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Where are you Eric? (Free verse) by Eric Johnson
Everything is confusing and yet it feels as if it is all starting to fall into place ------ Looking back, deep into, every picture that bears my face, You notice a boy, with a half-witted smile, holding onto a taste. Of superfiction, known as freedom, that offers the soul a chance, to experience love, to wish for death, and continue to dance the dance. That pushes him further, and numbs his own soul, and within his own body, buries deeply, the cold. Breathe Eric, and look, deep into the skies, and into the clouds up ahead, beyond those distances, lies your own freedom, where all of your demons are dead. It's a lovely place, that calls to you now, and hopes that someday you will come, it's a heaven on earth, between two extremes, that knows you are the only one. With bursting soul, and fiery heart, and eyes parallel to clouded beyonds, Where pain goes away, everyone has your love, and a bright new beginning has dawned. There are rivers that flow, and exist to remove, the loneliness from your own heart, The cold that even now, clings to every day, in order to tear your defenses apart. Run from it Eric, run hard and fly, soar above everything that can't, Fly over the pain and distances, that your heart won't let you recant. Dive from above, to help those below, but please do not visit too long, the wishful are hungry, and so misdirected, they tend to feed from the strong. We need you Eric, here you have a place, where birds sing to hollar your name, where you can be happy, where THEY are ok, and you no longer need so much shame. It wasn't your fault, and it still will not be, for you are pure, and of the kind, That loves beyond death, and hopes beyond this, you can attain peace of mind. It is here, my dear Eric, where I nestle your skull, and stroke your beautiful hair, It is there, my poor Eric, where they detest your will, and hope for another heir. But do take pity, for it is not their hearts, as you have known along, instead it is spite, that they hold too close, and repeat daily with song. Please place your confusion, next to your hand, conceal it when you feel need, for here we are safe, we are alone with ourselves, we are nothing, and thus do not feed. There is no ill-willed hatred, and you will not bear, petty and witless banter, there is no need, we love like the free, you can be, the seed and the planter. You can grow from your seed, you can be your desires, and I know, you are not clean, you admit as much, so there is no problem, but you must place the ill in your dream. There you can face it, and ask it to grow, for I have given you the same ladder, to climb far above, what was intended, and leave the past still untattered. But please do not leave yet, for it is not your time, but I wanted to make you this vision, please be the best, son, love them in life, and more in death, but keep the decision. To understand how, there can be a difference, please never close your young mind, instead keep it open, and welcome to all parties, and someday, us you will find. Now please fall asleep Eric, it is time to wake up, you now have to go back to Earth, but please keep this future, for it is your own, when someday, you face second birth.

Up the ladder: pain of love:
Down the ladder: fallen angel

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Arithmetic Mean: 2.4285715
Weighted score: 4.3084364
Overall Rank: 13117
Posted: July 9, 2002 2:14 PM PDT; Last modified: July 9, 2002 4:12 PM PDT
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Comments:
[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 62.190.174.80 | 9-Jul-02/3:00 PM | Reply
I ask you: Is it your own God who causes your lines to stretch across the screen for several miles? O Cruel Jesu, I swear I didn't know it was the reserved plunger!
[0] horus8 @ 24.126.113.154 | 9-Jul-02/3:03 PM | Reply
Ther are no amount of words imaginable to describe this poem. A nucleur missile, arsenic and a desserted island might be the only cures left for you to cleanse the residue from your mind if you read this pointless self indulgent abomination. Eric here is some advice read more write less and don't use the word soul more then ten times in any piece of writing.
Subscribe to poets and writers magazine as soon as possible and join the Iowa workshop and pray for redemption. William burroughs is currently crawling out of his grave to find you and forbid you from ever picking up A PEN AGAIN. STICK TO COMPUTERS. PLEASE.o
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