Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Walking Through Water

This time around the words don't come so easily. It's like walking through water - possible, but difficult; each step I take brings me closer to the end, but it involves so much more effort, and the deeper I go, the harder it gets. Some day soon I'm going to end up underwater; I won't be able to breathe.

Somehow I'll find the fight in me to keep pushing through. If you walk enough, eventually you'll find your way out. Otherwise I'll be lost, and no one will mourn the disappearance.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Pocket Full of Dreams

 I've got a pocket full of dreams. You'd better believe that I'm going to make them come true. I face the mundaneness of life for the moment, with its repetitious architecture, its facades which are all the same, and I tell myself that I'm going to walk to a different beat, and be damn proud that I do.

I might not be like everyone else, normality might not be my forte, but who wants normality anyway?

Monday, August 29, 2011

Finding Life

I got lost somewhere between my dreams and reality and now I'm fated to wander between places, never reaching a destination. Nowhere feels like home, nowhere feels like a goal, and everywhere feels like somewhere I have been. Taking steps forwards isn't always the right answer, but walking backwards is worse. I ought to try stepping sideways, out of line of the overly trodden path and onto virgin earth, pure and undisturbed. It is there that perhaps I'll find something solid to hold on to and a dream to have and a past to have lived. Outside my boundaries I'll find life.

Friday, August 26, 2011

The Eyes Which Pretend Not to Stare

The wing of a vague thought brushes my mind, soft as a butterfly's wing, fleeting as the flicker of light from a candle, and unsure, I let it pass. The midnight hour approaches, and all that was forgotten in the light of day creeps back into mind, taunting the imagination, inviting you to indulge, and I can't help but wonder whether I am making a mistake in trying to forget, or making a mistake in trying to remember. Dark ringed eyes will stare into me behind my closed eyelids tonight. My mind will tick over, wondering. I will fall asleep no closer to an answer.

Intertwining Balance

You're not here, but somewhere far away, in a land where the sun never stops shining, and Luck leads you by the hand to wherever you want to be. It's a little strange, don't you think, that you're all the way over there, and I'm still stuck here, watching you take on the world and win. It's like looking through a glass, seeing another world, golden and beautiful, and knowing that you can never set foot there, that you can never touch it.

At times, I think it would be wonderful to have you walk through the garden of my side of existence, but you and I both know that you couldn't belong here; you'd be a beautiful bird held captive in a rusty, lacklustre cage in a rundown house amidst a falling apart world, where the only thing to reflect your beauty would be the open azure sky, taunting you with the freedom you'd never had. It's better this way, that you and I walk on opposite sides of the balancing point; the universe needs someone as illustrious as you walking in the light, just as it needs someone like me to lurk in the shadows, a threat to anyone who dares besmirch your name.

We'll continue to grow this way - you the leader, taking the giant steps, and I following close behind, inspired, but unable to ever reach the same heights as you. I won't begrudge you this; in fact, I'll defend you with my last breath. We are the two trees, after all, planted side by side, with branches intertwining, but never touching. Together we've created an archway for people from my world into yours.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Lost Time

I needed the time. That's my only excuse. Why did the time I have slip away so quickly? Now I'm too tired to try anymore.

Maybe I should just let it go. Nothing is significant in the big picture anyway.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Edge of Reality

Are we awake, or do we dream, unaware of our own reality? Those walls we built, woven from elaborate fantasies stand between us and the rest of the world when we balance on the point of consciousness, teetering to either side, but when we come to, do we always return to live with the rest of humankind, or do we lock ourselves behind the doors of our dreams?

Some of us can't face the day, some of us are afraid of being swept into non-existence by the thoughts of millions of other people, so drastically different from our own. Clinging to our dreams, with only one foot on the edge of reality to anchor us, we try to keep ourselves, to not be lost to the herd, to the mass conformity called Society. Others stare at us, wondering why we keep so far from them, labelling us in their minds as freaks, unknowing that we are like them in every way except for one and that is that we make our decisions based on ourselves, not on accepted normality. We hold on to our dreams because they are the only things which tether us to sanity, and in the world we inhabit, sanity is valued above individuality. We hold on to our dreams because that's where we feel safe and whole - not like the ghosts we've become, who tread in the fringes of what is accepted.

Monday, August 22, 2011

A Prolonged Winter

Do not think that I have forgotten those words which used to flow within me, bleeding from my pen across the paper. Sometimes I wonder where they have gone and why they have not made an appearance in so long, but upon thought, I realise that it is because I have not sat down to access them. They sit there still, within my veins, pushed along with every beat of my heart, waiting to be plucked out from my veins and scattered over the pages.

Do not think that my heart is a frozen wasteland, untouched by this new world where emotion is not so unwisely invested as it was before. In truth, the emotions are still there, biding their time until a situation arises and they are needed. There will be one in time, there is no doubt, but for now, the winter of my heart reigns supreme, staunching the flow of poetry and ornamental prose which used to glide so freely from me; like the skeletal trees framing the white sky, they are not dead, but full of life, simply awaiting the best time to burst again full into bloom.

Monday, August 8, 2011

The Almost Stranger, the Violinist and the Reminder

I saw her today, from somewhere not so far away, and my heart didn't bother to do a leap or two. My stomach didn't turn, my cheeks didn't flush and I wasn't inclined to run or scream or flail. I noted her presence, turned the page and continued to draw the scenery. I have no idea whether she ever saw me upon that knoll, sketching away in pen. She got on the bus with the rest of the throng and it sped away, leaving behind an empty sidewalk.

But the memory of her remained; memories of times when we were more than just strangers. Later I saw a violinist, the passion for his music etched into the lines of his face as his bow sawed across the strings. In the tunnel he played, his melody cutting into my heart, above the noise of hundred people walking by, a melancholy reminder of all the things which used to be. It could have been heartbreaking, it could have been sorrowful, it could have been disheartening; but it wasn't. The music reminded me that I am who I am because of the people I used to know and it told me that I ought to hold my head up high and keep those memories with me, so that I may remember where I have been and remember where I am going. I don't know where she is going, but I know where I want to be, so I will keep her and that violinist and his music which echoed through the tunnel with me always - an inspiration to push on.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

The Marionette and the Puppeteer

You unconsciously rise in my mind from time to time, unbidden and unwelcome. I feel that I owe it to myself to be better than you, like there's some competition being run and I must be in the lead. I simply cannot let that go, and for that reason, you and I are still tied. You are still the puppeteer and I am yet the marionette. Tell me, when do I become my own person? When do you disappear?

I don't want these feelings. This freedom from you is an illusion; the memories and thoughts of you are still my cage. Strange, isn't it? But I do not often think of you, but just know that when I do, I don't regret our past. The only thing I want is to be better than anything you could ever be. You may still pull the strings, but that is only because your actions inspire me to work harder, and I, the marionette, act against you. Never fear, one day the master will become the apprentice, and on that day, I shall be somewhere you could never reach, somewhere high above you. One day, you'll wish you were me. I promise you that today, certain to hold true; you'll remember that I do not break my promises.