Open the curtains.
Look unto the stage,
See the man dance
And watch him closely.
Open the door,
Look at the crowd,
See the empty seats
And watch them shudder.
Look back at the man
And see that tear.
Stand up and clap him
Happy.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Reflection
Each drop dripped with the strain of stress. The salty beads followed the outline of my body, sliding down the slippery dip until it silently thudded as it beat upon the ground. Another drop pursued the first ghostly drop. My clothes felt the gentle ting of a strange sweat and tear mixture; absorbing it, slowly becoming a darker shade of grey. My feet pushed against the oncoming breeze, rushing away from the fury of the world. Nothing was anything. I wasn’t even sure who I was. All I knew was that I didn’t want to be who I was. While I was running I tried my hardest to visualize how I should be. I could see me. I could see each drop of sweat, each tear. I could see my arms shake and my legs twitch. I could see the only thing I truly hated in the world – me.
Run - that’s all I could do. The image burned inside my mind etching an imprint of me on my membranes. Every single thought was a visual of me, of how I am. My feet moved at a quicker pace, as if the treadmill had turned up a gear. The imprint waved through my thoughts, consuming and reducing it to one single thing. I could not stand myself, how I looked or who I was. The wind lashed against me, a storm was brewing inside my mind and out. Clouds of grey boomed out a roar and I just kept on running.
The mirror - that was me. I saw myself for what I really was that moment. I wasn’t so revolting. I wasn’t as flawed or as big of a fuck up as I made myself believe.
Piercing, slowly edging and cutting its shape into the mirror, was the image. The shade inflated in size, until it had embodied the glass, leaving nothing to be seen but an imperfect shadow; a vision of myself. Everything was wrong about it; how it looked, how it smiled, how every microscopic particle was enlarged and magnified to absurd horror. My hands – why were they so small? Have they always been? Even in a two dimensional image you could see my stomach protrude and bulge forward, almost as if I had a sack of money stashed underneath my shirt. Wrong. I looked wrong. Sweat oozed like lava from my pores. My mind flashed to that one moment, that one voice, the one laugh that set me off. No, I’m not pretty. I never was pretty. That moment the hammer of realization collapsed on my skull, and I saw what he saw. I saw ugly.
The features in the glass transformed as my thoughts transformed. The more I hated myself the worse I looked, the less I could handle myself. My hands stroked the dark, greasy reflection of my hair. They traced the outline of it feeling every bump and imperfection. I touched the bulge and felt every cavity, every crease, and every atom that comprised that image. My eyes followed my hand and burned from looking. I couldn’t handle it. Anger sizzled inside and climaxed until I had broken the mirror with a concussion of slaps. The fragments created a mosaic of me, thousands of images reflecting a ghoul. Hands clutched to the pain of glass piercing skin. I cried. I don’t even think the pain is what made me cry. I cried because, I didn’t know what else to do but cry. I’d made a mess and I was a mess.
It all became so three dimensional, each embodiment of me seemed to jump out and grab me. Pulling. It felt like they were trying to grab me and suck me in. I couldn’t fight them.
“This is you”.
The weeks that followed were full of exercise and starvation. I would be pretty even if it killed me and it almost did. I wouldn’t eat more than a slice of bread a day. I covered my face so full of make-up that you could not see the slightest blemish or even notice that it was me under that mask. I ran everywhere. I ran until I couldn’t feel my legs, until that moment where you are so close to collapsing. I got uglier.
I had changed, drastically. The scale said I had lost weight, but I know I hadn’t. I was fatter than ever.
The mirror – why? This image – why? Why?
Months had past and I looked worse. In that mirror all I saw was the very same image that I had saw before, the fragments finally cleaned and the mirror replaced.
From my brain stemmed raw emotion, raw pain and loathing. I was no better than I was before. I don’t even remember what school is anymore and my friends can’t even stand to be around me, like my presence was a subtle repelling aura.
Night comes and I don’t sleep, not like I used too. The dark embodies my room, leaves ruffle from outside; I shake. This nightmare won’t let me wake. It’s like I think this is all a dream that reality is just a demon encumbered fantasy. Blurry, everything is just a blur of nothing. But I live. I’m too afraid of death, afraid of the possibility of existing forever or not existing at all. Every night I write with lipstick on that very mirror “You can’t be you if you can’t see you” and every night I pray that I can see me – the old me.
Run - that’s all I could do. The image burned inside my mind etching an imprint of me on my membranes. Every single thought was a visual of me, of how I am. My feet moved at a quicker pace, as if the treadmill had turned up a gear. The imprint waved through my thoughts, consuming and reducing it to one single thing. I could not stand myself, how I looked or who I was. The wind lashed against me, a storm was brewing inside my mind and out. Clouds of grey boomed out a roar and I just kept on running.
The mirror - that was me. I saw myself for what I really was that moment. I wasn’t so revolting. I wasn’t as flawed or as big of a fuck up as I made myself believe.
Piercing, slowly edging and cutting its shape into the mirror, was the image. The shade inflated in size, until it had embodied the glass, leaving nothing to be seen but an imperfect shadow; a vision of myself. Everything was wrong about it; how it looked, how it smiled, how every microscopic particle was enlarged and magnified to absurd horror. My hands – why were they so small? Have they always been? Even in a two dimensional image you could see my stomach protrude and bulge forward, almost as if I had a sack of money stashed underneath my shirt. Wrong. I looked wrong. Sweat oozed like lava from my pores. My mind flashed to that one moment, that one voice, the one laugh that set me off. No, I’m not pretty. I never was pretty. That moment the hammer of realization collapsed on my skull, and I saw what he saw. I saw ugly.
The features in the glass transformed as my thoughts transformed. The more I hated myself the worse I looked, the less I could handle myself. My hands stroked the dark, greasy reflection of my hair. They traced the outline of it feeling every bump and imperfection. I touched the bulge and felt every cavity, every crease, and every atom that comprised that image. My eyes followed my hand and burned from looking. I couldn’t handle it. Anger sizzled inside and climaxed until I had broken the mirror with a concussion of slaps. The fragments created a mosaic of me, thousands of images reflecting a ghoul. Hands clutched to the pain of glass piercing skin. I cried. I don’t even think the pain is what made me cry. I cried because, I didn’t know what else to do but cry. I’d made a mess and I was a mess.
It all became so three dimensional, each embodiment of me seemed to jump out and grab me. Pulling. It felt like they were trying to grab me and suck me in. I couldn’t fight them.
“This is you”.
The weeks that followed were full of exercise and starvation. I would be pretty even if it killed me and it almost did. I wouldn’t eat more than a slice of bread a day. I covered my face so full of make-up that you could not see the slightest blemish or even notice that it was me under that mask. I ran everywhere. I ran until I couldn’t feel my legs, until that moment where you are so close to collapsing. I got uglier.
I had changed, drastically. The scale said I had lost weight, but I know I hadn’t. I was fatter than ever.
The mirror – why? This image – why? Why?
Months had past and I looked worse. In that mirror all I saw was the very same image that I had saw before, the fragments finally cleaned and the mirror replaced.
From my brain stemmed raw emotion, raw pain and loathing. I was no better than I was before. I don’t even remember what school is anymore and my friends can’t even stand to be around me, like my presence was a subtle repelling aura.
Night comes and I don’t sleep, not like I used too. The dark embodies my room, leaves ruffle from outside; I shake. This nightmare won’t let me wake. It’s like I think this is all a dream that reality is just a demon encumbered fantasy. Blurry, everything is just a blur of nothing. But I live. I’m too afraid of death, afraid of the possibility of existing forever or not existing at all. Every night I write with lipstick on that very mirror “You can’t be you if you can’t see you” and every night I pray that I can see me – the old me.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Whisper In My Ear
It came to me from the desert,
A gust of sandy wind.
It travelled across the water,
A damp chill.
It bouldered over mountains,
Granite strong.
It crossed the world,
As a whisper.
It came in soft.
It came in quiet.
It came in gentle,
For my guidance.
I crossed the world,
Bouldered over mountains,
Travelled across the water,
Until I was lost in the desert.
The whisper died,
The wind faded.
I stood still – bewildered.
Praying for some guidance.
The world shifted,
Time had moved.
I waited,
Waited.
Things had changed,
I had grown – aged.
Life was a shadow,
The future a dim light.
The whisper never breathed,
But nor had I.
I waited
Expecting an answer
To a question that
I had never asked.
When I talked,
The wind picked up
Tickling my ears,
Calming my mind.
But even now
I can’t help but think,
Where I would have been,
If I had asked the wind
Earlier.
A gust of sandy wind.
It travelled across the water,
A damp chill.
It bouldered over mountains,
Granite strong.
It crossed the world,
As a whisper.
It came in soft.
It came in quiet.
It came in gentle,
For my guidance.
I crossed the world,
Bouldered over mountains,
Travelled across the water,
Until I was lost in the desert.
The whisper died,
The wind faded.
I stood still – bewildered.
Praying for some guidance.
The world shifted,
Time had moved.
I waited,
Waited.
Things had changed,
I had grown – aged.
Life was a shadow,
The future a dim light.
The whisper never breathed,
But nor had I.
I waited
Expecting an answer
To a question that
I had never asked.
When I talked,
The wind picked up
Tickling my ears,
Calming my mind.
But even now
I can’t help but think,
Where I would have been,
If I had asked the wind
Earlier.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Paths
Take off your shoes, put on my sandals;
We're switching our paths.
Walk in the sand and I on the concrete.
Push against the grain, planting craters.
Dodge the bluebottles’ sting and the crabs’ grab.
Feel the soothing beat of each wave consuming your feet.
Grapple against the seaweeds' tangle.
Dive into the unknown.
Pause and look.
Walking on concrete, trudging through the wind.
Burdened by rain soaked clothes,
Pushing against the traffic of people.
Dodging all the fragments of glass and the used syringes.
Waiting for a green blink to tell you go.
Racing against a car as you cross.
Pause and look.
You’re in my sandals.
I’m in your shoes.
Both are dirty.
Both are worn.
Both sweat blisters.
Both have problems.
But those are my sandals and I’m used to them.
These are your shoes and I can't stand them.
These are your shoes and you are used to them.
Those are my sandals and you can’t stand them.
Take off my sandals, put on your shoes;
We're switching our paths.
We're switching our paths.
Walk in the sand and I on the concrete.
Push against the grain, planting craters.
Dodge the bluebottles’ sting and the crabs’ grab.
Feel the soothing beat of each wave consuming your feet.
Grapple against the seaweeds' tangle.
Dive into the unknown.
Pause and look.
Walking on concrete, trudging through the wind.
Burdened by rain soaked clothes,
Pushing against the traffic of people.
Dodging all the fragments of glass and the used syringes.
Waiting for a green blink to tell you go.
Racing against a car as you cross.
Pause and look.
You’re in my sandals.
I’m in your shoes.
Both are dirty.
Both are worn.
Both sweat blisters.
Both have problems.
But those are my sandals and I’m used to them.
These are your shoes and I can't stand them.
These are your shoes and you are used to them.
Those are my sandals and you can’t stand them.
Take off my sandals, put on your shoes;
We're switching our paths.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
A One Man Race
Winning in this one man race,
Storming by with frightful pace.
No one to lose to. No one to stop you.
No one – It’s all you.
Boot falls to the ground, as the other rises.
Eyes set in front, staring at your prize.
As you approach the end
Another contestant ascends
Speeding upon your highway.
A fiery bullet making headway.
Boot falls to the ground and so does his.
Before the finish he flies past you in a wiz.
The losing man sits and cries
For his consolation prize.
Storming by with frightful pace.
No one to lose to. No one to stop you.
No one – It’s all you.
Boot falls to the ground, as the other rises.
Eyes set in front, staring at your prize.
As you approach the end
Another contestant ascends
Speeding upon your highway.
A fiery bullet making headway.
Boot falls to the ground and so does his.
Before the finish he flies past you in a wiz.
The losing man sits and cries
For his consolation prize.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Fond Of Shadows
Each word I speak, acts like a piercing blade, wounding all who listen and those I care most deeply for. Words are a most powerful weapon; they have the ability to enthrall and bewilder hordes of men and the ability to crush their very souls. Here I am constantly speaking, using this powerful device, not realising the damage I have done to those I hold closest. Many broken hearts I have created, few could be mended. Many souls I have crushed; a shame I bare forever. These words of mine, of which I speak, are indeed a devil; a curse we all unfortunately bare. Stacking! Building a bridge; of sorrow and misery. That’s all I can do, it’s all I’m good for. Wreaking havoc upon peoples lives, with my cursed tongue of lies. Harm unwanted, I create. Pain unasked, I beget. Engaged in folly, in havoc, in pain; in these blasted words, that slips my lip. Dare I speak another one? The pain I unleash upon my loved. Every thought is a shadow; of horrors and sorrows I have placed. Freedom of speech seems to have brought binding chains on my life. Stuck behind a barbed wire fence, loneliness is their justice. Stuck; in a mimed gaol cell, just to prevent my own actions. I am a prisoner of words. A slave of a life unwanted. Take it away from me. Never again shall I speak. Steal it. Hide it. Keep it. Take it. No longer will I beget ill. Never again shall word or action be made. No longer will I cause pain and suffering. No longer will anyone, anywhere be subject to the horrors I create. Take my woes I beg of you, live them like I have lived them. Hold my sorrows in your hands. Shake in their presence. Cry and beg for them to go; to leave the hell within your soul. Take my woes I beg of you!
Quietly you lay, unable to sleep. Every thought that enters your mind is a harmful one. Every action you have done over the past years, you feel has been pointless. Life seems like a dreary hell, a place where every action leads to devastation. Your friends, your family, your beloved have all left you. You are alone. You scared them away. You hurt them. You brought sorrow onto their lives. Although you are filled with good intention, you only wreak havoc. Your hand begins to quiver and shake. An uneasiness of which you have never felt before, overcomes you. Your hate for yourself grows; your thoughts a fertilizer. Every bone in your body begins to rattle. You need to stop them. You grab the nearest book and begin to whack your legs with it; hoping they will no longer rattle, but they persist. You begin to yell; using the very words that have brought you this pain. Your life is meaningless. It is painful. It is worthless. Thoughts have become your enemy; words are there vessel. Sweat begins to drip off every part of your body. Your eyes begin to twitch. Your face feels as though it is melting. The very thought of existence begins to crumble. You are nothing. You are no one. You are useless. Never before in the earths bleak existence, has anyone, anywhere been so utterly useless. Your life is not worth living, all you will do is create more pain, more suffering and more ill. And forever you will. Your eyes glance towards the knife beside you. Your body begins to tremble. Your body feels as if it were being crushed by some sort of celestial body. Your thoughts begin to hasten; in and out, they keep going. You are a failure. You are useless. You are a worthless burden on every ones life; even your own. Your soul is bound to pain. Slowly your hand moves towards the knife, every moment shaking. The shaking of your hand becomes so violent that your other hand is needed to keep it still. Hand on hand, moving, shaking, and getting ever so nearer the treacherous prize. You are possessed by a demon or so it would seem. What man would dare think such ghastly thought? What person would do such a hideous act? Scratch upon scratch; you mark your body. Mark upon mark; your thoughts keep growing. Scar upon scar; life has become silly. Blood begins to sneak out of every part of your body. Your hand quickly becomes covered in it. Thousands upon thousands of drips of blood shower the ground. When will you stop? This is silly. Not only do you hurt others, but yourself as well. You are the pain in your soul. You are the failure you create. You are worth nothing. You drown in your sorrows.
Shadows of my former self appear, on the walls, on the floors and on every crack of stone. These shadows of me as a child haunts me, curse me; torment my soul. A child; who caused no pain, did no wrong, suffering only the illness of joy. Now look at me, a man burden by sorrow. I am no more then a pest to myself and to the world I inhabit. All these troubles I beget and yet this shadow, this shadow of me is happy. It is as if it enjoys watching me suffer and beget suffering. Perhaps I should cast away these sorrows I bare and become like this shadow of me, take joy in others suffering. His grim pale face, his childish grin; serves only as a mocker. He looks exactly like me, same thick black hair, and same green eyes. He is me but younger. Yet I feel so different from him. I have changed, no longer am I happy. No longer do I enjoy watching people suffer and now I suffer because of this change. I want to go back to this shadow. I want to be myself again. This conscience of mine is the cause of my unhappiness. Leave me now! Leave me!
You grapple with yourself, trying to pull single strands of hair from your head. All in a vain attempt to pluck your conscience from your soul, to become the shadow you use to be. All you want now is to be a child, to become the very thing you grew out of, just so you can be happy. Why do you long for happiness? Why do you see yourself as a creator of sorrow? You are not god, you do not create; you only live. Your purpose is to live and grow, not to reverse the ageing process, not to become the shadow that you see. You hurt yourself. You hurt your friends. You even hurt your family. But you can not hurt this shadow, this beast that enjoys watching you and others suffer. You are this child, you’re just too daft to realise it. Time may have passed, you may have changed but these shadows have not. Happiness is still inside you, these shadows are still inside you, it’s just you that’s no loner inside you. You are to busy complaining about your woes, about the damage you cause; yet you do not stop. You as a shadow favours pain. Now you live in it.
No I am not this child. I am me. I want to be this shadow; this child of me. I want to be happy again, that’s all I want. Either way I cause pain, why not at least enjoy myself. Be happy with myself, myself as a dealer of pain. It is not wrong to long for happiness, nor is it wrong to be happy. However wrong it may be to cause pain, to speak words of damage, I can not stop myself from doing it. Why should I be miserable too? Why should I be apart of the damage count? No matter how morally wrong it may be to take joy in other pain, no mater how much it goes my very nature as a person, it is the only way I can be happy. Yet this conscience enters me, takes my happiness, and steals my shadow. Then it questions my want for happiness, questions the very thing that every human strives for.
You peer towards one shadow of you, walking ever so slowly towards it. It beckons you closer and you take every single step it tells you to take. The Shadow’s arm touches your arm; it begins to fuse with you, to become one with you. Then The Shadow’s arm other melts into your other arm. Soon its entirety except its head has fused with you. Will you make this last step? Will you allow this shadow to take over your very mind? All this; in the name of happiness. You want to let yourself die to let your very conscience die. You’re willing to let every single person you care about escape your mind just so you can become this shadow, just so you can be happy.
The head of the shadow and you begin to fuse, though you try to pull it back, it is too late. You have become the shadow.
Quietly you lay, unable to sleep. Every thought that enters your mind is a harmful one. Every action you have done over the past years, you feel has been pointless. Life seems like a dreary hell, a place where every action leads to devastation. Your friends, your family, your beloved have all left you. You are alone. You scared them away. You hurt them. You brought sorrow onto their lives. Although you are filled with good intention, you only wreak havoc. Your hand begins to quiver and shake. An uneasiness of which you have never felt before, overcomes you. Your hate for yourself grows; your thoughts a fertilizer. Every bone in your body begins to rattle. You need to stop them. You grab the nearest book and begin to whack your legs with it; hoping they will no longer rattle, but they persist. You begin to yell; using the very words that have brought you this pain. Your life is meaningless. It is painful. It is worthless. Thoughts have become your enemy; words are there vessel. Sweat begins to drip off every part of your body. Your eyes begin to twitch. Your face feels as though it is melting. The very thought of existence begins to crumble. You are nothing. You are no one. You are useless. Never before in the earths bleak existence, has anyone, anywhere been so utterly useless. Your life is not worth living, all you will do is create more pain, more suffering and more ill. And forever you will. Your eyes glance towards the knife beside you. Your body begins to tremble. Your body feels as if it were being crushed by some sort of celestial body. Your thoughts begin to hasten; in and out, they keep going. You are a failure. You are useless. You are a worthless burden on every ones life; even your own. Your soul is bound to pain. Slowly your hand moves towards the knife, every moment shaking. The shaking of your hand becomes so violent that your other hand is needed to keep it still. Hand on hand, moving, shaking, and getting ever so nearer the treacherous prize. You are possessed by a demon or so it would seem. What man would dare think such ghastly thought? What person would do such a hideous act? Scratch upon scratch; you mark your body. Mark upon mark; your thoughts keep growing. Scar upon scar; life has become silly. Blood begins to sneak out of every part of your body. Your hand quickly becomes covered in it. Thousands upon thousands of drips of blood shower the ground. When will you stop? This is silly. Not only do you hurt others, but yourself as well. You are the pain in your soul. You are the failure you create. You are worth nothing. You drown in your sorrows.
Shadows of my former self appear, on the walls, on the floors and on every crack of stone. These shadows of me as a child haunts me, curse me; torment my soul. A child; who caused no pain, did no wrong, suffering only the illness of joy. Now look at me, a man burden by sorrow. I am no more then a pest to myself and to the world I inhabit. All these troubles I beget and yet this shadow, this shadow of me is happy. It is as if it enjoys watching me suffer and beget suffering. Perhaps I should cast away these sorrows I bare and become like this shadow of me, take joy in others suffering. His grim pale face, his childish grin; serves only as a mocker. He looks exactly like me, same thick black hair, and same green eyes. He is me but younger. Yet I feel so different from him. I have changed, no longer am I happy. No longer do I enjoy watching people suffer and now I suffer because of this change. I want to go back to this shadow. I want to be myself again. This conscience of mine is the cause of my unhappiness. Leave me now! Leave me!
You grapple with yourself, trying to pull single strands of hair from your head. All in a vain attempt to pluck your conscience from your soul, to become the shadow you use to be. All you want now is to be a child, to become the very thing you grew out of, just so you can be happy. Why do you long for happiness? Why do you see yourself as a creator of sorrow? You are not god, you do not create; you only live. Your purpose is to live and grow, not to reverse the ageing process, not to become the shadow that you see. You hurt yourself. You hurt your friends. You even hurt your family. But you can not hurt this shadow, this beast that enjoys watching you and others suffer. You are this child, you’re just too daft to realise it. Time may have passed, you may have changed but these shadows have not. Happiness is still inside you, these shadows are still inside you, it’s just you that’s no loner inside you. You are to busy complaining about your woes, about the damage you cause; yet you do not stop. You as a shadow favours pain. Now you live in it.
No I am not this child. I am me. I want to be this shadow; this child of me. I want to be happy again, that’s all I want. Either way I cause pain, why not at least enjoy myself. Be happy with myself, myself as a dealer of pain. It is not wrong to long for happiness, nor is it wrong to be happy. However wrong it may be to cause pain, to speak words of damage, I can not stop myself from doing it. Why should I be miserable too? Why should I be apart of the damage count? No matter how morally wrong it may be to take joy in other pain, no mater how much it goes my very nature as a person, it is the only way I can be happy. Yet this conscience enters me, takes my happiness, and steals my shadow. Then it questions my want for happiness, questions the very thing that every human strives for.
You peer towards one shadow of you, walking ever so slowly towards it. It beckons you closer and you take every single step it tells you to take. The Shadow’s arm touches your arm; it begins to fuse with you, to become one with you. Then The Shadow’s arm other melts into your other arm. Soon its entirety except its head has fused with you. Will you make this last step? Will you allow this shadow to take over your very mind? All this; in the name of happiness. You want to let yourself die to let your very conscience die. You’re willing to let every single person you care about escape your mind just so you can become this shadow, just so you can be happy.
The head of the shadow and you begin to fuse, though you try to pull it back, it is too late. You have become the shadow.
Frozen (Story)
Frozen in a permafrost of fear, encumbered, by the weight of possibilities. The road, which I now face, is truly more deadly, more fiendish and much scarier, than the other paths and roads I have crossed before. For far too long I have been paralysed by grief, by fear, by all the bad thoughts that dare cross a child’s mind, for I am caught in the shallowness of life. Perhaps the risk of death is a risk worth taking. Perhaps on the other side, lie riches and untold glory or perhaps only lay death and despair.
No, these are not the thoughts I need; I dare say that on the other side lies an aurora of bliss, of harmonic tranquillity, of wonder and creatures of majestic beauty. But the road, in which I must cross, is a deadly one, one that constitutes only misery and bland suffering. It is a path of perdition, but yet it leads to eternal bliss. Dare I take the risk?
Thunderous rain begins to strike me and my thoughts become clouded. No longer can I think of the possibilities, of the risks, of the challenge that lay before me. Yet I still remain paralysed, by a fear I can no longer remember. The rain gradually becomes heavy, as does my incapacitated state. No longer can I move my arms, my legs. Yet I cannot remember what fear is burdening me, nor can I remember what it is that’s keeping me from crossing the road before me.
A gentle breeze begins to blow, one that pushes me slowly forward. Yet I resist its pull, with a gentle push. Adrenaline begins to pump inside my veins; I feel an urge to move. I take the smallest step forward and become overcome with joy. This road is not so scary; it’s no more deadly then a stick. I have no fear to play with sticks, so crossing the road should be a breeze.
Still I am held back by restrictive vines, constricted to the road’s edge. Just one more step and I am on the pit of darkness, just one big leap and I am in the centre of hell. If only I could fly over the darkness to the light of the other side. If only I were not encumbered by a mountain of fear. If only I could turn the wind into a gale, and ease off the rain. But the world is not within my control; however, my fears are within my power.
The fear of death is overwhelming. It consumes my very soul. The twisted branches in front of me, the dead hollow stumps, the road; this road is death.
Darkness begins to rear its ugly head; I have little time left to cross. Fortunately for me however, the stampede of demons that normally move along the road is at a minimal. If ever there was a time to cross, it is now, in the darkest hours. When neither beast nor monster prowl. No longer shall I remain confined to this spot; no longer will my fears prevail. Courage is my new best friend and will help me cross this hellish road.
A frail bug creeps slowly by and onto the road it’s headed. Tiny as an ant it was, but fearless like a bee. The road it saw, I watched, I trembled. The willing bug, is going cross, it’s going to do, what I cannot. The bug begins to slowly creep, across the solid tar. Fearless it is! For long I’ve cowered on this spot, fear stricken all my life; but this lowly bug, does not tremble, does not fear it’s fate, it only cares for the blessing of making it across. So on it goes, slowly and surely carrying its tiny body, in due times it makes it way across. It’s across; yet I’m still frozen.
The rain has ceased, the darkness is growing. Now it is my time. The inspiring bug that faced the odds, has given me my courage. Looking both ways to check that no demonic beasts are on their way, none are to be seen. Slowly moving, each step a struggle, right after left, left after right. My water laden shoes cannot bear this struggle. The rain has soaked them thoroughly, so off I go without them. Onwards I push myself, against my will and further my courage builds.
My pace begins to quicken and the bindings that held me, are now gone. Nothing dare to hold me back! A loud Beeping noise I hear, I slowly turn around. The bright yellow eyes of a metal demon on rubbery wheels I see. My worst fear has come to be. Run, I cannot. Once again my fear takes over; I am frozen by a permafrost of fear. I try to push myself forward, against my will and fear. I cannot move quickly enough, to avoid that nasty demon. My fears have held me back and ultimately have caused my doom.
Holding Fate’s gentle hand, I hope and pray for the best. Perhaps it will stop. Perhaps it will miss. Perhaps the road will bend itself; twist itself, into a form, into a shape; that will halt this beastly car. Perhaps this is the end; my end. Or perhaps Lady Luck lies by my side.
The car it hit me; crushed my tiny bones. The road could not be crossed, due to a daunting fear. The tar begins to taint, my blood now lost; forever.
No, these are not the thoughts I need; I dare say that on the other side lies an aurora of bliss, of harmonic tranquillity, of wonder and creatures of majestic beauty. But the road, in which I must cross, is a deadly one, one that constitutes only misery and bland suffering. It is a path of perdition, but yet it leads to eternal bliss. Dare I take the risk?
Thunderous rain begins to strike me and my thoughts become clouded. No longer can I think of the possibilities, of the risks, of the challenge that lay before me. Yet I still remain paralysed, by a fear I can no longer remember. The rain gradually becomes heavy, as does my incapacitated state. No longer can I move my arms, my legs. Yet I cannot remember what fear is burdening me, nor can I remember what it is that’s keeping me from crossing the road before me.
A gentle breeze begins to blow, one that pushes me slowly forward. Yet I resist its pull, with a gentle push. Adrenaline begins to pump inside my veins; I feel an urge to move. I take the smallest step forward and become overcome with joy. This road is not so scary; it’s no more deadly then a stick. I have no fear to play with sticks, so crossing the road should be a breeze.
Still I am held back by restrictive vines, constricted to the road’s edge. Just one more step and I am on the pit of darkness, just one big leap and I am in the centre of hell. If only I could fly over the darkness to the light of the other side. If only I were not encumbered by a mountain of fear. If only I could turn the wind into a gale, and ease off the rain. But the world is not within my control; however, my fears are within my power.
The fear of death is overwhelming. It consumes my very soul. The twisted branches in front of me, the dead hollow stumps, the road; this road is death.
Darkness begins to rear its ugly head; I have little time left to cross. Fortunately for me however, the stampede of demons that normally move along the road is at a minimal. If ever there was a time to cross, it is now, in the darkest hours. When neither beast nor monster prowl. No longer shall I remain confined to this spot; no longer will my fears prevail. Courage is my new best friend and will help me cross this hellish road.
A frail bug creeps slowly by and onto the road it’s headed. Tiny as an ant it was, but fearless like a bee. The road it saw, I watched, I trembled. The willing bug, is going cross, it’s going to do, what I cannot. The bug begins to slowly creep, across the solid tar. Fearless it is! For long I’ve cowered on this spot, fear stricken all my life; but this lowly bug, does not tremble, does not fear it’s fate, it only cares for the blessing of making it across. So on it goes, slowly and surely carrying its tiny body, in due times it makes it way across. It’s across; yet I’m still frozen.
The rain has ceased, the darkness is growing. Now it is my time. The inspiring bug that faced the odds, has given me my courage. Looking both ways to check that no demonic beasts are on their way, none are to be seen. Slowly moving, each step a struggle, right after left, left after right. My water laden shoes cannot bear this struggle. The rain has soaked them thoroughly, so off I go without them. Onwards I push myself, against my will and further my courage builds.
My pace begins to quicken and the bindings that held me, are now gone. Nothing dare to hold me back! A loud Beeping noise I hear, I slowly turn around. The bright yellow eyes of a metal demon on rubbery wheels I see. My worst fear has come to be. Run, I cannot. Once again my fear takes over; I am frozen by a permafrost of fear. I try to push myself forward, against my will and fear. I cannot move quickly enough, to avoid that nasty demon. My fears have held me back and ultimately have caused my doom.
Holding Fate’s gentle hand, I hope and pray for the best. Perhaps it will stop. Perhaps it will miss. Perhaps the road will bend itself; twist itself, into a form, into a shape; that will halt this beastly car. Perhaps this is the end; my end. Or perhaps Lady Luck lies by my side.
The car it hit me; crushed my tiny bones. The road could not be crossed, due to a daunting fear. The tar begins to taint, my blood now lost; forever.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Whistle!
Whistle! Oh, gentle song of life.
Speak and tell me which direction.
Whistle! Oh, that I may hear.
Does the heart not beat in tune?
Whistle! Oh, breeze of truth.
Will my sail ever catch wind?
Whistle! Oh, God or spirit.
Will the cyclone ever pass?
---------------------------------
Bellow! Oh, song of life.
Speak and tell me which direction!
Speak and tell me which direction.
Whistle! Oh, that I may hear.
Does the heart not beat in tune?
Whistle! Oh, breeze of truth.
Will my sail ever catch wind?
Whistle! Oh, God or spirit.
Will the cyclone ever pass?
---------------------------------
Bellow! Oh, song of life.
Speak and tell me which direction!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Silence
Lost in a world of silence,
A place of intolerable solitude.
Amongst the midst of this dreary dream,
Your life begins to unravel.
While you sit in the darkest corner;
As every person and everything
Sits in silence and doesn’t wonder,
Who you are or what you think,
What you’re feeling or where you’ve been.
As the silence keeps on going
You retreat further into your corner.
The further you go, the more you realise,
That the silence is what hurts the most.
A place of intolerable solitude.
Amongst the midst of this dreary dream,
Your life begins to unravel.
While you sit in the darkest corner;
As every person and everything
Sits in silence and doesn’t wonder,
Who you are or what you think,
What you’re feeling or where you’ve been.
As the silence keeps on going
You retreat further into your corner.
The further you go, the more you realise,
That the silence is what hurts the most.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Broken World
Watch as the fragments
-----Break-----
Off of your perfect world.
Let your hand hold each piece
Of the disjointed harmony.
Listen to your mind strain
While you keep on
-----Trying-----
To fix your broken world,
Without the right tools.
-----Break-----
Off of your perfect world.
Let your hand hold each piece
Of the disjointed harmony.
Listen to your mind strain
While you keep on
-----Trying-----
To fix your broken world,
Without the right tools.
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