Gorgon Medusa. Mirror of Memory” by Lilia Osipova

She’s caught gazing upon her stony image
Eyes peering longingly at her reflection
Refusing to see her now ugly visage
She lets her mind believe its own deception
In trials and tribulations she is well versed
Living the life of one forever cursed
Her hair may be writhing with venomous snakes
It’s what’s hidden inside that makes her heart break

It’s what’s hidden inside that makes her heart break
The beauty that people always fail to see
Knowing that her gaze will put their lives at stake
Not taking any chances, they turn and flee
Leaving her, always so sad and so alone
Lest they be stuck, turned forever into stone
Since all are threatened by her stony gaze
She’ll be alone until the end of her days

She’ll be alone until the end of her days
Always wishing for some reason to rejoice
To perhaps be caught in some ones loving gaze
Hear the tenderness and love within their voice
Shattering what has become reality
Taking her to a place of surreality
Forever breaking the lonesome, horrid curse
Calming tribulations that are her life’s verse

A calming of tribulations in her life
Is feeling she will never get to know
She is bound forever by trial and strife
Until she’s finally dealt that fatal blow

She’s caught gazing on her reflection shown
Seeing someone forever to be unknown
Wishing, just once, she could turn her heart to stone

© AC Elliott, 18-Sep-18 (originally written in 2014)



Black stain upon my hands
Inky and dark from smudging
Papers, with words scattered
Haphazardly thrown together
Nothing more than a jumbled list
Unorganized, random thoughts

Black stains upon my face
Inky and dark from rubbing
With stained hands,
While pondering
Scribbles that make no sense
To anyone other than myself

Renderings of my subconscious
On the paper, hands and face
Smelling of ink, dark and stained
To be unable to generate
A single coherent thought

Ennui ensues
Wishing to change
The channel in my mind
To watch something else
Capitulating to writer’s block
Waiting for “The End.”

©ÀC Elliott, 2016

The Obsidian Embrace

Gray mists settle about his shoulders,
and he visibly shivers at the touch
of the smoke-like tendrils
tap, tap, tapping him softly,
seeking to be recognized for what it is,
his long lost friend, one he knows too well,
that all-consuming darkness
longing to wrap him completely
in its obsidian embrace.

He opens his mouth to speak
telling it to leave him be,
but the tendrils force themselves
into his mouth and down his throat.
Swallowing the darkness,
he can feel the parasitic nature
of its essence merging with his own
until the two have become one…
they are inseparable.

So, succumbing to the darkness,
he begins to withdraw inward.
His fortress of solitude is internal,
airtight, the castle walls built
by the meticulous hands of a master
intent on containing the beast
hidden in the dungeons of its core,
telling himself he is protecting
both himself and others.

He keeps pretty things on a fence
where they can catch a glimpse
of him from behind barred windows.
He’s nothing more than a dark form
offering an occasional glimpse,
his soul bared, open to them
whenever the drawbridge is down.
Only to find it shut tight
when attempting to enter.

He succumbs to the darkness within
allowing it to permeate his core
and surrenders to the obsidian embrace
that soothes the beast within him
like the sound of a sweet melody
sung just for him.
© AC Elliott

-Written sometime early 2018 and edited/posted on 9-May-18.

On Shaving and Compassion (Thinking Over Coffee #6)

I woke up this morning, and somehow managed to slide out of the bed. By sliding, I literally mean…sliding. I had done something to my back towards the end of last week and it hasn’t been forgiving to me in the least. Needless to say the muscle relaxers are long out of my system by the time I try to get up. Therefore, sliding is a necessary evil.

It’s not the age, it’s the mileage, I thought to myself (not for the first time). I can’t remember where I first heard that turn of phrase, but these days it’s more applicable than it used to be. Between the shoulder I’ve dislocated so many times that I’ve lost count, the bum knee from 20 years earlier, and my back…there’s a lot of mileage on my body.

Stumbling over to the vanity, I took a bath cloth and ran it under cold water. I was hoping that the cold, damp cloth would help to clear the fog in my brain from the muscle relaxer. It didn’t, but, at least I tried.

Damn, if that boy wasn’t right, I thought, looking at myself in the mirror. My youngest son had recently told me “the gray really shines through when the light hits your beard just right.” He was right, it did shine through, like shimmering stars on a cloudless night. In and of itself, that didn’t bother me in the least. After all, I know how old I am, and gray hair is par for the course as you age. Still, I decided to shave it off none-the-less, for no other reason than the fact that I hated how itchy it made me feel when working outside this past weekend.

Finally, ready for my day, I decided to make some coffee and think for a bit. I had recently been talking about my progress and evolution in writing/blogging. So, I thought I might continue down that line, but my brain had other ideas.

My coffee tasted bitter today. There was nothing different about it. I used the same coffee grounds, the same amount of creamer and nothing changed with the sweetener. So, there was nothing wrong with my coffee. I could only assume that the problem was with my own taste buds and the bitterness that clung to it.

I’m not sure where the bitter taste came from either. It was just there. I was in one of “those moods” today, and I couldn’t shake it no matter how hard I tried. It might have had something to do with the ominous feeling of change that I felt settle over my shoulders as soon as I woke up.

Those changes could have been work related. Last week I had a large meeting that lasted 2 to 3 days, where a lot of things were discussed, changes were made organizationally, and new tasks were handed out. Truth be told, I am still unsure of what is going to come from it.

Or, it could have been personally related. Especially since I have a lot going on there as well.

Regardless of the cause, the bitter taste was there, and I couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard I tried. One thing I do know, is that it has influenced the rest of my day and heavily impacted my thoughts.

For some reason, it brought to mind a discussion I had with my new director last week, about strengths and weaknesses.

The Conversation

“What do you feel is one of your strengths?” he had asked me, while we were getting to know one another.

“My compassion has always been a strength, because underneath this rough exterior, I really do care for my people.” (further expounding unneeded for this venue)

“And, your weakness?” He asked, and I smirked, knowing that question would come up next.

“My compassion, because underneath this rough exterior and loud bark, I really do give a shit about people.”

Further Thoughts

So, how can being compassionate be both a strength and a weakness? I asked myself, taking another sip of coffee. Is that even possible? Well, obviously it is, because I just stated it was both a strength and a weakness of mine. I’m still working on how to explain the how and why.

© AC Elliott, 21-Aug-18