Where's Godoe?

I did this one a long time ago, I actually wrote it on paper cuz it needed to be said at the time.
It was only years after i read the book 'Waiting for Godoe" that i realised the spectrum of its meaning. *nb Godoe is not God in this*......and ps you probably wont get it!

It has come to my attention that as the days go by my resentment for your happiness grows stronger. Selfish of me, I know , but some part of me has a craving to be acknowledged. Should it not recieve it's reward, does it instead deserve to sit uncomfortably and smile away as the seasons go by? Instead that part must wait like the two old men for Godoe.
But when will Godoe come? Oh has Godoe seemed so close,but never a speck in the distance enough to confirm his arrival. Instead its just a figment, a slight shadow on the horizon providing false hope for the waiters. A false hope that says no tis not him, sit down again, watch the leaves fall,transcending from green to brown crumpling under your resting feet. Feel the hot summer sun force sweat from your pores. Let the joy of the holidays overwhelm you with the sense that indeed Godoe soon comes. But it is not him so it is best not to look for something that existence questions. Then why wait for Godoe, if one does not know if he will come? Why not just leave your bench of comfort and journey on? No, but what if Godoe comes and you have just left- I stay.
So in silence I cleave to my resentment with a plastic and overbearing facade, only cracked but an unseen sigh, deep and entrenched within the casims of a heart looking for its reward. For your Godoe has come faster than the life changes of a caterpillar. Rapid, unexpected fruitful and joyous! I watch on in guilty, selfish resentment inwardly wishing to beg a few miles in your shoes just for a moment of bliss until Godoe comes.

The heart's painting

You always think you know someone because you believe and absorb what they want you to know about them.But it is the unsaid things that actually say the most, the small reactions, mumbled words and seemingly useless commentary that paints the real picture.
I wont lie (nb i use that phrase alot) I have observed alot of these secret paintings. A painting imprinted on the heart, hidden from the world.
Some paintings reveal the pangs of a lonely heart.The pang of not being able to be left alone without the comfort of a warm hug and kiss good night. The pang of caving in to desperation which unavoidably leads to life's chaos,an unavoidable chaos that becomes real everyday living.
Some paintings are full of pain hidden carefully behind happiness, like the devil peeping from behind an angel. It's pain that dictates your actions until a person no longer recognizes their self, until they feel like they have lost who they are, the person who existed before the heart had such a thirst for creativity.
Many have a painting that transcends time boundaries, the past spilling onto the present almost over shadowing it with loud colors and splashes of distraction.
What to say to err is human! And as hard as we try inside we all have flawed, messy, unpretty, chaotic paintings that we must bear to look at. Sometimes we look until we figure it out ultimately conquering the tale it tells. And sometimes we just sit under and let it take us where ever it goes no matter how far it spills from reality.