We find ourselves

Tossed about

On the howling wind

Of an unwanted war

Promulgated by politicians

For their banker friends

Missiles fly

Bombs explode

As the war machines of

The Industrial

*** Military

*** Complex

Violently

Plow through

Blood soaked

Fields of battle

Harvesting

The lives of men

Who would have

Preferred to

Be alive

Dear Corine,

The betraying fists of life,

All but engineered the ugly Machiavellian plot,

Of your beautiful demise,

In a knock down drag out waltz,

With the blood pooled dragon,

That snarling labyrinth,

To trip you up,

In barb wired coils

And fence you in,

With the alluring mists of illusion.

This boxing war,

This apathy sword,

Hubris knifing your daisy chained heart,

As it turned the deepest

Shade of doom,

And glided clandestinely,

With wicked stealth,

Into the cruel torpid winter

Of your womb,

To slay the child,

Of hope,

Tragically,

Too soon.

And how shunted were

Your heels of peace,

Under the kicks

Of spit shined boots,

To baby teeth,

To hemmed in gloom,

As sorrow’s kiss,

Hung like rodent perfume,

Where angels float,

Above mothball hospital rooms.

Dear Corine,

Life gave you a waxy ersatz crown,

That you wore with humble airs,

Your pitiable tiara,

A demure halo,

Naked of shimmery luster,

Lost in the sui generis

Of paraded kings and queens,

Outside the sacred circle,

Outside your simple means.

And the rubbery bouquet

Of plastic flowers

Taut in your leper fist,

Were charmless charms,

Masquerading as gifts.

The musty rummaged massacre,

Piled miles sky high

Into a funeral pyre,

Of your once charmed life,

Now charred,

Now gone,

To where used up things

Must go to die.

The mulish locks

And steely keys,

Imprisoned you,

Mercilessly.

Yet the faint winking spark,

Behind your bandaged heart,

Scared the demons away,

If just for a day.

So began your thundering exodus,

Through the devil’s torturing cave,

And you dug a million miles deep,

To that hushed and hallowed space,

Between death and breath,

And the in between.

And you staggered towards the bolted door,

Ignoring hell’s talking wind up toys,

That tried to tell you what to think,

And tried to tell you who you are,

Bidding you stay,

To be broken and void,

Roped by serpentine lies

From the devil’s honied voice,

That haunted your heart,

Behind the trapdoor attic,

Of your black and blue mind.

I know I know and know you know,

That life is sublimely rich

With a wrecked sense of wry humour,

Layered with devilish irony,

And black comedy,

With an audience of blinkless apathy,

And canned applause,

That can talon scratch

Scaly paint

Off dry walls.

But dear Corine,

You never pulled a Judas,

But played on as Job,

Even when the needling static

Of life’s TV,

Brought your bowed husk of a soul,

Down to its weathered knees.

And the God who watched

Your tumbled dominoe dreams

Land deep at the pale

Grave of your feet,

Came dressed as a boat

Skimming boiled mercury seas,

Through prune dried prayers

And wrath’s planted seeds,

In the silent violence of dark,

Until it reached the harbouring pleas,

Of your wide eyed screams,

Then God pulled you up,

Plucking out briars of grief,

That had gored through your heart,

And had caged up your dreams.

And God held you close,

To kiss your tears,

Into the grey,

Until the last of them,

Just fell away.

For you are more

Then just a name;

I think you a trophy of grace,

In a rugged cross frame,

And you’re my dearest friend,

Altogether,

Just the same.

So thank you my friend,

My dearest Corine,

And soldier on with,

Your lemons to lemonade,

As the once thrashing tide turns,

In this weary crucible

Of faith,

For God Himself,

Has shared your pain,

And holds still the beasts,

Of those once ravenous days,

Forever resolute,

Amen,

At bay.

“Hello. This is Temptation Entertainment. How can I assist you?”

“Yes, my name is Mary, um, I want to place an order for today.”

“Would this order be for a male or female or both?”

“I would like a male, preferably a young male, and ah good looking.”

“We can help you with your selection, but first, a few questions. Have you ever placed an order with us before?”

“No, this is my first time.”

“That is alright. All we will require is a credit card to proceed. Could you type into the secure line your credit card number for authentication?”

(Sound of digital data transfer)

"Miss Mary, by the looks of your account balance, we at Temptation Entertainment, can help you with a selection, but only with a limited amount of selections. Do you still wish to proceed?"

"Yes, yes I do."

"Well, that is wonderful. Using the confines of your budget, we have an excellent candidate for you. His name is Theodore. He is 24 and an athlete, a swimmer I believe. His profile states he is fluent in French and is working on his masters. He is open and caring and best of all, available for the entirety tonight and within your budget. In his profile picture, he strikes a most handsome pose. Would Theodore be of interest to you?"

"I am a bit skeptical when you describe him. What is the catch? There must be something wrong with him. What is it?"

"Mary, may I call you Mary? To divulge that bit of information will cost a sum of funds that exceeds your current credit limit. I cannot divulge that information to you. I can, however, assure you Theodore will be an excellent match or your money back. Mary, will you agree to our selection for you?"

I wait during my self-imposed long, almost too long, awkward pause.

"Yes, I agree. Please have Theodore arrive at my address by noon. Have him dress semi-formal for the evening."

"Thank you Mary for your business with Temptation Entertainment."

The doorbell rang at 11:59. I dressed in my best gown. It took nearly four hours to get ready. My wheelchair hinders my movements and such attire is not easily donned by a single person. I put forth the effort. I put forth the money. I have expectations for today, more for tonight. Theodore had better measure up.

I opened the door to find Theodore standing there. He is young and very handsome. His build is athletic adorned with a sandy blonde hair that so many swimmers acquire after years in the pool. His smile was as well-rehearsed as a man in his position would have. The only thing I could not see was his eyes.

His dark glasses and walking stick spoke volumes in this regard.

I greeted him and extended my hand to shake. My actions became awkward and he fumbled a foot higher than I offered. It took a few taps of the stick, a few light touches, and Theodore found my hand. He also found my face. He stroked my contours as if running a facial recognition scan. I watched his motions and detailed reactions to what he discovered.

Theodore's eyes may be vacant, but his face is one large tell.

A brief cough on my part and I asked him in. I wanted to speak to him, but he raised a single finger to hinder my voice. I never heard him say Shhhh, but I didn't have to.

Theodore tapped the confines of my apartment for the next ten minutes, mapping each detail. To me, it looked like a sequential plan of attack. It may have even had an element of sonar, maybe even radar. Theodore was a tactician of sorts. When he finished, he sat on my couch, in the very spot I wanted him to sit. To prove his skill set was beyond question, he tapped the cushion. He wanted me to approach. I wanted to approach.

And approach I did.

The situation called for a bottle of wine. I had a recent white chilling. He found it, opened it, and poured effortlessly.

One glass for me. One glass for him. A clink followed by a sip (for him) and a gulp (for me). He heard me swallow. I was nervous. He looked calm.

Then there was silence.

Its duration was minimal, barely thirty seconds, but its impact was tremendous. We didn't have to speak. I searched his soul for an entry. Shakespeare was correct about the eyes as a window. Theodore had not the windows for my excursion.

Yet, he did have patience and with patience, I made the first move.

"Tell me about your pain. Tell it all to me. Leave no stone unturned. I want to know it all."

Theodore took off his glasses to reveal the physical scars of a recent trauma. The left eye was void and the right eye barely visible. It was horrific to see. I gasped and Theodore raised his glasses to reduce my suffering. Instinctively, I reached to stop his progress. I told Theodore I was fully ready to proceed.

I would not have bet such injuries would permit intact tear ducts to function. Theodore proved me wrong in my assumption. He will carry his emotional trauma for life. If everything goes well, today we will share. If everything goes very well, he will no longer have to carry this trauma alone.

"I lost my sight during a photo shoot at an industrial site. I was posing for a construction worker calendar when a 440V electrical bus arced across my face and back. I lost my sight instantly. The current set the skin on my back on fire. Those in proximity decided to save my face first. Their actions limited the damage to the area a pair of dark glasses could cover. Obviously, my back did not fare as well."

"Theodore, how did you become what you are for Temptation Entertainment?"

"Considering my limited options, I am very fortunate to be in the employ of Temptation. They have always overlooked my disabilities and placed me with clients who do also. Of course, I do not garner the pay other entertainers do."

The last sentence hurt, possibly intentionally. He did not say it with ease. I was on a limited budget and Theodore was in my price range. 50% of the cost only delivers 50% of the product. I should have known better than to have asked.

However, the fact that Theodore paused to take another drink of the wine (a gulp this time) made me believe I was not the first to ask him of his history. I should be ashamed of my position to even ask him to be in this position. I would have remained ashamed if he had not changed the subject toward me.

It was my time to expose myself. I swallowed dry just before Theodore poured another full glass of wine for me. His technique was amazing. His timing was equally so.

I took my time before I began. I wanted to be brief and thus avoid the catastrophic details of my history. Another gulp and I finished the wine. Another look at his eyes and I began.

"I have been a beauty pageant contestant since the age of five. I have lived for the drama, the showmanship, and the thrill of competition. I worked the circuit with my mother and aunts and then my agent. The latter began grooming me for Miss America after I won Miss Alabama. That was ten years ago. I was at the top of my game. I danced. I spoke well. I made appearances. Everyone loved to see me. Everyone applauded whatever I did. And what I did was smile and wave. Sixteen hours a day I would smile and wave. It hurts to smile so much. It gave me early arthritis to wave equally as frequently. I gave it all to the pageantry. I should have saved something for the after pageantry."

My hands trembled as I looked for another sip. My glass was empty. His was half empty. I reached for it and our hands briefly touched. He slowly released what I wanted after I paid his price of acknowledgment. I didn't need the wine, but I certainly wanted it none-the-less. Ironically, drinking from Theodore's glass made the contents taste just a bit better. The label rated the vintage 85 points. I could now give it 87.

If he could see my blush, he would have to be fast. It only lasted for a mere second before the pain of what I had to disclose surfaced.

"Theodore, what you cannot see is that I am wheelchair bound. After winning Miss Alabama, I was hit by a car and left for dead. The driver left me in the parking lot only to be found the next morning with a shattered hip and two broken femurs. The surgeons repaired most of the superficial damage, but my spine never recovered. So I sit in this chair, counting the days since. I have gained enough weight to no longer be asked to speak for contestants. I have aged enough years to agree with them. I live in a world that once was. People refer to me in the past tense. That is the life I have left to me."

Another moment of self-imposed silence before I began weeping solely because I have limited options. Weeping presents a treatment for my symptoms. The root cause of my problems goes much deeper. It is pain, but it is my pain. Truth exacts such a price.

I could have told Theodore this. I do not believe he never heard these words before. I am not a doctor, but I said them to him even so.

I have known Theodore for nearly one hour and have grown closer to him more than married people do in decades. Another awkward silence precedes all of our revelations.

I was not to be disappointed with this repose.

"Mary, now that we are closer than I even expected, what is your pleasure?" He was looking directly at me, sans glasses, and looking right through me, all at the same time. I have him, bought and paid for, for the rest of the day. I cannot afford to keep him in this manner, to fulfill my needs again.

This time, I poured the remainder of the wine between our two glasses. I gave him mine and kept his. Purposely.

Previously, I would have found an excuse to decline such an advance. But that was then and this is now. I have been cocooned in a shell of my own making for far too long. I have acted this exact scene too many times; each performance resulting in my failure to take that final step that sets me free.

I have no remaining chances for tomorrow. Thus, I threw caution to the wind.

My chrysalis fractures in response to the strength of my resolve.

"Theodore, can you make love to me as if you were in love with me?"

We ran out of wine, champagne, and whiskey by Monday morning.

Tuesday, Theodore told me he fancied beer.

Every Friday, we go shopping.

Together.

I claim that the end is near

for wars

whether those fought between countries or those battles within one's self.

I claim that the end is near

for those who are ill

that recovery and good health be restored.

I claim that the end is near

for those who do not have shelter or food

in the land of plenty and in a world with so much - may no one go without.

I claim that the end is near

for those who are lonely

whether by self or alone in a crowd surrounded by many - may all souls feel included

I claim that the end is near

for those who work so hard but yet still struggle

may their days of labor multiply into good rewards and returns

I claim that the end is near

for those who choose to see and walk in a negative pattern

may a light shine brightly upon them and show yes... that there is still good.

I claim that as the New Year approaches

we lay down our guard and lift up our eyes and love

may our differences not define us, but may we define who we are by our actions and words of kindness

may the angriest and bitterest of hearts and minds be overcome with the possibilities of what could be...may all walk in the light with a renewed purpose of being the best versions of ourselves. May we lift a heart felt prayer of thanks from the heart for what is and what is to come.