third

of the cost of mahogany fine.

 

I don’t share my hell with anyone

but myself, as there’s no hell like

our very own.

 

In the meanwhile I will continue

to wash under my armpits, pluck

the feathers from my belly button

and accept life for what it is a

box of chocolates, never

knowing what you’re going

to get.

 

Let the seasons change,

and October blow at our trees

limbs and shake their crusted

leaves to the ground for us to

walk and crunch their sounds,

from selfish colors they fade

and leave behind.

 

Strange things are happening in

our world and cities, as our blood

keeps pumping from our heart

and channeling and lubricating

our souls.

 

I crunch up my pillow under my

sleepy head and turn over to stare

at my ceiling, to watch the fan

above squeak and churn, while

the sun attempts to creep through

my verticals. Damn it’s just another

moody Prairie morning and I

crossed the finish line.

 

© Copyright Vincent Moore. All Rights Reserved.

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more.

He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
Vincent Moore

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Vincent Moore

Vincent Moore pens his thoughts about many things and has a style all his own. Sometimes, he parties with words excessively and it becomes necessary to publish quickly lest his work be lost in the dark corners of his room or his mind. Vincent will lead you into mysterious worlds that are strange yet somehow familiar, worlds that will leave you unsettled and breathless for more. He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published. In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.

8 thoughts on “Our Own Hell

  • September 12, 2017 at 1:02 PM
    Permalink

    How disconcerting is that? Well penned verse of being trapped in one’s own hell, Vincent. One must find the way to take control of thoughts that defeat the self. Spending time with nature and talking with a good friend also helps.

    Reply
    • September 13, 2017 at 12:52 PM
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      Yes I have come to realize that keeping much to oneself, almost reclusive, isn’t the answer to living in the shadows. I am semi-retired so the days I have off, I work 4 on 4 off, so with those days off, I find nature and people to mix into. I love the lakes, we have 100,000 of them in the Province I reside in. To be one with nature is wonderful. And when your out and about, you will always meet people to share stories with, with simple conversation. Thank you for your comment Phyllis, I agree with y our remedy;-))

      Reply
  • September 12, 2017 at 4:39 PM
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    “There is no hell like our very own” – no truer words have ever been spoken Vincent. I enjoyed this piece.

    Reply
    • September 13, 2017 at 12:53 PM
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      Thank you Kurt, I’m sure you too have had your share of Hell from time to time. The trick is to put it behind us and move on, I’ve been able to do that the last few years and very thankful for it.

      Reply
  • September 13, 2017 at 1:44 AM
    Permalink

    Ah, so many things I could say as it resonates with me, those feeling, the expression of a soul with awareness. We do endure our own hell on earth as that is what it is, and afterward, well we’ll just have to wait and see. I as you, believe in afterlife, incarnations and the eternal soul, but as to our true understanding of it, I think we know less than an amoeba. Nicely emoted and penned my friend. Cheers Vincent

    Reply
  • September 13, 2017 at 12:58 PM
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    I knew this piece would resonate with your Tony, we are brothers from another mother, lol Hell on earth indeed, I truly believe it’s man made on earth. It’s not our beautiful planet that is Hell, it’s the vermin that occupy it. There are so many humans so make it so. Yes I truly believe in an afterlife, our consciousness has to find itself in another place, where, we don’t know. The body is simply a vessel, a shell that goes back to dust whence it came. Our conscious mind maybe becomes an atom again, traveling in space until designated to another sphere. That’s why I don’t fear death Tony, religious people do, as they are afraid of being sent to Hell, praying always that they enter a place called Heaven. If it is so, I hope there God finds a rest for my soul. I may have to pay an entrance fee though for not being a member;-)

    Reply
  • September 13, 2017 at 1:20 PM
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    Vincent, I just remembered on of Mark Twain’s quotes:

    “Go to heaven for climate, hell for company!”

    Reply
    • September 13, 2017 at 1:52 PM
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      Ha Ha Phyllis. I would prefer better climate control, however I’m certain if I end up in man made Hell, I’m certain to meet a lot of my past friends and associates there. Party time!!! lol

      Reply

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