He walks in beauty, through my dreams
Altering everything I see and how it seems
Painting visions that move and dance
And, oh, how they take every chance
With him, nothing is, everything changes
It's gone, blown away have the pages
We've left a whole world behind
He has led me to let my wings unwind
In my heart, he engenders clarity
Within him is the grace of sincerity
He has taken me to ethereal spheres
There I have shattered shackles of fear
But, alas, awaken; he is nowhere to be seen
Life and dreams, caught, torn in between
Wishing on how things could have been
Longing to watch the morning break upon his skin
Monday, July 19, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Crashing Down
you're not allowed to come here.
you're not allowed to say that.
i decided this already.
i've already made that decision.
i swore i would never again.
you can't ask me to.
you can't say that.
don't tell me you're sorry.
don't tell me it was a mistake.
i don't care what has changed.
don't look at me that way.
how did you even find me?
i was so sure i had covered my tracks.
so sure i had washed away the roads.
and burned all the bridges.
i was so sure i had made it
so that you wouldn't be able to find me.
stop.
don't.
i don't want to hear it.
i can't listen to it.
you have to leave.
i can't have you here.
and i can't let you take me back to that place.
nothing has changed.
i already made that decision.
and i wont change it now.
dammit!
why did you come here?
how did you even find me?
please. just stop.
stop talking.
please.
just go.
you can't ask me to.
you can't say that.
no. this is not what i wanted.
just. go.
you're not allowed to say that.
i decided this already.
i've already made that decision.
i swore i would never again.
you can't ask me to.
you can't say that.
don't tell me you're sorry.
don't tell me it was a mistake.
i don't care what has changed.
don't look at me that way.
how did you even find me?
i was so sure i had covered my tracks.
so sure i had washed away the roads.
and burned all the bridges.
i was so sure i had made it
so that you wouldn't be able to find me.
stop.
don't.
i don't want to hear it.
i can't listen to it.
you have to leave.
i can't have you here.
and i can't let you take me back to that place.
nothing has changed.
i already made that decision.
and i wont change it now.
dammit!
why did you come here?
how did you even find me?
please. just stop.
stop talking.
please.
just go.
you can't ask me to.
you can't say that.
no. this is not what i wanted.
just. go.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Your Voice
It follows me everywhere
Like a shadow, but aware.
I would never have a choice
It was always there, your voice.
In the dead dark of night
When memories are in spite,
When the whole world is silent
And dreams become violent.
Your voice breaks upon me
And I dive into it like the sea.
As a breeze, it caresses my skin;
Taking me over from within.
Traces through my every thought
As it holds my heart caught.
Leaving marks on my memories;
Creating its own stories.
It's all that's left in your wake
With so much that's at stake.
Like music or weaving spells,
Listen as the sound wells.
I hear those words laced
It leaves my demons faced
The sound brings a calm
As it becomes my balm
I can still hear your words
Gliding within me like birds
In the darkness I close my eyes
And listen to your voice rise
Like a shadow, but aware.
I would never have a choice
It was always there, your voice.
In the dead dark of night
When memories are in spite,
When the whole world is silent
And dreams become violent.
Your voice breaks upon me
And I dive into it like the sea.
As a breeze, it caresses my skin;
Taking me over from within.
Traces through my every thought
As it holds my heart caught.
Leaving marks on my memories;
Creating its own stories.
It's all that's left in your wake
With so much that's at stake.
Like music or weaving spells,
Listen as the sound wells.
I hear those words laced
It leaves my demons faced
The sound brings a calm
As it becomes my balm
I can still hear your words
Gliding within me like birds
In the darkness I close my eyes
And listen to your voice rise
Monday, July 12, 2010
Regress
That's sweet of you, but, no, I don't want to talk about it. This is my emotional baggage to carry. As time passes, this baggage may become demons. But, even then, they will be my demons to battle against.
. . . . .
It doesn't matter how old you are. It doesn't matter how much progress you think you've made. Or even how much progress you think they have made. Parents have a way of making children regress.
You can be twenty-something, up in your room, listening to music, getting ready to go out with your friends. You think you hear something, so you stop what you're doing, you put down what you have in your hand, you walk over to the stereo. And before you even turn down the music, you know you're going to regret it; but you have to do it, you have to be sure.
With the music down, you can hear their voices. You wish you could convince yourself that they're are just conversing loudly, not arguing. But then again, it's always been easier to lie to others than it has been to lie to yourself.
And just like that, you're five years old again and sitting at the top of the stairs. You sit so still and so silent. They're the ones that are fighting, but you're the vulnerable one. You can't figure it out. You can't figure out why they fight. Why they can't just understand one another. You can't figure out what you can say or do to make it stop. Why wont it ever stop.
It's the most vulnerable you've ever been in your entire life. But here's the catch, it wasn't just when you were five years old. You've been alive for well over twenty years now, but ever single time it happens, you are five years old all over again.
You tell yourself, it's not just me. Hundreds upon hundreds of people go through the same exact thing. They feel the same exact kind of vulnerable. You'll be fine, everyone else is.
So you pick your five year old self up off the stairs and take it back to your room. You turn the music back up, you pick up your hair brush again, and you go back to getting ready to go out with your friends.
But you can still hear their voices, they've become an underlying chorus to the songs. You stand in front of the mirror, brushing your hair, but you don't actually see anything. You're zoning, your eyes have dilated a little and your vision is a stagnant blur. Is that a shell you see in the mirror?
You shake your head; it doesn't matter what you see in the mirror. Don't worry, you tell yourself, you've been planning and preparing for years now. You're going to change things. You're going to make it so these fights don't happen anymore. You're going to take away all those hurdles that seem to keep them apart.
You've only got a few more years to go before you can complete what you are working on. And then you're going to take them, and yourself, and leave this place and leave these people. And we're all going to start all over again. Just a few more years. Just a few more years.
Yes, sometimes you do find yourself thinking that it would be so much simpler to just drop everything and move on to another place. A place where they are not, a place where you only have to worry about yourself.
But you know it's not that easy. It doesn't matter how far away you are from them, that five year old child isn't ever going to feel secure unless you change the things, not the place, that made that child vulnerable in the first place.
Just a few more years and you'll be able to change those things, those circumstances. Right? You've been planning and preparing for years, it's the only plan you have, the only way you know how. But, will it work?
Stop. Stop questioning it. Questioning it wont help. You can't know either way, can you? So there is no point in second guessing it. No, you tell yourself, just keep working towards the plan you have in place.
Focus. Focus. Brush your hair. Pull on your coat. Quietly, slip down the stairs and out the door. No one else has to know what is going on. Get through tonight, then you can come home and think on it some more. Then you can worry about the next step.
. . . . .
It doesn't matter how old you are. It doesn't matter how much progress you think you've made. Or even how much progress you think they have made. Parents have a way of making children regress.
You can be twenty-something, up in your room, listening to music, getting ready to go out with your friends. You think you hear something, so you stop what you're doing, you put down what you have in your hand, you walk over to the stereo. And before you even turn down the music, you know you're going to regret it; but you have to do it, you have to be sure.
With the music down, you can hear their voices. You wish you could convince yourself that they're are just conversing loudly, not arguing. But then again, it's always been easier to lie to others than it has been to lie to yourself.
And just like that, you're five years old again and sitting at the top of the stairs. You sit so still and so silent. They're the ones that are fighting, but you're the vulnerable one. You can't figure it out. You can't figure out why they fight. Why they can't just understand one another. You can't figure out what you can say or do to make it stop. Why wont it ever stop.
It's the most vulnerable you've ever been in your entire life. But here's the catch, it wasn't just when you were five years old. You've been alive for well over twenty years now, but ever single time it happens, you are five years old all over again.
You tell yourself, it's not just me. Hundreds upon hundreds of people go through the same exact thing. They feel the same exact kind of vulnerable. You'll be fine, everyone else is.
So you pick your five year old self up off the stairs and take it back to your room. You turn the music back up, you pick up your hair brush again, and you go back to getting ready to go out with your friends.
But you can still hear their voices, they've become an underlying chorus to the songs. You stand in front of the mirror, brushing your hair, but you don't actually see anything. You're zoning, your eyes have dilated a little and your vision is a stagnant blur. Is that a shell you see in the mirror?
You shake your head; it doesn't matter what you see in the mirror. Don't worry, you tell yourself, you've been planning and preparing for years now. You're going to change things. You're going to make it so these fights don't happen anymore. You're going to take away all those hurdles that seem to keep them apart.
You've only got a few more years to go before you can complete what you are working on. And then you're going to take them, and yourself, and leave this place and leave these people. And we're all going to start all over again. Just a few more years. Just a few more years.
Yes, sometimes you do find yourself thinking that it would be so much simpler to just drop everything and move on to another place. A place where they are not, a place where you only have to worry about yourself.
But you know it's not that easy. It doesn't matter how far away you are from them, that five year old child isn't ever going to feel secure unless you change the things, not the place, that made that child vulnerable in the first place.
Just a few more years and you'll be able to change those things, those circumstances. Right? You've been planning and preparing for years, it's the only plan you have, the only way you know how. But, will it work?
Stop. Stop questioning it. Questioning it wont help. You can't know either way, can you? So there is no point in second guessing it. No, you tell yourself, just keep working towards the plan you have in place.
Focus. Focus. Brush your hair. Pull on your coat. Quietly, slip down the stairs and out the door. No one else has to know what is going on. Get through tonight, then you can come home and think on it some more. Then you can worry about the next step.
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