Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

Russell Wardlow

The thing about a Flower

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The thing about a flower..is beauty til death
It lives with grace, as it dies in that vase
You may only wear your beauty because of pressure
Make-up veils the truth
but I see your eyes, as if life is dying inside of you
Stunning the way you hide it
You are deeper than any well
Enthralled with such elegance
Like a bug, I feel fatally lured into your luminescence
But up close, I peer into your petals of agony
Others too often hover the surface, your look induces the chase
Externally masked, ironically you put off what you hate
Composed well since you first blossomed
So no one see’s your depth
You die slow yearning for trust and true love..
But you don’t love yourself
You feel like an object, a prized possession, a visual gift
Lauded after because of your appearance
Shallowly preserved, slowly wilting away within time
Dying slowly as you stand brilliantly flushed
The thing about a flower

 

Secrets

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No that’s not true
your father didn’t die before your birth in service;
he was killed by your mother
that moment, froze and tainted my purpose;
I was only what 15 or 16
no not only, but I question “better late than never”;
the pain in secrets..
If kept too long, some should last forever;
2015 when I finally heard the full truth
now closer with my mother;
but it will forever be a one sided confession
despite the abuse, because you know, the unobvious missing other;
his family knows nothing of me
well, probably for the better;
he has kids and a son with my name, but like I said
some secrets should last forever;

My Foundation

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I never realized until right on time that the only thing I had to prove, was that I had nothing to prove. What a time to be alive, while internally woke, the only misfortune is noticing all those years you’ve been sleep walking, but that’s drowned out with the marvels in the day ahead of you and the mystery in tomorrow. Because true regret motivates, it doesn’t impede your potential. Potential is a goal you haven’t reached yet, that you rarely speak on. It’s a known truth that you use as an excuse to buy time in order to move at your own speed, while distracted by the scenery. Slow motion is only to take notice of detail you neglected, to highlight what was lost in your sight, not to move at the pace of a snail or turtle, sluggish-like, touching everything your hands can reach. We are too diluted, I was too diluted, sluggish and impeded by everything unnecessary, and ignorant to every necessity. Understand true value worth and foundation, otherwise, you will be buried like the pharaohs, adorned with glamour upon decay. With the shallow things you cherished left behind. Don’t let your pursuits end lost to memory, chasing the temporary. I’ve proven my worth by identifying that I have value, and that..is my foundation

Hope is Real

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Hope is real
It’s tangible, metaphysically speaking
but its also a tool
Just as faith has been used
It’s designed to maintain order, control
to keep people compliant subservient docile
without hope
what would the slaves without hope of freedom?
Prisoners and felons without hope of a chance?
The oppressed and poor without hope of a break?
The silenced and scorned women without hope of being heard?
The neglected, touched and abused children without hope of help and vindication?
without hope
There is anarchy, calamity, rage, war
and chaos-which is a lack of order
The only one that doesn’t exist today
The absence of order, order will be kept
Hope is real…

I had dreamed

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I had dreamed

maybe I was living a fantasy

running from tomorrow

shadows always catch up.

Who would understand

snow in the summer?

I can never find warmth.

Love buried

within that deep white blanket

too vast to escape,

Despair, her name.

She spoke

high regard

for her mother,

Misery.

Longing, her father

distant, but

no denying the relation.

Never wake me

my coma is bliss,

to wake

I would know

Longing and

Misery,

parents to

my apparent,

Despair.

From Rags to Ranks

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From rags to ranks
Humvees and tanks
Ships, submarines and planes
Keeping our freedoms safe
There is never enough thanks
For the ways of the brave
Fierce yet fameless, a forgotten face
A sacrificial heart, enduring a mind that may break
The losses of comrades, the reality of mortality, how much can you take
Not enough done to procure the flowers before they wilt inside the vase
When I’m yawning, your bed is already made
Not a thread or lace out of place
I salute your valor on and off base
To all who’ve fought valiantly for freedom regardless of politics, I give my full-hearted Thanks

-Inspired by my big cousin, SirWayne Wardlow, one of my silent Heroes-
There can be more done for our vets, while coming out to mediocre opportunities, sacrifice and heroics become cliché. The system needs vetting, capitalism shouldn’t dilute heroism. In war, in the military, America.. Americans, are the consumers, the benefactors…if the business world and politics reward the contributors, than why not America better reward its contributors..money shouldn’t rule the world if lives brand it..but who am I kidding? To my family specifically, I admire love and respect you, to the countless others, appreciation for the under-appreciated, simply put…Thank you