Smoke
Hello, sunrise. It feels like it was just yesterday, the last day I saw you, of whispering in your presence, of not being alone.. If I could get inside your heart, I'd shine a light like no other. I could wake up and smell the morning dew a thousand times, and never be as refreshed as seeing the early rays of morning, dancing through my mind in a beautiful waltz that both fills and inspires me. I walk through this bright plane with crazy thoughts and distant fantasies, between the foggy haze of daydreams and wishful thinking, where the skies are always blue, and the clouds are forever white. The water is an electric blue, the hills a jaded green, where echoes of the now distant past are echoed and carried forward.. To now. And in a timeless manner, with feelings far too acute to be empty longing, my heart lies at your gates, pounding in a weakened beat to be answered. A gaping cavity in my chest, not filled for ages. I looked you in the eye, and gave you my vision. And with eyes brighter than all the stars lighting the night, hazed only with the pain of being human, carrying that blessed scent of perfection and beauty.. Somewhere, lying on the air of happy thoughts, sleeping angels, and gifted spirits.. They pierced my heart like daggers from the sun itself, filling me with a unique sense of joy that forever encapsulated myself. One today is worth two tomorrows. And an ache within me prays and hopes that today could be forever frozen in my mind, a glistening memory of what used to be, and might be tomorrow.
Good morning, sunrise. I missed you.
Good morning, sunrise. I missed you.
The Time I looked Into The Future
I stood within a world made of glass with my eyes wide shut at the horror before me. My thoughts became twisted illusions and discomforting dreams-nothing left but a condemnation of self abuse and an empty love that no longer brings pleasure. An endless source of pain lies in the form of a half-written novel thrown into a dark corner, forgotten. All that I knew and loved.. Vanished. Not without trace of course, but with the knowledge that there is nothing left to see. When I can no longer stand inside my twisted version of what I should be, I will refuse to see me within you. And within me, there is you. But of course, you will once more cast me out, laughing as you stand aside while I bleed. Once again you will embrace this reality, allowing your heart to be free, while captivating me in chains of longing that grate endlessly upon my ears as I throw myself wildly forward, to no avail. And that rose I gave you worth a dozen more went straight fromy my heart to your mouth, as you tore at a precious metaphor, and scourged my soul with napalm and a cherry-scented kiss. The truth of nature is that beauty is loved. And to symbolize this beauty, you.
An idea
One glimpse
The shadow.
A woman
I found you running from my dreams as though you sought me out to crush me. Pillow talks and hereafters meant nothing anymore, as eyes fell on eyes. and the journey through our hearts started in mine and ended inches away
From
Your
Chest
Lovers quarrels and shining pearls tempted me, as hands beguiled and the hours whiled away. Free again? Not so fast. Let me go? Of course you won't. Tricks and games are like cocaine, tricking you, decieving you, thinking that I'm sane. Take another pill, and swallow. Make another cut, I'm hollow. Lost years and forgotten fears, surrendered all to the vile hunger of another broadway diva, struggling out of costume while personifying the very carnal nature that seeks out to destroy.. Him. The extra, the understudy, the man in red that never fails to reduce the away teamy one member. Grabbing an empty plot line and throwing it to whoever happened to be backstage. Is it worth it? A moment in the limelight, a moment in an angels' sight. A princess of misfortune (so they say) so spin the wheel, grab the prize, deal or no deal, it's time to get wise.
Or
Else
Die
I may not be the hero of my story, but since I'm the one telling it, I may as well play the part.. Actors and musicians will take my place, as tables clear and glasses ring with the chiming of a strategically placed knife upon a crystal cup. And as the sweet vibrato drains away like the wine in my cup, he stands. With a shaky sort of voice, a smile lacking confidence, and a demeanor that makes me want to slap my face in disgust, he speaks. He isn't very loud, of course (but that is to be expected of a spineless bigot), but we all listen anyway as he proclaims my life as his, rips my heart from my aching hands, and tears from me the last vestiges of the surreality that I tried so hard to force my hand in. Somewhere off in the distance, a rabbit dies of heart failure as it stares into the unfamiliar glowing eyes of a fate that happens far too often in nature's arms.
Another breath fills my lungs with temptation and I look down in sadness at the closing road before me. How did I get here? Well, I haven't yet. The future is a funny thing. When it's right in front of you, it can go a million different directions.. But it only takes the one. Why? Because life isn't what we think it is. Within the passion of this life that you so desperately think you know, there is a hope. An understanding, that sometimes you have to just let go. Another trick, another rhyme. Who will you be? Don't be me.
Yellow brick roads are for children.
Don't
Forget
To
Blink
An idea
One glimpse
The shadow.
A woman
I found you running from my dreams as though you sought me out to crush me. Pillow talks and hereafters meant nothing anymore, as eyes fell on eyes. and the journey through our hearts started in mine and ended inches away
From
Your
Chest
Lovers quarrels and shining pearls tempted me, as hands beguiled and the hours whiled away. Free again? Not so fast. Let me go? Of course you won't. Tricks and games are like cocaine, tricking you, decieving you, thinking that I'm sane. Take another pill, and swallow. Make another cut, I'm hollow. Lost years and forgotten fears, surrendered all to the vile hunger of another broadway diva, struggling out of costume while personifying the very carnal nature that seeks out to destroy.. Him. The extra, the understudy, the man in red that never fails to reduce the away teamy one member. Grabbing an empty plot line and throwing it to whoever happened to be backstage. Is it worth it? A moment in the limelight, a moment in an angels' sight. A princess of misfortune (so they say) so spin the wheel, grab the prize, deal or no deal, it's time to get wise.
Or
Else
Die
I may not be the hero of my story, but since I'm the one telling it, I may as well play the part.. Actors and musicians will take my place, as tables clear and glasses ring with the chiming of a strategically placed knife upon a crystal cup. And as the sweet vibrato drains away like the wine in my cup, he stands. With a shaky sort of voice, a smile lacking confidence, and a demeanor that makes me want to slap my face in disgust, he speaks. He isn't very loud, of course (but that is to be expected of a spineless bigot), but we all listen anyway as he proclaims my life as his, rips my heart from my aching hands, and tears from me the last vestiges of the surreality that I tried so hard to force my hand in. Somewhere off in the distance, a rabbit dies of heart failure as it stares into the unfamiliar glowing eyes of a fate that happens far too often in nature's arms.
Another breath fills my lungs with temptation and I look down in sadness at the closing road before me. How did I get here? Well, I haven't yet. The future is a funny thing. When it's right in front of you, it can go a million different directions.. But it only takes the one. Why? Because life isn't what we think it is. Within the passion of this life that you so desperately think you know, there is a hope. An understanding, that sometimes you have to just let go. Another trick, another rhyme. Who will you be? Don't be me.
Yellow brick roads are for children.
Don't
Forget
To
Blink
Entranced
It is dark. All around me is a swirling montage of memories and broken dreams. Within the shadow of the past I peer achingly into, a voice floats up unbidden. I cannot hear the words, but I recognize that haunting tone, that silky voice that speaks but says nothing. A cacophany of broken sounds reach my ears, and I realize that this is just a nightmarish shadow of reality. I'm not really here, this isn't real. Faces of my past are flashing at the edges of my vision, maddeningly close, yet I cannot see them.
A whisper of a voice taunts me, urging me to go on. I listen.
A whisper of a voice taunts me, urging me to go on. I listen.
Syralysis
It is a long hallways filled with dark alcoves and murderous light streaming through windows too high for the soul to reach. A doorway may flash by occasionally, but those just lead to distracting rooms and flickering candlelit demons. The hallways streams past faster with every second, but oddly enough, the feet do not move. Every auspectory of attention is focused on the end of the hallway.. That one moment when the gilded door opens, and the heart is free.. And yet this focus is misguided, for the exploration of every crevice and minuscule object along this hallway of life brings memories to be shared and kept. The final goal has been achieved, the door is open, you're being is propelled by the force of mind through what no longer matters. Maybe the next heart to wander this forsaken corridor won't be so hasty to gain what matters most, means the most, and is meant to be the ultimatum of a long journey.
Windows
It's a sweet burn. This cool breeze fills my lungs with temptation. Sandcastles are standing strong and proud, waiting for the violent wind to put them in their place. Castles that stand upon morals and values, and yet have no consistency to cling to. It is an empty life devoid of foundation and strength. Life.. It is nothing more than a cacophony of moments stuck in your head. Some moments are good, some are bad, but they twist and merge into a complexity that we cannot comprehend, but strive to understand. Time passes on and on, and does not bend to the selfish will of one man. Tears will fall and tears will stay, but watch the clock.. Your pain will drift away. Some people watch the seconds pass, living in the moment and changing as quickly as they come. Other people watch the minutes, passing easily from moment to moment, but taking a brief moment to enjoy a memory or two. Others live by the hours. These people forge bonds and friendships daily, taking care to be fastidious. And then there are those who live by a lifetime. They are strong and patient, inexorably pushing towards a goal that they may never achieve, but they are unstoppable. Don't sit there taking time for granted.
A second may pass without notice, but it feels no less lonely. Stop watching the clock, and live the dream you so helplessly wished for in your innocent days of youth. Dreams are thoughts that we don't always see. Am I dreaming? Are you real? Are you dreaming? Am I real? Did I just dream, or was that yesterday's thought? Perhaps I live at night and dream all day.. And now my world turns inside out because with an explosion of chaotic imagery and imaginative fantasizing.... I just dreamed I was awake. Perhaps it is that we as a people look through a curtain our whole lives, afraid to pull back the fabric that shields us from the perfect wonder and evil of our lives. So many horrors exist out there, beyond the lines of protected innocents. But there are some who stand up, rip away the curtains, and let the warmth and fire of an almost sympathetic star into life. At what point does philosopher cross the line between wondering what is real, and creating lines to wonder upon? There's a shadow upon your curtain. A thought. A dream, even? Will you let in the two extremes of our world, or are you content to hover behind the protective layers that our minds string up? Either way, there is one solidifying truth that takes our choice away from us....
You can't see the curtain.
A second may pass without notice, but it feels no less lonely. Stop watching the clock, and live the dream you so helplessly wished for in your innocent days of youth. Dreams are thoughts that we don't always see. Am I dreaming? Are you real? Are you dreaming? Am I real? Did I just dream, or was that yesterday's thought? Perhaps I live at night and dream all day.. And now my world turns inside out because with an explosion of chaotic imagery and imaginative fantasizing.... I just dreamed I was awake. Perhaps it is that we as a people look through a curtain our whole lives, afraid to pull back the fabric that shields us from the perfect wonder and evil of our lives. So many horrors exist out there, beyond the lines of protected innocents. But there are some who stand up, rip away the curtains, and let the warmth and fire of an almost sympathetic star into life. At what point does philosopher cross the line between wondering what is real, and creating lines to wonder upon? There's a shadow upon your curtain. A thought. A dream, even? Will you let in the two extremes of our world, or are you content to hover behind the protective layers that our minds string up? Either way, there is one solidifying truth that takes our choice away from us....
You can't see the curtain.
Empty
Forget all you have learned darling, today is the show of your lifetime. You will never go back from this moment, even as you turn towards the blinding light you hold so dear to yourself. Insincere shadows dissolve to a metal sheet of lies, scratched upon by far too many fingernails. Each lonely figure has tried time and time again to leave their mark on our cold hard history. Those who make the deepest impressions carry with them the means to etch forever both good and evil deeds, whether it be through love or hatred. The rabble of civilization stands at the bottom of our great legacy, scratching here and there, always trying to outdo another with a deeper mark or a longer scratch, and yet it is ineffectual. Our monument sinks deeper into the ground, dragging with it the worthless weight of our people, while the truly aspiring climb upwards towards a greater goal, and a significant achievement. There are those who commit atrocious acts to gain higher position on our wall, who dare to demean upon a race or a people in hopes that an end will or can be accomplished that will far outweigh the horrifying means used to attain it. These hideously great figures are driven by shadows. It is no mystery that the shadows that consume us whole are nothing more than figments of our imagination.. There are few who would challenge the authority of their own minds, and many who question the hearts of others. In our complacent realm of dignity and self-preservation, we as a people possess the ability to look beyond our pride and arrogance to stretch our fingertips into the blank canvas that we so willingly draw on, and warp the very fabric that we are so anxious to step into and affect change through. Are you more than who you proclaim yourself to be, or are you less than your self portrait indicates?
Draw yourself. Who are you? Have you drawn a regal, imposing figure? A shadow of a being in a dark corner? A murderous demon? A joyful presence? Darling, between the lines of pride and regret, you forgot to draw yourself. We are filled with so much potential to be all that you portrayed in your canvas. We as a people contain within ourselves the very secret of existence. The hope for generations to come lies entrapped in our minds as verily as our hearts reach out to encompass the future of our world. This mystery lies millenia deep, and yet cannot be accessed or destroyed as it should be. Sit back, my dear, and think about this for a moment. Disguise your feelings beneath a colorful figure of words and actions, and pretend to be a caring person who will bring change to this horrifying experience we call life. There is a truth beneath that shockingly beautiful rose, a startling realization that shakes the very core of our foundations. When you pull away the petals and let them fall delicately to the ground, there is a harsh vine of thorns and uncaring emotion. You saw the rose my love, but did you see the thorns? Did you shoot your hand out to grasp the beauty, or did you look at the horror in this world and realize that it was all just a lie with a sugar coating, just as our faces hide behind masks of heartfelt caring and love? Imagine (if you will) an ocean. There lies millions of oysters upon a thousand beaches, and you must search through hundreds of oysters to find a pearl. In the end, you have found your pearl. You have attained your prize, a beauteous sphere that fills your heart with pure content because YOU searched for so long, and YOU found it. But wait! The story does not end with so perfect and ending.. Look behind you. You have destroyed hundreds of oysters to find your pearl. A pearl that will be strung up with all the others to wear as a trophy, a pretty piece of jewellry.
Sound familiar?
But our story cannot end there, for simple stories are too easy for our demented minds. Have you wrongfully destroyed hundreds of opportunities to create beautiful pearls? Or have you rightfully destroyed the opportunity for those oysters to take a single grain of sand and layer it with lies and deceit to make it look enticing..? Because in the end....
It's just a grain of sand.
Draw yourself. Who are you? Have you drawn a regal, imposing figure? A shadow of a being in a dark corner? A murderous demon? A joyful presence? Darling, between the lines of pride and regret, you forgot to draw yourself. We are filled with so much potential to be all that you portrayed in your canvas. We as a people contain within ourselves the very secret of existence. The hope for generations to come lies entrapped in our minds as verily as our hearts reach out to encompass the future of our world. This mystery lies millenia deep, and yet cannot be accessed or destroyed as it should be. Sit back, my dear, and think about this for a moment. Disguise your feelings beneath a colorful figure of words and actions, and pretend to be a caring person who will bring change to this horrifying experience we call life. There is a truth beneath that shockingly beautiful rose, a startling realization that shakes the very core of our foundations. When you pull away the petals and let them fall delicately to the ground, there is a harsh vine of thorns and uncaring emotion. You saw the rose my love, but did you see the thorns? Did you shoot your hand out to grasp the beauty, or did you look at the horror in this world and realize that it was all just a lie with a sugar coating, just as our faces hide behind masks of heartfelt caring and love? Imagine (if you will) an ocean. There lies millions of oysters upon a thousand beaches, and you must search through hundreds of oysters to find a pearl. In the end, you have found your pearl. You have attained your prize, a beauteous sphere that fills your heart with pure content because YOU searched for so long, and YOU found it. But wait! The story does not end with so perfect and ending.. Look behind you. You have destroyed hundreds of oysters to find your pearl. A pearl that will be strung up with all the others to wear as a trophy, a pretty piece of jewellry.
Sound familiar?
But our story cannot end there, for simple stories are too easy for our demented minds. Have you wrongfully destroyed hundreds of opportunities to create beautiful pearls? Or have you rightfully destroyed the opportunity for those oysters to take a single grain of sand and layer it with lies and deceit to make it look enticing..? Because in the end....
It's just a grain of sand.
Alacrity
There is an inescapable fate the consumes us whole, turns us inside out, and spits us out with a shocking clarity that both creates and destroys what we have so long yearned to be. It is the thought, the idea, the one single truth in our lives that corrupts and defines who we are and what we will become.
It is death.
There is always that one daring boy who steps off the line and takes a leap to the extraordinary. The one who decides that life is too short to be lived upon a sturdy ground with invisible walls surrounding and enclosing him. The goal? To break through the walls, and see what is real and just how much more there is beyond the excruciating entrapment of the mind. He leaps for happiness, something worth both living and dying for. He desires to love and cherish, to dream and believe.. The world promises him bejeweled fantasies of joy and freedom, while snapping gilded shackles to his arms, whispering seductive words that sound so sweet to anxious ears. And so this decision is left to him and him alone. To be or not to be.. and yet it is so much more complex than that. Questions of life mesh themselves into a quagmire of veracity that he cannot comprehend. He wonders if he would rather live long or die fulfilled.. He goes against the grain not out of rebellion, but because there is no consequence in sight for abolishing his limited and naive sight. His vision is twenty-twenty, and yet he cannot see past his own present into the future. The precariously unbalanced life he leaves brings him away from the herd and into a wasteland of content and misery, leaving him free to live or die as he pleases. Within his need to see beyond what the world dictates, there resides a passionate discontent of imprisonment and freedom.
He cannot see past the horizon, and cannot say whether there is even a world out there. If he stays, death is unavoidable, but if he leaves death is more spontaneous; although there is a fervent hope that he can find something in the seemingly endless ocean before him, there is a fear that night will fall before his journey is yet complete. With a few moments pause to contemplate his dilemma, he impulsively leaps from his cliff of solidity and passivity and throws himself far beyond what he can see and know. The sun is drifting downwards upon lazily floating shades of gold and crimson, peeling back the layers of sky until the old familiar constellations open up before him. The rushing air whipping past his fast whispers to him, speaking of truth and hope. He listens for a moment, lingering on that indecisive moment of live or die.. And with a resigned smile on his face, he spreads his wings and drifts with the wind to a new hope.
Just as light needs darkness to define it, life needs death to make it sweeter.. and although you will inevitably die, you will have a lifetime weighed against a single solitary moment of death.
Tip the scales a bit. Live a little more.
It is death.
There is always that one daring boy who steps off the line and takes a leap to the extraordinary. The one who decides that life is too short to be lived upon a sturdy ground with invisible walls surrounding and enclosing him. The goal? To break through the walls, and see what is real and just how much more there is beyond the excruciating entrapment of the mind. He leaps for happiness, something worth both living and dying for. He desires to love and cherish, to dream and believe.. The world promises him bejeweled fantasies of joy and freedom, while snapping gilded shackles to his arms, whispering seductive words that sound so sweet to anxious ears. And so this decision is left to him and him alone. To be or not to be.. and yet it is so much more complex than that. Questions of life mesh themselves into a quagmire of veracity that he cannot comprehend. He wonders if he would rather live long or die fulfilled.. He goes against the grain not out of rebellion, but because there is no consequence in sight for abolishing his limited and naive sight. His vision is twenty-twenty, and yet he cannot see past his own present into the future. The precariously unbalanced life he leaves brings him away from the herd and into a wasteland of content and misery, leaving him free to live or die as he pleases. Within his need to see beyond what the world dictates, there resides a passionate discontent of imprisonment and freedom.
He cannot see past the horizon, and cannot say whether there is even a world out there. If he stays, death is unavoidable, but if he leaves death is more spontaneous; although there is a fervent hope that he can find something in the seemingly endless ocean before him, there is a fear that night will fall before his journey is yet complete. With a few moments pause to contemplate his dilemma, he impulsively leaps from his cliff of solidity and passivity and throws himself far beyond what he can see and know. The sun is drifting downwards upon lazily floating shades of gold and crimson, peeling back the layers of sky until the old familiar constellations open up before him. The rushing air whipping past his fast whispers to him, speaking of truth and hope. He listens for a moment, lingering on that indecisive moment of live or die.. And with a resigned smile on his face, he spreads his wings and drifts with the wind to a new hope.
Just as light needs darkness to define it, life needs death to make it sweeter.. and although you will inevitably die, you will have a lifetime weighed against a single solitary moment of death.
Tip the scales a bit. Live a little more.
Impressions Of Spring
For days I hold my breath and the fear does not disappoint. As I sit staring at my old tarnished self on the wall, I sink deeper into myself. I dread the thought of day, and I fear the twilight often. I walk down silent roads and forgotten alleys; I know these streets like my own house. The one place I know as well is myself, where I remain uncaring to the demands of different cultures and angry voices. I vaguely notice that it is nearly sunrise, and yet I find myself unwilling to take note of what this new day has to bring.
I hesitate but for a moment, silent and still among the darkened streets. There is no sunlight. The dim contrast between the morning caress of twilight and the dull red luster of brick walls causes no worry to my eyes. Ironically, I was expecting to be bathed in sunlight as I stepped around that forgotten corner.. Instead, I'm soaked by cold drops of water as I continue my heartfelt wandering in the shadows of a silent city, beneath a sky drawn over with a curtain of dreary clouds.
I cannot count the seconds, minutes, or even the hours. It could have been several lifetimes before I realized sunrise had befallen me. The hollow drumming of the rain had ceased its endless banter against the trees, and a thin beam of light had been slanting through a turmoil of clouds to sit discontentedly at my aching feet.
The sun has lent me the brilliance of its glow, it seems. Something in me tore the rain and clouds away, forcing the city into a spectrum as vivid as the blend of light and water could ever be. Once again, the world looked casual.. Radiant, perhaps? I never lingered so long upon such an ordinary sight which undoubtedly recurs time and time again through countless ages.. And with this realization, the sadness I held fixed upon my heart for so many years melted away. I have never been able to remember ever truly enjoying such a plain yet simplistic image. A warm, inviting, orange glow upon the atmosphere, a western breeze caressing my upturned face, as the voices of leaves cascade upon my ears. The essence of spring. "Hmmm" I murmur, smiling haltingly yet frowning with a touch of surprise.
"I've never really enjoyed orange...."
I hesitate but for a moment, silent and still among the darkened streets. There is no sunlight. The dim contrast between the morning caress of twilight and the dull red luster of brick walls causes no worry to my eyes. Ironically, I was expecting to be bathed in sunlight as I stepped around that forgotten corner.. Instead, I'm soaked by cold drops of water as I continue my heartfelt wandering in the shadows of a silent city, beneath a sky drawn over with a curtain of dreary clouds.
I cannot count the seconds, minutes, or even the hours. It could have been several lifetimes before I realized sunrise had befallen me. The hollow drumming of the rain had ceased its endless banter against the trees, and a thin beam of light had been slanting through a turmoil of clouds to sit discontentedly at my aching feet.
The sun has lent me the brilliance of its glow, it seems. Something in me tore the rain and clouds away, forcing the city into a spectrum as vivid as the blend of light and water could ever be. Once again, the world looked casual.. Radiant, perhaps? I never lingered so long upon such an ordinary sight which undoubtedly recurs time and time again through countless ages.. And with this realization, the sadness I held fixed upon my heart for so many years melted away. I have never been able to remember ever truly enjoying such a plain yet simplistic image. A warm, inviting, orange glow upon the atmosphere, a western breeze caressing my upturned face, as the voices of leaves cascade upon my ears. The essence of spring. "Hmmm" I murmur, smiling haltingly yet frowning with a touch of surprise.
"I've never really enjoyed orange...."