Posted in Art, Inspiration, Mental Health, Poetry, Writing

13 thoughts or 780 minutes

When I began writing I honestly had no idea what I was getting myself into.  I enjoy social media but it does have its limitations sometimes although I do find it extremely fascinating that we can connect with people from various backgrounds and all walks of life, anywhere in the world!  It is THE definition of diversity.   It has helped me in profound ways, especially dealing with anxiety & mood disorders.  It’s become an incredible coping tool that I value so much and I’ll share why with you all.  Several years ago I attempted suicide.  I woke up one morning with an overwhelming sense of dread.  I also remember feeling spaced out, like part of me wasn’t even there.  It was horrible to feel that sense of disconnection and despair and to think that there was no one in the world that knew what I felt like. I didn’t even think God knew, much less cared.  Those feelings along with feeling isolated and lonely are what led me to the behavioral health center.  Life with all of its complexity and it’s rules, truly is remarkable.  I suppose having cancer is what got me writing about this.  It’s unusual to me that the human body finds ways to systematically destroy itself one way or another but the reality is we aren’t meant to live forever and a part of me is at peace with that.  It is my hope that my writing survives long after I depart this world so that anyone who might be experiencing what I have gone through can glean a sense of hope and that they discover they are not alone in their struggles.  Here is the latest poem I wrote and turned into mixed  media art.

Mixed media poem
Seven hundred and eighty minutes
Posted in Poetry, Writing

Life in grey

A life once in Technicolor,

Now many shades of grey.

It fell apart and shattered,

Fragmented aspects only remained.

A raucous of laughter

Lost on the wind

Silent tears washed away

Of cardinal sins

Dreams long forgotten

Memories of yesterday

Hopes of tomorrow

And love everlasting always

© Miles D. Jones

Posted in Poetry

Rhythm is not salvation

This beat that sounds in my head, it pounds like a conga drum at 4 am.

It’s no longer a rushing feeling, a hook that keeps me believing.

But a frantic search in the dark as the wind howls through tree top canopies.

And I do not know when it’s leaving but I am certain it is not fleeting.

Hovering on the horizon and haunting my thoughts with harmonies and hypocrisies that heathen men dread.

Rhythm is not salvation, rhythm is not my slave. Rhythm keeps the pace of time that’s with us everyday.

© Miles D. Jones