Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Alone and Lost

Oh, we're lost again. Left to wander, alone, without direction, without hope. Sometimes it seems the compass doesn't point north, but everywhere. Nowhere.

Our wings are broken, or spirit shattered, our memories faded, torn, and burnt at the edges, so that they become obscure, and the faces blur to become more Unknowns.

We're afraid, so deathly afraid. The clouds roll in, black and ominous, ready to growl as we enter their domain, ready to let loose their fury upon us. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to shelter.

We're lost, and afraid, and although we had one another, that also was taken. The empty eyes that cannot see, stare, back to the past, trying to make something out in that thick mist; it's too fogged, there's nothing left to see.

The world continues to turn, the Dawn begins to fade while the sun reaches its zenith, then makes way for Night, while Dusk pulls its violet curtain across the sky's vast canvas. But we are left out in the cold, alone, and so very far from one another.

In losing each other, we lost the world.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Invisible Shadows

Who are we, really? And why are we here? Placed on this tiny planet of rocks, and water, and life, we ask, everyday, do we really have a place among it all?

We seem so far apart, so removed from one another, though we might stand only inches away, our bodies almost, but never quite touching.

I miss you as though you were gone already.

Friday, June 25, 2010

Daydream Believer

Escape often arrives in the form of one of those daytime fantasies, lifting you away from all the worries of the world, to a place where the sun shines, and "loneliness" is a forbidden word.

I sit, staring at nothing, captivated by the realm within my mind, eyes seeing a landscape unbeknownst to anyone beside me, ears hearing songs foreign to all but the language of my soul.

There, I can almost believe in happiness. There I can see the laughter, and taste the joy.

There I can say I believe in life.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Out of Focus

Please. Don't let me become just another face in the crowd. Don't let me fall to the backburner, when all I want to be is beside you. Please.

Oh why now? For all the time I've known you, why does this topic have to come up repeatedly now? Could it not have arisen when I was sure of where we stood? When distinctions were still clear and not blurred? When you did not say things to me which made me think things I probably ought not to have thought? When the words you said didn't hurt more than they should have?

I see that you wish to have someone to cure that loneliness which lurks in each corner of your heart. 'Tis a reflection of myself also. Sometimes loneliness is what brings two people together; two people who could be amazing.

It's hard, knowing that there are others, perhaps who you'd rather have beside you. But alas, it is more difficult not knowing where we stand in relation to one another, or rather, where we would like to stand in relation to one another. Is that why this topic keeps emerging from the mists that kept it hidden for so long? Perhaps subtlety is not our strongest friend, and we should be more forthcoming. Perhaps....

But please, wherever we may fall after having been thrown up in the air, shaken like some snowglobe, let it be so that we are not separated from one another. There is nothing more heartbreaking than being far from one whom you love.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The Magic in Poetry

There is a magic in words; real magic, which the smoke and mirrors in a magician's illusion cannot replicate. For the magician shows only what the audience wishes to see, oh, but the poet, the poet writes from their heart. They must annotate their blank sheets with lines of letters, carefully arranged, each and every one. Yes, but their magic often goes overlooked, hidden in the avaricious shadow of science, with it's numbers and cold logic.

There is nothing else in the world that can entice laughter like a perfectly crafted limerick. Nothing else that stretch the barriers of thought like a philosophical metaphor, nothing that can wrench a gasp as a hyperbole can, nothing that can transport one into a realm of fantasy the way imagery is able to. Nothing that can inspire tears in the way that the emotions of the poet, beautifully, painfully, seamlessly woven into the fabric of poetry can.

We must not be so dismissive of the words we say; what is once said cannot be retrieved, those words are sucked back into the vortex which clouds our past, mixing them into the swirling whirlpool of faces and voices, and laughter and tears, and pain and pleasure, so that they become lost, insignificant amongst all the rest. But they are what are the most important, for what is a person without words?

And yet, there are those phrases, made in passing, not thought of as significant, which ring in our ears for hours, days, years. Nothing can make a heart beat as fast as a certain turn of phrase. Nothing is taken quite to heart. Nothing is as close to a melody.
And this is the magic in words; while science imprints itself on our physical surrounds, the poet embroiders their poetry onto our souls, a permanent stain.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Falling is not Flying

Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff, and looked down, at the deep plunge, and at the bottom, far, far below?

Do you ever hear that voice, murmuring in your ear?

Jump, it says, urging you nearer to the edge, and you look down, wondering what the fall would be like, thinking how easy it would be to just step right off the edge, and feel for those few brief seconds of falling, that you were flying.

Jump. You step away. It may yet call you, but you never actually jump, even though the temptation pulls at your heartstrings. There is something that you are held back by; those connections to others, which stop you from taking that final leap.

But what if all those connections were severed?

Jump, the edge calls, and with the loneliness weighing down your soul, what is there to stop you?

Friday, June 18, 2010

Pandora Should Not Have Tampered

And the moon sits high on her throne in the sky, a perfect semicircle. It's like the Cheshire Cat's grin, though not half so charming; rather there is a wickedness about it, as though evil lurks in the corners of its upturned mouth, and in the face that keeps disappearing and reappearing like smoke. We all thought that he would bring protection, and comfort; we never saw that he harboured an entourage of the disciples of hell. So too does the moon, for while she sits gazing upon the realm that is hers throughout the night, and all those below glance at her, mesmerised by her enchanting beauty, she too brings with her darkness. We forget that there is more to her than it seems, because we are held captive by her radiance; the reality is, she brings forth the night, the darkness, and under her watchful eye, all that is bad is released upon the world, as it has been since the time that Pandora opened the box she should never have touched.

All that was left in that tiny ornate box, was that long overlooked emotion, Hope. It has since made its home in the heart of every being, ne
stled among the valves, and the ventricles, and the arteries, biding its time until it is needed. It is not invoked through spells and magic as other emotions may be, but appears, out of the dark, some timid faery child, begging you to follow, with the promise of leading you to a better place. It tempts you with promises of home, and laughter and love, with images of sunshine, and birds and flowers. And you follow, unwittingly, because you think, in the lonely corners at the back of your mind, that perhaps this time the faery child is not misleading you, that perhaps this time, the grass really is greener on the other side.
It's all a lie.

There is no grass, there is no sunshine; there are no birds, there is no laugher; there is no love, there are no flowers. Above all, it is not home, it is not the place you were looking for. You begin to think that perhaps that realm of Avalon, where the Once and Future King was long ago taken, which you had always yearned to find, which the traitor Hope had always promised you, has indeed vanished into the mists forevermore. And you begin to think that perhaps this world, and all in it have become too tainted to behold such a heavenly sight.
That we do not deserve it.

Why else would salvation, and the chance of reconciliation be held before you, and then cruelly snatched away when you are on the brink of attaining it? You understand the torture of that wretched Tantalus, who starving and thirsty, was tempted by grapes, and by the crystal waters of the stream running around him as he stood in it, but when he tried to reach for the grapes, they shrunk from him, and when he tried to scoop up the water, it receeded. There was never a torture method so well devised as this one.

No, the faery child Hope shall lead you astray once again, and the shadow of Avalon melt back into the mists. So you look at the moon once more, and its wicked Cheshire Cat grin, then turn back to the work set out for you by that self same queen of the sky; you carry out your evil deeds, thrust Hope back from your door, and leave it crying in the cold, turning your back to see the wounds you have carved out into they who you were meant to reconcile with. You stare at your hands and the work they have done, and you grin, that wicked Cheshire grin, for you know, tonight, you caused more pain than was wont, and relished the feel of it on your hands, while inside, you swept the last humane pieces of yourself into the dying fire, and wiped the tears that you sturdily refused to let fall, hiding from the one you hurt, how sorry you were to have done it. And how afraid you were that perhaps this time, Hope was right; that there really was something better ahead. That it could have been attainable, that in fact, it had been within your very grasp, but in your arrogance, you allowed it to fly. Only this time, it did not return to you, and the opportunity was gone.
And because of what you've done, you irrevocably deserve to have lost it.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Denied by a World, Embraced by an Ocean

The broken hearted people may have stolen the world from you, but there is still hope, reaching down from heaven to settle in the deepest, darkest recesses of your own heart. There is no reason to give up, there is always somewhere for you to turn.

You stare at all you lost with doleful eyes; where has all the compassion gone? Why is it that they will only think of you after you have gone?

They do not understand the passion that burns untempered within you, searing all that comes too close. It is up to you to teach them.
They do not understand your past, and all the pain that still scars your heart, for they have never felt anything like it. Have you not noticed? - they are afraid of what they do not understand.

Will you become a martyr for their cause?

However, the sea knows you for who you are. It is there to embrace you when all others have shunned you. It does not desire that you walk through the dark corridors of Life alone. It understands the scars, the passions, the dreams.

You are an Ocean Soul.

You don't need them to accept you, you have the ever changing sea to whisper quiet reassurances to you in its ebb and flow. You have it to show you the colours of the world, as it reflects the deep hues of the sky.

You have it to envelop you when there is no other escape.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

The Letter I Should Have Written

I find that there are words that I should have spoken, not late at night into the pillow, but to you, so that you would know.

I find that I sit here now, writing the words I am still unable to allow flutter past my lips. I am afraid to let those words dance between us in the air, weaving patterns between our eyes. I am afraid that they will wrench us asunder, so that we may not speak again while we tread the paths of this tiny planet.

I find that wherever I see you, I cannot be who I once was, I cannot talk to you the way we used to talk. All has changed, and the clock ticks forever on, stealing our moments and casting them into the abyss that is oblivion.

I find that my heart clenches when I see you happy with someone else, when I hear your voice rise above the rest, its cadence piercing through all the walls I have erected to protect myself. Each and every time, I break a little more.

I find that revulsion is awash within me when I look at you, and see your gaze isn't directed towards me, but elsewhere. I cast my own downwards, to hide the hurt that abides there, for I don't want you to see that pain you're causing me.

I find that I cannot wait for you anymore, it tears me apart. You are my own scarlet letter, seared into my soul, which nothing in the world can remove; it will forever be a healing wound.

I find that as I write this, I can see that you are the embodiment of everything that I once wanted. You aren't the same person anymore either, you aren't the one that I want anymore.

I find that I cannot even shed a tear; none escape from the prison of my eyelids, because you aren't able to inspire them any longer.

I find that I will miss you for eternity, and wonder, would you ever think of me?

I find it doesn't matter.

And perhaps I will finally walk away now, because I find that sorry isn't good enough anymore.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The Rhythm of the Heart

Whoever said sunshine bring happiness has never danced in the rain.

The clouds do not bring darkness and sadness into our lives, we have just forgotten how to enjoy the marvelous gifts that they bring. The sun may warm you, but the rain, it cleanses you, stripping away all the layers of who you pretend to be, so that the mask you hide behind falls off, and even though you may have forgotten who's beneath, the patter of the drops against your skin revives you, and this time, in the freedom of the rain, you can laugh, that soulful laugh that not many allow themselves to enjoy.

It's all about strumming a tango in the Argentinean streets.
It's about tapping out a samba in the lights of Rio.
It's about waltzing in the parks of England.
And about pirouetting in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

Or about dancing to your own tune under the lamp post in the alleyway.
Or slowly turning about on the grass in the comforting arms of your lover.

Wherever you dance, whoever you dance with, to whichever beat rings true in your heart, remember that there is no freedom such as that which dancing in the rain affords you, that sunshine cannot replace the happiness which the melodic rhythm of rain brings.

Monday, June 14, 2010

It's in the Little Things

The shadows may lengthen and spread and overtake, but it is not in the shadows where you must look. The beauty only reveals itself when there are such shadows to draw your eye to what you usually do not see. Only when there is darkness do you see the special burn in sunsets, turning the sky all colours of the spectrum. Only when there is darkness do you realise the beauty in the tiniest of creatures, who make their home among the ancient foliage. Those are what you must not forget, for you live much longer than a beetle, or a sunset.

Remember that in the darkest of times, the most beautiful of colours is revealed to those who know to look, and you must look, because there are moments in time which you cannot recollect once you have missed them. You do not want to overlook the mesmerising pattern of a rainbow caught in the beads of dew on the spider web, or the blanket of autumn leaves turning the ground a different colour. You do not want to look after the last drop of dew has fallen from the leaf, or after the butterfly has flown from its seat on the petals of a flower.

You must enjoy the little moments life has to offer. The sun can only warm your skin if you let it, the beauty can only reveal itself to you if you look at it, and the ancient voices of the land can only whisper to you if you listen.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

What the Sea Cannot Cleanse

The sea cannot cleanse the darkness within, for it is rooted in something far deeper than the soul.

The sunset cannot burn away all the memories, for they scar in places where nothing else can reach.

The clouds cannot obscure the dim flame still burning, for when there is nothing left to hope, it lights the way.

The rocks cannot anchor that which longs to fly free, for there is nothing able to hold down the spirit.

But the waves, they can tow you away to places you'd never dreamed. They can cause you to lose yourself in their swirling white foam, or let you dream in their deep azure reflections, or bring you to peace when they crash against the headlands.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

The Ghost of Heartbreak's Past

Damn you, I wasn't ready to let go. I would have gladly held on for much longer, had you let me. The irony is, you always thought you were holding onto me, and didn't see that I was keeping you also.

But now you've let go.

And I'm not strong enough to fight for you.

Or maybe I'm not strong enough to want to.
I see that we've both changed; Time is cruel in that way, not allowing us to keep what we most want. In the same way, he doesn't allow the trees to hold their leaves, or the rivers to keep their ice, or lovers to have their life. Yet, if he did, we wouldn't have great tragedies to weep with, all those forlorn lovers to mourn for, and there would be no hope to balance the despair.

I only hope you aren't the one I spend my life expecting others to be.
That perhaps one day we may begin again, as strangers.
Most of all, I hope that you can't shatter my heart more than once

...because I'm not sure I can handle being left broken by you again.

Thursday, June 10, 2010


Shhhhh, do you hear that? Those voices carried in on the breeze? They call to you, invite you, seduce you. You want to follow them to the ends of the world, to see the wonders they have to offer. Do you hear them, whispering in from the forgotten corners of the world?

Shhh, listen, very closely. They dance through your hair, they tug at your heart, pulling you further from reality, enveloping you in promises of beautiful sunsets, the smell of flowers and murmur of whirlwind romances. You want to follow, leave everything behind and embark, to see where the wind takes you, where you can float.


And fly!

Monday, June 7, 2010

Those We Once Were

I like to think sometimes that perhaps once, a long time ago, in ages past, we were different people in different lives. Perhaps friends were lovers, enemies were siblings and parents were strangers. I believe we bring some of these connections with us to this life, which is why friends fall in love, why siblings come to hate one another, and why parents can end up as mere strangers. This is why I like to keep thinking that there is hope for us still, because how can one give up those for whom their love runs deepest?

I like to think that we all had connections in another life, that we shall continue weaving our own stories around those of others. Perhaps we were residents in a small village, forced to work together to survive; perhaps we were aristocrats who found laughter over the rim of a wine glass; perhaps we were fish, swimming simultaneously in our great school to ward off predators.

.....or perhaps we were maple leaves who simply grew old together.

Friday, June 4, 2010

The Gift of Time

No, nothing ever stays the same, but the past never leaves us, re-emerging from time to time to remind us of who we once were and who we became.