guilty filth

I’ll not be the one to lean over an addicts shadow and tell them they are dirt. Weakness grows on many people. That’s not my kind of weakness. I’ll stand with the shadow and help them back to their knees, then to stand, and to talk and walk again. To live again.

-M. Taggart

the last chair

To break the world. Sit on your ass some more and tell the world how to be. Spit on a man’s future the day he steps out of jail. People look for death when told to. And the music still fucking goes on. And when you fucking die you’re just as dead as all of them and none of them knew you and none of them ever cared to know you. So just sit on that fucking chair and spew your greatness.

-M. Taggart

odd walking thoughts

-a┬ástrangeness followed him deep into the woods. he wished it was fully dark. he wanted the thickness of its empty comfort. the moon however dispersed nighttime light onto every shadow. he sat on a stump and tried to watch his thoughts. “what do you do with your thoughts?” he asked a tree. the tree replied, “as soon as you have one, it is alive. it’s never again going to not be. you’ve born possible greatness. give your thoughts life and watch them be.”

-M. Taggart
copyright 2018

About-
https://mtaggartwriter.wordpress.com/m-taggart/

The Old Dam – 1912

I remember the cement stairs leading down to the tunnel
I remember the dampness of the walls, the deepening darkness
It was after midnight-
I stood at bottom of the stairwell and at the beginning of the tunnel
I couldn’t see to the other side
I felt the strength of the entire river above me
along with the loneliness of the ghosts
I wondered if they were here
I wanted to believe the stories
The old dam had taken more than one-
The tunnel was built under the dam to house the pumps
which opened and closed the flood gates
I needed to walk the entire length of the tunnel
to open a valve on the very last pump
The hanging lights flickered as I waked underneath them
A few had burned out-
Water trickled down the walls
I could smell and even taste the mustiness
I was forcing myself to feel comfortable
My safety goggles had collected moisture
My ear plugs were irritating me.
I felt agitated. But mostly
I didn’t feel I was alone
I forced myself to look back toward the stairwell
What did I see?
Who knows. Maybe all of these words are fictitious
Or, maybe this is written it exactly as it was

-M. Taggart

Poem-

By strife’s design we disallow individual freedom of mind
Carefully staging failures- gaffed as though they truly happened
Stuck in mindful numbness, fear, intolerance of self-worth
And yet we may stand screeching of victory at first light

-M. Taggart