Original digital surrealistic art: “Shedding The Darkness” by: rob kistner © 8/8/23
Hidden from the light of day
here your other self resides
though keeping to the shadows
you know your dark self abides
you feel him at times — don’t you
feel that his dark thoughts are true
a darkling essence
scarred and damaged
sometimes so strong
barely managed
begotten in another time
another life
rife with fear
with pain and strife
come from far away
from another place
but this dark entity
did wear your face
it is an anger
powerfully manifest
righteous
so long suppressed
that could not find effective voice
to save your ruined innocence
you had not the strength
not the choice
you were silenced
you had no name
for what you did not comprehend
you knew you must not shoulder blame
but you knew sorrow as a friend
now you realize
it was youthful trust
that was betrayed
in these ways
dark and insidious
sadly was this torment done
by the hand of an entrusted one
concealed from blind society
to inflict hurt and animosity
yet
why do we feel conflicted
why do we feel guilted
me
and you
the frightened child
that still dwells
in me
our dark self
we had to forge
in fire of dire adversity
hammered out a hardened soul
tempered by survival’s hand
by desperate necessity
look here
my other
look deep into our heart
and see
we rose and fought
that abject fear
cradled within our broken heart
lifted ourself from that veil of sorrow
clinging to peace of mind
to sanity
to see one more tomorrow
to embrace our courage one more day
to finally stand and say —
no more
no
more
so be quiet
no judgment soul
we finally emerged
and shed our shadow self
our young life tattered
but still in tact
the life he saved
in fact
these days
still drawn to darkness
my affairs with melancholia
am I hardened
when necessary
but I’m not stone
I’ve finally found love
not a life alone
when I look inside myself
I see beyond the shadows
I see a man
who better understands
we’ve shed the shadow’d shell
but this darker self
will always dwell
now that self’s
in our command
it no longer
has the upper hand
does this darkness
that coincides in me
cost us our dignity
it does not
I’ve a firm grasp
on our integrity
years ago
we closed the dark book’s pages
the storm no longer rages
so be quiet fickle soul
our dark self need not to be reviled
he saved us
and our wounded child
he fought to set us free
and saved our sanity
we owe gratitude
for his ferocious interlude
peace now
Original digital surrealistic art:
“The Armor Cracks” by: rob kistner © 8/8/23
*
rob kistner © 7/24/23
Poetry at: dVerse
Wow! Bravo Rob! Every word captivated me with the honesty you have shared in your poem. A great expressive and descriptive write indeed.
It relates to a sad episode of my life, regarding a most unfortunate woman — my adoptive mother’s mother. Looking back, she was clearly a paranoid schizophrenic. She should have been institutionalized to get the help she sorely needed — but back in the late 40’s, early 50’s that was not often done — especially in blue color Catholic families. Instead they were secreted away at home, with varying and unpredictable consequences. Would have made a gripping plot line for s Steven King or Dean Koontz novel.
This is incredibly evocative, Rob! I can feel the angst, the pain and the liberation near the end. Thank you so much for writing to the prompt! Kudos to you, my friend.
Happened long ago, so I can face like a third party, concerned but removed.
Wow, Rob. Wow.
This entire piece is such a gut punch.
Well done, Sir.
~David
For many years now David, I have looked backwards through the lens, more like an observer than a victim. I began to flip the lens emotionally in my early 40’s. For several decades I lived with it like a dirty secret, which caused me unfortunate guilt, and debilitating embarrassment. Now it is just strange history I view more as an observer. Still just a twinge of victim’s anger. It probably cost me my first couple marriages because I had a distorted and deep seated mistrust of woman, which my adoptive mother didn’t help. My adoptive father kept me sane. Still not certain just what he knew, but he suffered verbal abuse constantly directed at him from Old Martha — as, to a lesser degree, did the neighbors. He was my hero, and he kept me busy away from the house — sports, “safe” scouting (Eagle Scout here), water skiing, and a wide variety of outdoor activities, like camping and fishing. He fostered what would become my intense love of nature, the out-of-doors. Extended trips each summer to the cabin, on the wilderness island in Espanola, Ontario, Canada. Staying close to and involved with my daughter, especially in sports, as she grew began healing my impression of a woman’s depth and worth. I was a messed up guy, in need of repair. My current wife of 36 years (34 married) went a long way in that regard. I certainly was not an easy piece of work. Hope I didn’t scar her too deeply. In a strange convoluted way, this bullshit situation, and sadly, this false armor of validation, this shield of lying, exaggeration, and defensive deflecting — I’ve come, over the years, to realize it spawned, found its way into other aspects of my life. At my core, my child’s soul and mind felt squashed, trivialized and marginalized — they cried out for embellishment, to bolster my sense of worth. This sense of worthlessness was further exacerbated by my confusion, and the misunderstood sense of abandonment I felt when I learned, as a child, of my adoption. I also struggled with reading, and felt lesser for it. I was smart, and in the classroom environs of 50’s Catholic grade school, I gleaned what I needed to get good grades, by just paying attention — and questioning the teachers. This made me a “pet” to some teachers, and a nuisance to others. It also made me a bit disruptive in class, which showed up as “check mmarks” on my report cards. I was great at math, but pride drove me to hide my reading weakness — which eventually drove me from college… another personal failure. All of this shit I can now own, but it knocked me hard, and cut me very deep, for a very very long time. It too easily became assimilated into my life. Feeling “hollow”, and lacking self esteem, it took me years to finally break the tendency, as I felt it shielded, as well as elevated me. It took me realizing the degree to which it undermined the respect I had for myself, that I stopped. That was exactly the opposite of what I was seeking. Ironically, at the same time, it all served to spark my tools of protective imagination, which, when controlled, and focused positively, eventually proved to be the catalyst of my creativity. It also drove me to the spotlight, being a professional singer for years. It served to keep my ego aloft — plus I had a good voice and loved singing.
Well damn, sorry about the explosion here. In a nutshell, here is the condensed truth, good and bad, of my life. They say some people, as they are nearing their death, have the need to unburden, to have someone, emotionally neutral, “know” them — unvarnished. Didn’t know this was where I was heading — but looks like, there it is.
Bravo, Rob .. Bravo.
Helen, my friend — 🙂
Rob, this incredibly poignant piece spoke to me. Thanks for baring your soul. May these demons (Martha) be excised for good. It’s funny, those of us who have gone through similar immediately understand the pain.
Thank you! I have slain the demons Colleen. Only an occasional twinge of anger remains, and I know to use that constructively when it surfaces. Peace to you my friend if you went through this same nightmare.
A conversation with your alter ego, perhaps.
Yes Stacy.A conversation with a now dormant alter ego, who played an important part in my life, and who still hangs at the edges of the shadows — if ever needed… but
Amazing simply amazing. Every stanza, every word, every emotion. At first glance I thought the title of the art was “shredding the darkness” … which worked too.
Thank you Helen… 🙂 Shredding the darkness — great title my friend! It is a brand new piece, so a title change right now is inconsequential, think I’ll borrow it, unless you object… 😉
I was so drawn in to your write here. The feelings, the pain, the reflections, the affirmation of strength even after trauma. I think your voice could be the voice of many.
And then I read your comment in your reply
“For many years now David, I have looked backwards through the lens, more like an observer than a victim.”
This, I think, is the lesson. But sometimes oh so very difficult for people to get to this point.
Thank you for posting.
Thank you Lillian. It took me 40 years finally crest that hill, and get to the beginning of a journey into healing. I have an elevated focus into my well being mentally. Don’t know if I am normal — but what’s truly the litmus for normal.