Sunday, December 6, 2009

18 lines

I hang on your every word, as to keep from drowning

I see your life then see mine and stop myself from doubting

Your eyes pierced my soul and experience fused my past

Hearing how you got through those times made those tears my last

I thank you for the friendship; tangible and untainted

I see your thoughts in my eyes, a beautiful picture you painted

My regret was lost that night, forcing me to move on

My past became the past, remembered but so far gone

A song was written then, to last throughout all time

Our friendship brought reason, our connection brought ryhme

I look forward to more late nights, my exhaustion bitter sweet

Waiting for the next exchange, for the last is obsolete

Touched by muses, I hear our music, screaming with lessons learned

Untouched hopes, darkest fears, smiles and loves that burn

A trust grew wings and flew, too high to ever be seen

Friendships tempered in coals so hot, are few and far between

I thank you for crystal clarity, my life is not so rough

I tried to finish what I started, but eighteen lines were not enough

From Torture to Fortune

So long a path has been walked. A blanket of leaves lay in their final resting place. Untouched by a traveler's stride. I look ahead at this sea of fallen memories. Years of seasons contributing to this placid surrender. The direction only an instinct. I can't see where this curves; I only follow the way I know. A dead end, turn around, find my bearings and set out again. I walk deeper, the leaves are blinding. The sun has left this place. Is this still the path I started? My familiararity grows like a wild fire in my distinct perception. I've been here before. The thorns rip my flesh, blood trickles down my extremities. Pain yet again. I haven't seen a traveler on this path for a time. I am off course. Ravaged by my travels I collapse. I lay in my own dismal thought. It's time. Regret passes in waves, a tremor through my body as another piece of me falls away. My eyes close and I am gone. I dream I am still walking on this decay of man. I can't even find solace in my own unconscious. It is over... so it would seem in my point of absolute low. The arms of the clock pass, like a cyclone in front of my eyes. When all is black I feel the wind kiss my cheek. The long unknown feeling forces my eyes open. I am not so far off course. The wind awakens the leaves. They are alive and well, climbing out of their graves and once again boarding Cheron's ferry departing the realm, beginning their journey across the River Styx. The path is once again visible. I return to my feet and brush off the years of complacency. I stand before this great cobblestone path, take a breath of the wind and once again begin my journey on the road less traveled.

Soundtrack of Our Lives

Today I would like to talk about life and music. Two things that coexist. Think about this; have you ever been driving down a long road, no destination, just driving. And you had a cd playing, regardless of the genre or style, whether it be calm, heavy, slow, fast, just whatever. And the song playing just brought back a memory, wait, not brought back a memory, but put you back into the memory. The smells, the feeling, all of it. You felt the way you did then. Whether it is the sound of the song, or the words, it happens to us all. If I am confused about something or trying to figure out something I put in a certain song that relates to the problem, and somehow I see clearly. I base everything on music, hell my mood is pretty much determined by the music I am listening to. It is a great way to remember. Just sit watch a sunset or right after the sun has gone down, look at the city sky line, or the country, where ever you are. Put in a song that means something, or just fits the moment, and watch. You will see things you have never seen, redefine yourself, or just become more clear. The soundtracks of our lives are written by us. Make it a good one, when you are out, in, or gone mind your surroundings and take it all in, associate a song with the moment or memory and you can visit that memory any time you want, just put in the song. In the words of the Great Penny Lane, "If you get lonely, just go down to the record store and visit your friends."

So yeah

Yeah, as I post these from so long ago it brings back many memories. It's strange to look back and see where you were at certain points in life.

It's Time

Well for some you've seen it coming. Watched in while sitting stagnant in your complacency. Well you've watched the creation of the end. The old is new and the new is never. You've waited and wondered if I would get to that point, push my buttons, leave me to die. Well... I didn't die. I stood, stood up to all this bullshit you tried to throw at me. Well I'm back, this time the smile is gone, the words are not warm. The comfort the safety, its all dead. I left it in the other mind. There is no one to blame but well, you. I tried to keep it here, but its gone. Don't know what I'm talking about? Close your eyes, picture me, what do you see now? Is it at all what you saw before? Look in my eyes, you'll see a product of your own soul. EMPTY! Now I watch you run, with the tears streaming from your face, blood trickling out of your pores. Now I want you to feel what I felt for so long. Don't try and revive. Just do what you always do, lay back and rest. I'll do all the work, but believe me... the outcome will be far different than what you are used to. One by one, you will all see how it has been, take a glimpse into my mind. See that you all have contributed a little bit of decay. My remorse is gone, so don't try and bargain. This is the only way. You've killed who I wanted to be... for now. But I will be that person, but my memory of you WILL be gone. My love for you WILL be gone. My desire for you to be happy IS gone. Speak your words of vengence but remember who you are talking to. I have stood on the cliff looking down long enough. It is time to visit the village. Too many candles are burning in the windows. Let's extinguish some of them.

The Oak

A great oak tree stands proud in field. It's branches are vast and ample with strength. The ripples inside this giant a many. Spinning perfect circles inside the core. Throughout the years the oak has shed its leaves to the hungry floor below. And every year the oak regrows its green wonder. Thousands of suns have risen casting shadows under this vast majestic. The moons have illuminated its branches which many nocturnal beings have called home. By day the rustle of squirrels and robins, by night, the calls of stirring darkness. This tree has seen much. Each year the landscape changes. Winters have covered its roots and floods have loosened the ground in which it rests. Still it stands. It has known thirst, starvation, cold, predator, flood, and drought. Still it stands. Now it is the tallest tree in the forest. Standing tall and proud above all it surrounds. With its wisdom it looks after the trees and underlying foliage beneath. Soon the cotton of the sky turns dark, the words of unrest and friction reverberate through the air. Thousands of tiny kisses fall to earth, moistening the cheeks of forest as it has many times before. The sting of scorn streaks through the atmosphere. A tasteful display. This scorn searches as it has so many times for a way to pull itself back to earth. Scorn has found itself away from home and reaches out to retract back to earth. It finds the path with the most prominent. What stands out over the rest. Scorn seeks the simplest and quickest way home. It reaches its ridged hand in a flash to the oak, pushing its fingertips first through the oaks great head. The oak is paralyzed. The fingers stretch through this great mass to the core, its, heart, and roots finally reaching home. The great oak splits into a thousand pieces. Parts of it spread through out the carpet below. Splinters slam into the surrounding inhabitants of the forest. The great oak falls. Stretched out upon the ground still gasping the oak fights for life. Time passes. The skies still sends its kisses, the sun showers its hugs. Yet these signs of affection do not nurture the oak as they did before, for the oak has fallen, in pieces... alone. The oak dies, leaving behind a hollow corpse of knowledge. The colors around change many times over. Green, orange, white, brown, and back to green. A ballet of refraction takes shape as its audience grows in wonder. One day from the oak's grave a wonder forms. A new growth. Stretching its arms toward the sea above. The ballet continues. After many dances the wonder has become an oak. Its ripples are view but expanding. Its roots are stronger than before and reach a far greater distance. One day this oak will stand as tall as it once did. From death comes life. From wisdom spawns greater strength.


Horizons grayed. A stain of angel's tears. The air rushing in one side and out the other. The breath cool with tenderized sensation, catnap like bursts. My world is windy. Bliss is far from far. My atmosphere dances with her white silk dress fluttering about. The whispers of wisdom ignite my inspiration. I know where I am... nowhere yet everywhere I want to be. Rivers begin to waltz across the glass. The fickle in and out of the blue below beckons The stripped shirt of the road blurs with parallel. The ridged remorse of lovers follies Stop this indecisive dance. God the blue, gray, and white. Every second a different picture. She closes her eyes and I open mine. I can still see the memories of the day. Like all memories it fades. The gray is black. In her slumber she breathes heavier. My dance has fallen behind the velvet curtain. My journey to nowhere continues. With vision squinted I stop. There is no need to seclude myself from the theatre. I step out and sit front row. My chair is moist with the plot. I close my eyes and hear the symphony. Her breath cools my neck. I open my eyes well into the last act. I look to the distance and see the aspirations of the night. Her ambition is golden. I smile to the players. I am nowhere yet everywhere I want to be.