Everything Costs Something

Everything costs something, nothing is free

Even a moment of joy, a single solitary moment

Means coming agony

If you find peace, anger and frustration are coming

Solace and comfort, discord and grief

Contentment, misery

Abundance?

Abundance will soon be followed by an

abysmal dearth of everything good and pleasing

Everything costs something, nothing is free

Those kind words spoken in effigy

Are soon to be your eulogy

An abundance of gifts leads to an abundance of nothing

Nothing has meaning and everything is useless

Plenty darkens in scarcity

In your despair nothing that was good will repair

nothing left in the larder answers the pangs that knock harder

Everything costs something, nothing is free

Rich, fine clothes now rags they become

In come worms, long you are done

The Pit

It is so very dark

The pit goes so very deep

Down where the light can not find

Stones are black and indistinct

The stairs are deadly and there you slip

The shadows have an icy grip

There is only one life down in the pit

The only sound to hear are echos

Down where the light can not find

There is no hope here

The walls are pressing in, crushing

The shadows have an icy grip

Aching bones and mind

No peace will you find

Down where the light can not reach

This pit I can not escape

This pit is in my mind

The shadows have an icy grip

Down where the light can not find

Shipwreck

The darkening skies

Bringing cold, wet winds

Against which, fire does but naught

Laid bare and open

To all the tempest

Barren rock with dangers fraught

Keels, ribs, and spar

We see from afar

The dark horizon

Heralds a dark dawn

Against which fire does naught

Laid bare as a chest

To all the tempest

Upon each rock doom is fraught

Seen through hardened eyes

Here, destruction lies

For all a watery grave

Like a toy is tossed

This, too, shall be lost

Not a soul here shall be saved

© Marcel Trepanier 2014

picture found at

isleofwightwalks.blogspot.com

Engraving of the Wreck of the Clarendon

sailing ship against rocks at Blackgang

Wood Fire

It's colder outside now, yes. But I'm still in my t-shirt

and I;m sweating a little now, too. I've been splitting

wood. Splitting wood for you. We could just use the

heater, but that just isn't the same.

I like the house with that faint scent of smoke from the

fire. You do, too, so you've said.

I like the way the heat from the fire feels so very

different, somehow it's warmer. You've said that, too.

The crackling is so comforting.

The light is a warmer glow than any lamp can give.

A fire brings a peace that is warmer than anything that any electric blanket can give.

But, for now, I've set my axe where it normally waits, in a sturdy log. It's there I will find it tomorrow when I come back to split more wood. Even though it's cold out now and it will be colder out tomorrow, you can be sure that I will work up another sweat splitting more wood. All to keep us warm in our little house this winter, just like last year.

After the Storm

What is it that they call the calm after the storm?

Is there a name for it? A thing to call it?

A proper name? A term? A word?

Storms have a multitude of names.

They are given titles like maelstrom,

tempest,

tornado,
twister,

cyclone,

squall.

The silence, that deafening silence.

What is the name of that silence?
What do people call it?

The thunder has left and the lightening gone,

after all the noise,

commotion,

upheaval,

uproar,

turmoil,

tumult;

Once it’s done, when it leaves, when that

quiet comes, I have a description for it.

I dub it depression.

The area is left broken and twisted. Like

the mind and heart, darkened.

Defeated.

Dashed.

Dying.

Riven.

Rent.