Written: August 21, 2010
I want to be known for what I've done, in a progressive way pushing something or someone to a place of positivity. I will never be known in history books, nor will I ever have a movie produced about my life. I will never have poems, or blogs written about me, and my name will never become an expression. My face will not be recognized by people I have not met, and you will never see my signature on memorabilia.
The mark I leave on this world many years from now.. will be known by myself, and the individuals I have been fortunate enough to cross paths with throughout my life. My carbon footprint will be a size three at best, but my personal footprint will never be measured. I hope to impact everyone I meet, whether it is helping them or just leaving them with a simple smile.
I have always been one to believe that a mans story, will be measured by his fathers love.. and the love he receives from his children. A real man doesn't build epic bridges to the endless, he doesn't break records, nor does solves the impossible. A real man is a teacher to his children, a rock to lean on, and a protector from anything harmful that would touch his family.
Someday I hope to be half the man that my father is. I will never expect him to solve infinity, nor will I expect him to give me the answers.. but I know that he is the one person I can count on in this world, the one incredible human being that provides unconditional love.. and someday in the distant future, I will pass it on to my children.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Fear
Written: August 21, 2010
What is fear? Is it the expression of being inflicted with terror, or is it just a dream gone wrong..
The versatility of fear is endless.. forever subjecting our lives to restraint. We will never be free to roam limitless, with our phobias expanding through everyday life. Whether it be a fear of people, places, things, feelings... fear is the root of our invisible shackles.
Walking through this world, we encounter instances that will define who we are as individuals. Adult or child, coward or hero.. Whether its a simple act of helping someone in need or stopping a disaster, fear must be thrown to the wolves. There is no room in this world to hide, no room for us to run away.
With the possibility of our world changing everyday, terrorism taking from families, economic disaster ruining countries, our ability to step up instead of falling back will define who we are. The only thing stopping us is our own ambition, slowed by our own fear. What is there to truly be afraid of.. Creatures? The organisms that have lived by our side for thousands of years, no. The dark? Possibly the most majestic things we have, providing the ability for us to see stars, and conceal emotions. We wouldn't feel as if we turned out the lights if we hadn't corrupted ourselves with artificial lighting in the first place. Love? It will happen regardless of our fear, our fear just makes it harder.
What is fear? I feel that we are fear. Running away, hiding from the problems that will be seen for years after our time. Our mark we left on this world for our sons and daughters, that is what our vivid nightmares should be about, because everything else is obsolete compared to our legacy.
What is fear? Is it the expression of being inflicted with terror, or is it just a dream gone wrong..
The versatility of fear is endless.. forever subjecting our lives to restraint. We will never be free to roam limitless, with our phobias expanding through everyday life. Whether it be a fear of people, places, things, feelings... fear is the root of our invisible shackles.
Walking through this world, we encounter instances that will define who we are as individuals. Adult or child, coward or hero.. Whether its a simple act of helping someone in need or stopping a disaster, fear must be thrown to the wolves. There is no room in this world to hide, no room for us to run away.
With the possibility of our world changing everyday, terrorism taking from families, economic disaster ruining countries, our ability to step up instead of falling back will define who we are. The only thing stopping us is our own ambition, slowed by our own fear. What is there to truly be afraid of.. Creatures? The organisms that have lived by our side for thousands of years, no. The dark? Possibly the most majestic things we have, providing the ability for us to see stars, and conceal emotions. We wouldn't feel as if we turned out the lights if we hadn't corrupted ourselves with artificial lighting in the first place. Love? It will happen regardless of our fear, our fear just makes it harder.
What is fear? I feel that we are fear. Running away, hiding from the problems that will be seen for years after our time. Our mark we left on this world for our sons and daughters, that is what our vivid nightmares should be about, because everything else is obsolete compared to our legacy.
Star Bound
Written: August 8th, 2010
Limitless. Gazing up and seeing forever, visualizing the incessant possibilities of the sky above.
Lying on your back the ground as your support, reaching as far as conceivable but never achieving your goal. Closing your eyes envisioning the ground below you as a cloud, bringing you closer and closer to the sky above.. reaching up.. defeat. The sky is told to be the limit, yet the sky is limitless. We are the limit..life is the limit.
Touching stars is easier to conquer then daily trials the world has been doomed with. We will capture a star inside a mason jar before we solves the mysteries of war, religion, and love. Just keep reaching.. Like a adolescent in the kitchen, reach long enough and you'll achieve your goal. Stop reaching though, and you'll have to settle for inferior status on the floor.
Limitless. Gazing up and seeing forever, visualizing the incessant possibilities of the sky above.
Lying on your back the ground as your support, reaching as far as conceivable but never achieving your goal. Closing your eyes envisioning the ground below you as a cloud, bringing you closer and closer to the sky above.. reaching up.. defeat. The sky is told to be the limit, yet the sky is limitless. We are the limit..life is the limit.
Touching stars is easier to conquer then daily trials the world has been doomed with. We will capture a star inside a mason jar before we solves the mysteries of war, religion, and love. Just keep reaching.. Like a adolescent in the kitchen, reach long enough and you'll achieve your goal. Stop reaching though, and you'll have to settle for inferior status on the floor.
Masquerade
Written: March 23rd, 2010
Continually hiding behind shades of ourselves. We are untested, unproven as individuals, instead only established as conformed shells constructed as a blueprint of proper disposition.
Constantly required to bare our mask, strapped firmly upon our face in fear of letting our soul escape our eyes. Individuality is but a lost ruin, with any indication being worn from the time it's been concealed. Time progresses, and actuality turns to probability, probability to possibility, and possibility to complete and utter absence of personal characteristics.
The mask we are given is portrayed in layers, each one with it's own apocryphal statements. Who is really underneath this deceptive cloak? Playing your part in this carnival, this endless Mardi Gras, you lose what forms the creature underneath it all.
In this life, in these days, we have to make a choice, through our own volition, to let life melt our layers one at a time, slowly pushing us towards or inevitable end; Or, to rush the process and be who we are now. Why conform to what is expected, when happiness will truly come through unconformity.
Continually hiding behind shades of ourselves. We are untested, unproven as individuals, instead only established as conformed shells constructed as a blueprint of proper disposition.
Constantly required to bare our mask, strapped firmly upon our face in fear of letting our soul escape our eyes. Individuality is but a lost ruin, with any indication being worn from the time it's been concealed. Time progresses, and actuality turns to probability, probability to possibility, and possibility to complete and utter absence of personal characteristics.
The mask we are given is portrayed in layers, each one with it's own apocryphal statements. Who is really underneath this deceptive cloak? Playing your part in this carnival, this endless Mardi Gras, you lose what forms the creature underneath it all.
In this life, in these days, we have to make a choice, through our own volition, to let life melt our layers one at a time, slowly pushing us towards or inevitable end; Or, to rush the process and be who we are now. Why conform to what is expected, when happiness will truly come through unconformity.
Quick Sand
Written: February 8th, 2010
I am an imaginative soul, unaware of the necessity to distinguish what's real, whether substantive or conceptualized. Intimidated by intermediate notions of forever, lost beyond life's telltale circumstances that require the fallen to endure unavoidable repercussions. Personally I am indecisive and spontaneous; Yet, moved by outlining and order.
Destined to be a romantic in an tragic world makes it necessary to acknowledge uselessness for such obsolete characteristics. I greet, the world dismisses, proving to me that there is little hope for soft hearts, and even less for soft tongues. Requiring dauntless heroins, loaded with led and power.
The time of the dilettante is over. Where does that leave me? To struggle harder in quicksand, a rope? No. If I can survive though, a status of nonpareil will be bestowed.
I am an imaginative soul, unaware of the necessity to distinguish what's real, whether substantive or conceptualized. Intimidated by intermediate notions of forever, lost beyond life's telltale circumstances that require the fallen to endure unavoidable repercussions. Personally I am indecisive and spontaneous; Yet, moved by outlining and order.
Destined to be a romantic in an tragic world makes it necessary to acknowledge uselessness for such obsolete characteristics. I greet, the world dismisses, proving to me that there is little hope for soft hearts, and even less for soft tongues. Requiring dauntless heroins, loaded with led and power.
The time of the dilettante is over. Where does that leave me? To struggle harder in quicksand, a rope? No. If I can survive though, a status of nonpareil will be bestowed.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Different Minds
Problematic circumstances show me that I truly have two sides to who I am as a person. Some know both sides, but it is rare that I let anyone that close to me. The closest they will ever find themselves, is reading these simple words that I jot down in an effort to get them out of my head.
It seems I write the words I have trouble saying aloud. A distinctive difference in my mental process when expressing who I am through auditory, or visual reception. Not a sign of fear, but more an expression of two sides of my personality. My voice minimizes the level of deepness allowed to surface, yet my mind can't help to see the intricate details that make my world what it is.
In person, I conceal the poetic properties, because I rarely see the use for it, and doubt that I would be able to fully capture the utopian ideas blazing through my head. On the other end, I have doubts that the person carefully listening to my abstract thoughts could comprehend where I am coming from, not because they don't hear what I'm saying, but often because it's coming out more complex than it was intended.
I write for myself more than anyone, ebcause it allows my sarcastic, elementary self, realize that my serious, sentimental self is still present somewhere within my psyche. Taking a "Laugh Now, Cry Later" attitude in life, I feel it is necessary to keep both prominent, yet separated to the fullest. If I didn't have such a desire to have others read my writing, I wouldn't publish it at all, simply for the fact that it gains that much more separation and secrecy between the two parts. The desire mostly comes from my elementary personality, where my ego is present. The recognition of this ego comes from the serious identity.
One day, whether it through fame and fortune, or vast solitude, I won't have to maintain separation between the two polar opposites. It may cause an irritating personality, but if I am rich, or alone, no one would care, would they?
It seems I write the words I have trouble saying aloud. A distinctive difference in my mental process when expressing who I am through auditory, or visual reception. Not a sign of fear, but more an expression of two sides of my personality. My voice minimizes the level of deepness allowed to surface, yet my mind can't help to see the intricate details that make my world what it is.
In person, I conceal the poetic properties, because I rarely see the use for it, and doubt that I would be able to fully capture the utopian ideas blazing through my head. On the other end, I have doubts that the person carefully listening to my abstract thoughts could comprehend where I am coming from, not because they don't hear what I'm saying, but often because it's coming out more complex than it was intended.
I write for myself more than anyone, ebcause it allows my sarcastic, elementary self, realize that my serious, sentimental self is still present somewhere within my psyche. Taking a "Laugh Now, Cry Later" attitude in life, I feel it is necessary to keep both prominent, yet separated to the fullest. If I didn't have such a desire to have others read my writing, I wouldn't publish it at all, simply for the fact that it gains that much more separation and secrecy between the two parts. The desire mostly comes from my elementary personality, where my ego is present. The recognition of this ego comes from the serious identity.
One day, whether it through fame and fortune, or vast solitude, I won't have to maintain separation between the two polar opposites. It may cause an irritating personality, but if I am rich, or alone, no one would care, would they?
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Goodbye Oregon
A mind split between the past and present seems to be torn between staying or going. A complex decision on taking the next step forward, potentially leaving everything he knew behind. Wishing he could take his current world with him through the next stage, he realizes that the doorway isn't big enough to fit.
The future brings the next step in his life. Adulthood, and the responsibilities of maintaining a life that is measured on stature and the love of a family that he will someday have. Impossible to avoid, he follows societies recommendations on how to achieve their goals, not his. If it were his world, he'd be in a tree house on some remote island with only a handful of people that he could stand being around without spearing.
The past is more like a memory every day. He reaches his hand back hoping that someone will tell him to stay, or that he will be able to hold onto a part of him that has been lost for years. Realizing that his strength and desire is obsolete in this scenario, he stops trying to hold on. If the past is meant to follow, it will.
His life is in a new chapter now, and the friends that he tried his hardest to hold onto from the previous pages have made it apparent that they have opened a different book, in which he is not a character in. Once loved by many from his life years ago, he is now a fading character in a dusty book that has found itself on the shelf once again.
He realizes that it means he must start somewhere else, and the new steps he must take to acquire it will be necessary to forget the past. Holding on to items, and an identity that fails to fit his new persona will only act as an anchor. In order to be truly happy, he must stop spreading himself so thin, and focus on the people who are there for him at this moment.
If the his past needs him, he'll be 4 hours north, and 2 minutes east. Bye Oregon.
The future brings the next step in his life. Adulthood, and the responsibilities of maintaining a life that is measured on stature and the love of a family that he will someday have. Impossible to avoid, he follows societies recommendations on how to achieve their goals, not his. If it were his world, he'd be in a tree house on some remote island with only a handful of people that he could stand being around without spearing.
The past is more like a memory every day. He reaches his hand back hoping that someone will tell him to stay, or that he will be able to hold onto a part of him that has been lost for years. Realizing that his strength and desire is obsolete in this scenario, he stops trying to hold on. If the past is meant to follow, it will.
His life is in a new chapter now, and the friends that he tried his hardest to hold onto from the previous pages have made it apparent that they have opened a different book, in which he is not a character in. Once loved by many from his life years ago, he is now a fading character in a dusty book that has found itself on the shelf once again.
He realizes that it means he must start somewhere else, and the new steps he must take to acquire it will be necessary to forget the past. Holding on to items, and an identity that fails to fit his new persona will only act as an anchor. In order to be truly happy, he must stop spreading himself so thin, and focus on the people who are there for him at this moment.
If the his past needs him, he'll be 4 hours north, and 2 minutes east. Bye Oregon.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Birthday
It reaches that time of the year when you realize that you are aging, and the rest of the world is staying young and innovative. No matter if you are turning 25 or 90, the rest of the world will remain rejuvenated, and you left with another digit added to your time clock .
It is definitely a time of happiness, but it truly does make one start to wonder. What is next? In two days time, I will be 24 years old. When you think from a broad perspective, its still considered young.. but an acute perspective displays the flaws, and missed opportunities of all 24 years. Where could I have been, instead of at this stalemate I've found myself? September 4th.
For now, another round.
It is definitely a time of happiness, but it truly does make one start to wonder. What is next? In two days time, I will be 24 years old. When you think from a broad perspective, its still considered young.. but an acute perspective displays the flaws, and missed opportunities of all 24 years. Where could I have been, instead of at this stalemate I've found myself? September 4th.
For now, another round.
Opposing Myself
Written: June 5th, 2011
Day after day I see myself become torn between what I want, and what I need to be. Naturally too nice for my own good, the continual narcissism of others has started to breakdown the shell I have developed over the years. Usually able to reflect constant instances of unwilling "friends," I am forced to find another way to live my life.
I'm tired of giving everything I have, and not receiving an ounce of reciprication. I'm tired of wishing on a starless sky, tired of feeling more alone then I ever have before, and more than anything.. tired of treating others in a far better way than they deserve. I'm done with thinking there is good in everyone, some are lost, and it's no longer my job to help with that.
Turning a new leaf doesn't even begin to express what I am doing now, this change is more of mutating a leaf into a volcano.. an active one. Not everyone should be nervous, just the little meaningless people that live on this selfish island.
Day after day I see myself become torn between what I want, and what I need to be. Naturally too nice for my own good, the continual narcissism of others has started to breakdown the shell I have developed over the years. Usually able to reflect constant instances of unwilling "friends," I am forced to find another way to live my life.
I'm tired of giving everything I have, and not receiving an ounce of reciprication. I'm tired of wishing on a starless sky, tired of feeling more alone then I ever have before, and more than anything.. tired of treating others in a far better way than they deserve. I'm done with thinking there is good in everyone, some are lost, and it's no longer my job to help with that.
Turning a new leaf doesn't even begin to express what I am doing now, this change is more of mutating a leaf into a volcano.. an active one. Not everyone should be nervous, just the little meaningless people that live on this selfish island.
Mirror
Written: April 6th, 2011
He turns on the light and steps in front of the mirror. His youth is shown through his eyes. Inexperienced in life, and all that it entails. Love is nonexistent as infatuation is all that can be seen, responsibility is pushed away in fear that it will completely deplete his childhood. A sense of wonder sparkles in the corner of his eye, and a smile still shows on his face. The world has not noticed him; and the world has not scarred him.
He blinks, and is shocked to see the years affecting his face. Looking closer in the mirror he see's the first signs of life affecting his body. The stress of responsibility shows across his face, but the love he has found is evident in his eyes. The man he see's in the mirror has lived some, and has a lot to show for it. The happiness of his years overcome the effects of the stress he has felt. He still hasn't felt pain, but knows that it will come some day.
The flicker of the lights obstruct his view again.. He can see the mirror in front of him, but the image to blurry to make out. Moving closer, the image becomes clearer, and the reason behind his misguided vision apparent. The once boy, was now staring at someone hanging by a thread. An old man stairs back at him, the signs of time show across his face, through his eyes, and in his fading smile. The world had discovered the boy, and drained him of his youth. This elder was no longer smiling, and the pain of life affected every ounce of his being. The love he once felt is only evident in the tears swelling in his eyes. The pain of love lost, was the reason for his transparent soul.
Numb from head to toe this man realized that his time was over. Staring in the mirror at the face of a seasoned being, he closes his eyes. He hopes when he opens them that there would be the young inexperienced boy. Taking a deep breath he opens to find that life isn't forgiving. There is no rewind button, and the pain the world has scarred him with is permanent. No one can heal his wounds.. The lights dim.. the man see's no more.
He turns on the light and steps in front of the mirror. His youth is shown through his eyes. Inexperienced in life, and all that it entails. Love is nonexistent as infatuation is all that can be seen, responsibility is pushed away in fear that it will completely deplete his childhood. A sense of wonder sparkles in the corner of his eye, and a smile still shows on his face. The world has not noticed him; and the world has not scarred him.
He blinks, and is shocked to see the years affecting his face. Looking closer in the mirror he see's the first signs of life affecting his body. The stress of responsibility shows across his face, but the love he has found is evident in his eyes. The man he see's in the mirror has lived some, and has a lot to show for it. The happiness of his years overcome the effects of the stress he has felt. He still hasn't felt pain, but knows that it will come some day.
The flicker of the lights obstruct his view again.. He can see the mirror in front of him, but the image to blurry to make out. Moving closer, the image becomes clearer, and the reason behind his misguided vision apparent. The once boy, was now staring at someone hanging by a thread. An old man stairs back at him, the signs of time show across his face, through his eyes, and in his fading smile. The world had discovered the boy, and drained him of his youth. This elder was no longer smiling, and the pain of life affected every ounce of his being. The love he once felt is only evident in the tears swelling in his eyes. The pain of love lost, was the reason for his transparent soul.
Numb from head to toe this man realized that his time was over. Staring in the mirror at the face of a seasoned being, he closes his eyes. He hopes when he opens them that there would be the young inexperienced boy. Taking a deep breath he opens to find that life isn't forgiving. There is no rewind button, and the pain the world has scarred him with is permanent. No one can heal his wounds.. The lights dim.. the man see's no more.
Back Together
Written: March 28th, 2011
A month of disasters and untraceable misfortune, torturous mishaps and painful scenarios. A man tested with unbeatable obstacles, finding out the true character of himself through adversity. Every time he felt the worst was over, he found the true negativity of the days ahead. Every night he fell asleep he wished that tomorrow would bring the new month, or at least bring good fortune. Yet, within the month of February he would not see the light of day only the cold black night.
The 28th brought the worst of the worst, ending the month on a dismal note, but the events would soon fade to black as the month of March brought more hope.
Everything that seemed in disarray would become obsolete. The heartache he felt would seem childish and unimportant, the rocky starts and unstable moves he was forced to take, again found serene stability. A month of happiness, excitement, and new beginnings. Every day he forgets more and more that there was even a bad month, that he had misfortune and horrible day after horrible day. He forgot about the people that abandoned him, the people that showed their true colors, or lack there of. He noticed again who his true friends are, and finally found his place. Emotionless was never the answer, just careful. The days ahead seem to be more promising, and optimism fills his head. The hell with February.
A month of disasters and untraceable misfortune, torturous mishaps and painful scenarios. A man tested with unbeatable obstacles, finding out the true character of himself through adversity. Every time he felt the worst was over, he found the true negativity of the days ahead. Every night he fell asleep he wished that tomorrow would bring the new month, or at least bring good fortune. Yet, within the month of February he would not see the light of day only the cold black night.
The 28th brought the worst of the worst, ending the month on a dismal note, but the events would soon fade to black as the month of March brought more hope.
Everything that seemed in disarray would become obsolete. The heartache he felt would seem childish and unimportant, the rocky starts and unstable moves he was forced to take, again found serene stability. A month of happiness, excitement, and new beginnings. Every day he forgets more and more that there was even a bad month, that he had misfortune and horrible day after horrible day. He forgot about the people that abandoned him, the people that showed their true colors, or lack there of. He noticed again who his true friends are, and finally found his place. Emotionless was never the answer, just careful. The days ahead seem to be more promising, and optimism fills his head. The hell with February.
Strangers
Written: March 15, 2011
Off in the distance a vision appears, an angel, a light, something beyond words. The boy in the shadows freezes without delay, and just gazes in awe as the beautiful girl captures all the stares. His past and his future are no long relevent, the present feeling of utter euphoria overwhelms him, wrecking the world he thought he had a grasp on. The boy, not upset about his shattered recollections, just watches without a single thought of what he should do.
Going over everything that he wants to say to her, but retracting, he scribbles out his own thoughts like ideas on a napkin. Nothing sounds right, and with every thought he sounds less like himself. He closes his eyes and imagines the moment talking to her, seeing if that will help with collecting his stuttering concepts. Finally he comes up with the perfect thing to say, sure to make her smile, but keep him from melting at the sight of it at the same time. He opens his eyes, but she's gone.
Nothing lost, but nothing won. He hadn't a chance to see if she was the nightmare he was running from, or the dream that he wished for. He didn't get the chance to see if the world was going to maintain its annoying disposition, or if finally the pieces came together..
Off in the distance a vision appears, an angel, a light, something beyond words. The boy in the shadows freezes without delay, and just gazes in awe as the beautiful girl captures all the stares. His past and his future are no long relevent, the present feeling of utter euphoria overwhelms him, wrecking the world he thought he had a grasp on. The boy, not upset about his shattered recollections, just watches without a single thought of what he should do.
Going over everything that he wants to say to her, but retracting, he scribbles out his own thoughts like ideas on a napkin. Nothing sounds right, and with every thought he sounds less like himself. He closes his eyes and imagines the moment talking to her, seeing if that will help with collecting his stuttering concepts. Finally he comes up with the perfect thing to say, sure to make her smile, but keep him from melting at the sight of it at the same time. He opens his eyes, but she's gone.
Nothing lost, but nothing won. He hadn't a chance to see if she was the nightmare he was running from, or the dream that he wished for. He didn't get the chance to see if the world was going to maintain its annoying disposition, or if finally the pieces came together..
Heartbeat
March 11, 2011
I can hear my heart beat in my ear, slowly coercing my body to still. I can feel the thoughts leave my body, the life leave my lips and the tears dry along my cheeks. I can feel the wind, non existant to anyone around, yet frightening among reception beyond recognition.
The heart I hold within has slowed to a steady rythym unable to beat with any sponanuity, excitement, or nervousness. I only maintain the still lifelsss song that plays within my soul. I wait only for the moment that will bring me back to life. Moving aimlessly with no purpose, my body at the control of the feelings that fill my soul. Unable to control the speed at which I progress, I am always a puppet and my destiny is the hands that control.
Drowning out the sorrow, the pain, the blockades that force me in specific directions, I place my hands over my ears attempting to hear the serenity I long for. A quiet breeze, a soft rolling ocean, anything would suffice to overcome the white noise that invades my thoughts. Confusion simply replaced with absolute validity, would keep me sane in this chaotic world. Yet, here I am, a clown at a funeral, out of place and three steps behind my expected potential.
I need to be pushed. I need to be told where to stand in this chorus of complex, and utterly confusing moments. All I hear is my heart beating louder and louder.. Someone please get rid of it, if not for me, than for my shaking hands that are still placed tightly over my ears.
I can hear my heart beat in my ear, slowly coercing my body to still. I can feel the thoughts leave my body, the life leave my lips and the tears dry along my cheeks. I can feel the wind, non existant to anyone around, yet frightening among reception beyond recognition.
The heart I hold within has slowed to a steady rythym unable to beat with any sponanuity, excitement, or nervousness. I only maintain the still lifelsss song that plays within my soul. I wait only for the moment that will bring me back to life. Moving aimlessly with no purpose, my body at the control of the feelings that fill my soul. Unable to control the speed at which I progress, I am always a puppet and my destiny is the hands that control.
Drowning out the sorrow, the pain, the blockades that force me in specific directions, I place my hands over my ears attempting to hear the serenity I long for. A quiet breeze, a soft rolling ocean, anything would suffice to overcome the white noise that invades my thoughts. Confusion simply replaced with absolute validity, would keep me sane in this chaotic world. Yet, here I am, a clown at a funeral, out of place and three steps behind my expected potential.
I need to be pushed. I need to be told where to stand in this chorus of complex, and utterly confusing moments. All I hear is my heart beating louder and louder.. Someone please get rid of it, if not for me, than for my shaking hands that are still placed tightly over my ears.
Purely Obsolete
Written: March 8th, 2011
If today is the tomorrow of yesterday, what the hell is the yesterday of tomorrow. Walking backwards never made progression, but I feel that walking forward only digresses my journey. Seemingly, standing still would make greater advancements in what I wish to accomplish, when the latter is simply nothing. Lost, I sit down on an open bench to ponder the moments that are irreversable, yet my mind twists and turns the past events to give me a scenerio that could of been, but is not.
Why would I be subject to such ridicule, by my own thoughts, when my mind is the decisive factor in the finale anyway? If there was a better outcome, then I feel let down by the acute thinking process that got me to where I am now. Thinking outside the box would be easier, if the box wasn't the world, and my mind a hidden pebble. Expanding my thought process only brings headaches, and even if I would of chosen the road on the left, my mind would be laughing histarically.
If I choose the one on the left, I find it is all up hill, and no rest stops. The one on the right isn't really even a road at all, just a beaten path. The one behind me, well I lost it. So do I stand at the crossroads, lookng ridiculous, or do I find a different road, neither left or right.. Maybe the horizontal movement of my boring imagination has supressed my ability to find the road less traveled. Who said there isn't something vertical for me to travel along. Looking left, and right.. I choose up, or down. Or both.. who knows.
If today is the tomorrow of yesterday, what the hell is the yesterday of tomorrow. Walking backwards never made progression, but I feel that walking forward only digresses my journey. Seemingly, standing still would make greater advancements in what I wish to accomplish, when the latter is simply nothing. Lost, I sit down on an open bench to ponder the moments that are irreversable, yet my mind twists and turns the past events to give me a scenerio that could of been, but is not.
Why would I be subject to such ridicule, by my own thoughts, when my mind is the decisive factor in the finale anyway? If there was a better outcome, then I feel let down by the acute thinking process that got me to where I am now. Thinking outside the box would be easier, if the box wasn't the world, and my mind a hidden pebble. Expanding my thought process only brings headaches, and even if I would of chosen the road on the left, my mind would be laughing histarically.
If I choose the one on the left, I find it is all up hill, and no rest stops. The one on the right isn't really even a road at all, just a beaten path. The one behind me, well I lost it. So do I stand at the crossroads, lookng ridiculous, or do I find a different road, neither left or right.. Maybe the horizontal movement of my boring imagination has supressed my ability to find the road less traveled. Who said there isn't something vertical for me to travel along. Looking left, and right.. I choose up, or down. Or both.. who knows.
Healing
Written: February 27, 2011
A sound softly reaches his ears. Unknown to him he looks around. A night of fear an self reflection he is unsuspecting of what lies in store. He hears again a faint cracking, like ice crumbling beneath his feet. All he see's is darkness around, reaching his hand out hoping to feel anything at all. The darkness surrounds his finger tips, shadows hide his skin from his eyes, so he draws back in fear of losing himself.
He moves forward, still unable to discover the origin of the intense sound. The cracking gets louder, and louder.. He suddenly grabs his chest realizing it is he who is falling apart. He drops to his knees to holding on for dear life, but the cracking continues. Looking down he notices his chest with a chip in it, the spidering etching spreading out from there. What started out as a small blemish has turned into a multitude of endless fractures.
Taking a deep breath he notices the cracking discontinuing. Opening his eyes he sees a light ahead, but unable to move in fear of breaking into pieces he remains still, and alone on the ground. The light flutters in the distance, as if to warn him that he needs to get up, or be broken forever. The cracks spread throughout his body, he takes a chance. Shattering into millions of shards, the movement made breaks him completely.
He opens his eyes and looks at the shards on the ground. Seeing his former self broken into pieces fuels his desire to move forward. The light still dim in the distance, he runs towards it, closer and closer he finds himself. Nothing is going to break him, for he is no longer made of glass. Reaching the light, it consumes him, and the darkness in the distance holding the man he used to be, becomes faint, and eventually nonexistant.
A sound softly reaches his ears. Unknown to him he looks around. A night of fear an self reflection he is unsuspecting of what lies in store. He hears again a faint cracking, like ice crumbling beneath his feet. All he see's is darkness around, reaching his hand out hoping to feel anything at all. The darkness surrounds his finger tips, shadows hide his skin from his eyes, so he draws back in fear of losing himself.
He moves forward, still unable to discover the origin of the intense sound. The cracking gets louder, and louder.. He suddenly grabs his chest realizing it is he who is falling apart. He drops to his knees to holding on for dear life, but the cracking continues. Looking down he notices his chest with a chip in it, the spidering etching spreading out from there. What started out as a small blemish has turned into a multitude of endless fractures.
Taking a deep breath he notices the cracking discontinuing. Opening his eyes he sees a light ahead, but unable to move in fear of breaking into pieces he remains still, and alone on the ground. The light flutters in the distance, as if to warn him that he needs to get up, or be broken forever. The cracks spread throughout his body, he takes a chance. Shattering into millions of shards, the movement made breaks him completely.
He opens his eyes and looks at the shards on the ground. Seeing his former self broken into pieces fuels his desire to move forward. The light still dim in the distance, he runs towards it, closer and closer he finds himself. Nothing is going to break him, for he is no longer made of glass. Reaching the light, it consumes him, and the darkness in the distance holding the man he used to be, becomes faint, and eventually nonexistant.
Hollow
Written: February 22th, 2011
Living a life of energy, bringing enjoyment to those around. A hollowed existance, he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Those who look at him, won't see what they need to. They fail to open there eyes and brush the jester infront of them as just a form of entertainment. All they hear is humor, and don't realize the dialogue is only covering up the pain he has to live with from his dismal history.
Staring directly in his eyes, a gateway to his soul, they feel joy and laughter; not because thats what he feels, but instead the feeling he projects to keep them out. A fire burns within attached to a blackened candle. The flame is less illuminated than it has been in the past, and instead is dimming quickly. The warmth and comfort of a that inspired soul is slowly draining as he builds his security.
Entertaining as he builds, not letting on to what he has in store, the harlequin builds the wall around himself. Tired of showing his true self, and realizing that the masquerade mask around his soul wasn't hiding enough. He builds to keep out life, to keep out negativity, but most of all to keep out pain.
He juggles, he jokes, and entertains the crowd on the exterior.. but internally he feels that flame burn out. Dropping the act, he realizes it's time for a change in profession. He throws down the instruments, and walks away. Seeing the jester carrying a sword..the crowd stops laughing.
Living a life of energy, bringing enjoyment to those around. A hollowed existance, he has nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Those who look at him, won't see what they need to. They fail to open there eyes and brush the jester infront of them as just a form of entertainment. All they hear is humor, and don't realize the dialogue is only covering up the pain he has to live with from his dismal history.
Staring directly in his eyes, a gateway to his soul, they feel joy and laughter; not because thats what he feels, but instead the feeling he projects to keep them out. A fire burns within attached to a blackened candle. The flame is less illuminated than it has been in the past, and instead is dimming quickly. The warmth and comfort of a that inspired soul is slowly draining as he builds his security.
Entertaining as he builds, not letting on to what he has in store, the harlequin builds the wall around himself. Tired of showing his true self, and realizing that the masquerade mask around his soul wasn't hiding enough. He builds to keep out life, to keep out negativity, but most of all to keep out pain.
He juggles, he jokes, and entertains the crowd on the exterior.. but internally he feels that flame burn out. Dropping the act, he realizes it's time for a change in profession. He throws down the instruments, and walks away. Seeing the jester carrying a sword..the crowd stops laughing.
Realms of Imagination
Written: February 18, 2011
Drifting away into the blackness, resting his head upon his bed. Slipping away into imagination, putting punctuation to finalize the previous day. The time between this day and the next has the ability to be and endless speculation, molded into whatever form he wishes. Sometimes it slips his grasp, and spirals into a dark nightmare, but only at the will of his own inability to hold on to reality.
Floating down.. a sensation better than falling, he ascends into another world. His failure to be flexible in his life is reflected in this kingdom. His constant boredom of what is real allows him to alter his dream into any world he desires. Without consequence, he starts seeing landscapes formed, and freedoms fulfilled.. His night has started, the end no where insight.
Along the shores, he gazes out along the deep blue water. The horizon provides a sense of limitless potential, as a soft breeze grazes the smallest hairs along his skin. Taking his first step he feels the earth under his feet move with him, providing no resistance, allowing him to essentially glide without any effort. He notices along the surface of the water a dim white flame grazes the surface. Picking it up in his hand he feels warmth, but no pain. Letting it go like releasing a butterfly, the flame drifts off, finding it's way back to the surface of the endless water.
He keeps walking, as a path makes itself apparent to him. His subconscious revealing a purpose, the grass, trees, and hills part for him. Unknown plants light his way with dancing bulbs, just light enough for him to make out shapes, but not enough to see in the distance. He finally sits down and the grass surrounds him like a blanket.
Lying on his back he gazes up at the twirling stars, not motionless like the many he has seen before. He reaches up and places the tip of his finger on a star and slides it across the sky. Drawing with canvass in the sky, he drifts away.. When he opens his eyes he is blinded by the sun. Putting his finger on the beaming light, he attempts to move it out of his window. Realizing he is no longer in an alternate reality, his evening dreams, he buries his head trying to force the fall.. but no such luck. His dreams are allowed once a day, and intended to bring a breath of the unknown air in a too familiar life. He realizes he must go back to the dismal day, if he wishes to relinquesh during the night.
Drifting away into the blackness, resting his head upon his bed. Slipping away into imagination, putting punctuation to finalize the previous day. The time between this day and the next has the ability to be and endless speculation, molded into whatever form he wishes. Sometimes it slips his grasp, and spirals into a dark nightmare, but only at the will of his own inability to hold on to reality.
Floating down.. a sensation better than falling, he ascends into another world. His failure to be flexible in his life is reflected in this kingdom. His constant boredom of what is real allows him to alter his dream into any world he desires. Without consequence, he starts seeing landscapes formed, and freedoms fulfilled.. His night has started, the end no where insight.
Along the shores, he gazes out along the deep blue water. The horizon provides a sense of limitless potential, as a soft breeze grazes the smallest hairs along his skin. Taking his first step he feels the earth under his feet move with him, providing no resistance, allowing him to essentially glide without any effort. He notices along the surface of the water a dim white flame grazes the surface. Picking it up in his hand he feels warmth, but no pain. Letting it go like releasing a butterfly, the flame drifts off, finding it's way back to the surface of the endless water.
He keeps walking, as a path makes itself apparent to him. His subconscious revealing a purpose, the grass, trees, and hills part for him. Unknown plants light his way with dancing bulbs, just light enough for him to make out shapes, but not enough to see in the distance. He finally sits down and the grass surrounds him like a blanket.
Lying on his back he gazes up at the twirling stars, not motionless like the many he has seen before. He reaches up and places the tip of his finger on a star and slides it across the sky. Drawing with canvass in the sky, he drifts away.. When he opens his eyes he is blinded by the sun. Putting his finger on the beaming light, he attempts to move it out of his window. Realizing he is no longer in an alternate reality, his evening dreams, he buries his head trying to force the fall.. but no such luck. His dreams are allowed once a day, and intended to bring a breath of the unknown air in a too familiar life. He realizes he must go back to the dismal day, if he wishes to relinquesh during the night.
Dream Catcher
Written: February 12th, 2011
I need to fix the broken thoughts, my broken dream catcher, has let break through. I need to catch the fleeing hope, and fleeing dreams, that have fled within the night. I need to breathe the optimistic breath, see the optimistic sight, that an optimist is blessed with. Instead I'm stuck with pessimistic gasping, and pessimistic blindness, that my pessimistic dream catcher has let through.
I fall asleep every night, hoping my dreams cast unspeakable sights. I am only left with nightmares of fights, that lights can not illuminate. Burdened with sadness that should have been caught, a razor sharp anger that should of been fought, if only that dream catcher that I foolishly bought would have done it's job.
I lay my head down fearing the worst, of what the night may bring. Smiling to warn off any negativity staring at the mystic ring.
Dream catcher stop catching my dreams.. Catch the ones I fear. Catch the nightmares, catch the depressing thoughts. Let through the ones that make me ambitious, let through the ones that give me hope. Let though the dreams of my happiest times, and do away with the ones that bind me. Bring me love, bring me laughter. Take away the sorrow, and the pain.. Protect over me as I drift away.
I need to fix the broken thoughts, my broken dream catcher, has let break through. I need to catch the fleeing hope, and fleeing dreams, that have fled within the night. I need to breathe the optimistic breath, see the optimistic sight, that an optimist is blessed with. Instead I'm stuck with pessimistic gasping, and pessimistic blindness, that my pessimistic dream catcher has let through.
I fall asleep every night, hoping my dreams cast unspeakable sights. I am only left with nightmares of fights, that lights can not illuminate. Burdened with sadness that should have been caught, a razor sharp anger that should of been fought, if only that dream catcher that I foolishly bought would have done it's job.
I lay my head down fearing the worst, of what the night may bring. Smiling to warn off any negativity staring at the mystic ring.
Dream catcher stop catching my dreams.. Catch the ones I fear. Catch the nightmares, catch the depressing thoughts. Let through the ones that make me ambitious, let through the ones that give me hope. Let though the dreams of my happiest times, and do away with the ones that bind me. Bring me love, bring me laughter. Take away the sorrow, and the pain.. Protect over me as I drift away.
Clearing My Mind
Written: January 7, 2011
Black skies. Starry Lights. Freedom from all that overwhelms him. Aimless direction, a lost boy tired of the suffocation he endures frequently in the repetitive, yet chaotic channel he calls life. Driving, leaving his life behind temporarily relinquishing responsibilities to blindly move in no direction. He's everywhere and no where, everything and nothing.
Choosing to bare his soul only to himself, he sings quietly. Faintly following the rythym on the radio, but adding his own emotion to the bars. Sometimes, it's truly saddening along that lonely open road. Slow breathing occurs, noticing every individual rain drop touch the windshield. Invisioning the water seeping through the glass and reaching his face. The recognition of feeling any sensation, besides the numb and dull uncontrollable urge to never turn around, would be a welcomed moment.
Other times anger ensues. An instance triggered a resoinse in his character where he needed to just walk away. Unknowing of what to do with his madness, he put his car into drive. Repressed emotions release through his fingers gripping the steering wheel as if to tare it from existance. Feeling the responsible and victimiezed by his own inability to address his own emotions rationally when they reach this point. Normall so collected, he is speechless, a time of utter abandonment of his intellectual thoughs. He makes the right choice and vents. Not to a family member, not to a close friend, not to a caring women, and never to a random bar tender with words of wisdom. Instead he lets every part of that moment, the unbarrable instance, drive him, taking control along the blackened street.
No one knows where he is, infact he doesn't either. A deep breath, and suddenly the driving ceases. Breathing in the crisp air, an irreplacable feeling of relaxation comes over him. He slows down, and veers to the right. Looking forward he sees nothing but eerie darkness, and the unknown, and behind him is everything he hold dear in this world. Leave it all behind, and take that chance.. or find a way to make the best out of what he has. Constantly he is turning around, driving back into the familiar, wondering if next time will be that moment he doesn't slow down..
Black skies. Starry Lights. Freedom from all that overwhelms him. Aimless direction, a lost boy tired of the suffocation he endures frequently in the repetitive, yet chaotic channel he calls life. Driving, leaving his life behind temporarily relinquishing responsibilities to blindly move in no direction. He's everywhere and no where, everything and nothing.
Choosing to bare his soul only to himself, he sings quietly. Faintly following the rythym on the radio, but adding his own emotion to the bars. Sometimes, it's truly saddening along that lonely open road. Slow breathing occurs, noticing every individual rain drop touch the windshield. Invisioning the water seeping through the glass and reaching his face. The recognition of feeling any sensation, besides the numb and dull uncontrollable urge to never turn around, would be a welcomed moment.
Other times anger ensues. An instance triggered a resoinse in his character where he needed to just walk away. Unknowing of what to do with his madness, he put his car into drive. Repressed emotions release through his fingers gripping the steering wheel as if to tare it from existance. Feeling the responsible and victimiezed by his own inability to address his own emotions rationally when they reach this point. Normall so collected, he is speechless, a time of utter abandonment of his intellectual thoughs. He makes the right choice and vents. Not to a family member, not to a close friend, not to a caring women, and never to a random bar tender with words of wisdom. Instead he lets every part of that moment, the unbarrable instance, drive him, taking control along the blackened street.
No one knows where he is, infact he doesn't either. A deep breath, and suddenly the driving ceases. Breathing in the crisp air, an irreplacable feeling of relaxation comes over him. He slows down, and veers to the right. Looking forward he sees nothing but eerie darkness, and the unknown, and behind him is everything he hold dear in this world. Leave it all behind, and take that chance.. or find a way to make the best out of what he has. Constantly he is turning around, driving back into the familiar, wondering if next time will be that moment he doesn't slow down..
Honeymooners
Written: January 4th, 2011
We all get that feeling, that movement in our souls. We all find that moment where we forget about our crushing past. The second we feel that happiness, we free our inhibitions, breaking away from the shackles that restrict us from loving that new person. Still feeling pain from previous memories, we tread carefully into the unknown.
The honeymoon feeling comes and goes without any notice. I have no idea it's coming, and then I am overwhelmed with the possibility of where this could lead. Worried about how long it will last, I lightly take one step at a time. Absorbing each moment, prolonging the feeling..
Limitless optimism, for the day I find that permanent feeling. Investing in a single direction path to unconditional love, stepping forward instead of in circles is journey I could see my life wrapping itself around. Of course patience is a virtue, that moment will take time, but the idea will never leave my thoughts.
Those who have hurt me in the past will become a ghosts in a distant memory when someone does steal my heart. Those who I have hurt will forgive me when they find theirs. Those who never had a chance to live that extra day will be watching down with a smile, because in this life, everyone needs to find that bliss.. One day, I'll find mine.
We all get that feeling, that movement in our souls. We all find that moment where we forget about our crushing past. The second we feel that happiness, we free our inhibitions, breaking away from the shackles that restrict us from loving that new person. Still feeling pain from previous memories, we tread carefully into the unknown.
The honeymoon feeling comes and goes without any notice. I have no idea it's coming, and then I am overwhelmed with the possibility of where this could lead. Worried about how long it will last, I lightly take one step at a time. Absorbing each moment, prolonging the feeling..
Limitless optimism, for the day I find that permanent feeling. Investing in a single direction path to unconditional love, stepping forward instead of in circles is journey I could see my life wrapping itself around. Of course patience is a virtue, that moment will take time, but the idea will never leave my thoughts.
Those who have hurt me in the past will become a ghosts in a distant memory when someone does steal my heart. Those who I have hurt will forgive me when they find theirs. Those who never had a chance to live that extra day will be watching down with a smile, because in this life, everyone needs to find that bliss.. One day, I'll find mine.
Dreary
Written: January 4th, 2011
My perfect day may be another's worst nightmare. I wake up in the morning crossing my fingers for the sound of a storm. The serenity of the rain falling from the midnight sky, and the wind screaming through the trees around. Breathing in my first breath of today, and out the last of the night, I cross my fingers for natural chaos, because it soothes me.
The days I wake up with the skies wrath, is the day I wake up with a smile. It starts my perfect day, and I know that at least for the next few hours I am untouchable to anything discouraging. With the whole day to myself I walk with a more fluid movement, never missing a beat. I make the best coffee I've ever made, and a breakfast worth bragging about. I light a fire, never turning a light on. Cracking the windows to hear what surrounds me, and turning on a series of movies that will have me lost for the rest of the day.
You may say I'm crazy for loving anothers worst day, but I say I'm poetic in finding the music in the world's disarray. Call it what you want, anarchy, clutter, disarray, disorder, lawlessness, or pandemonium.. but I call it euphoria.
My perfect day would be nothing more than sitting by a fire watching movies, and listening to the sound of the world outside.. Unable to touch me. Add someone special and a dash of lightening, and I'll have no need to leave this dream. I am the opposite of most, when they dream of beaches and tropical islands, I dream of storms.. and am saddened to wake up with the sun beading in my window. I don't like to squint.
My perfect day may be another's worst nightmare. I wake up in the morning crossing my fingers for the sound of a storm. The serenity of the rain falling from the midnight sky, and the wind screaming through the trees around. Breathing in my first breath of today, and out the last of the night, I cross my fingers for natural chaos, because it soothes me.
The days I wake up with the skies wrath, is the day I wake up with a smile. It starts my perfect day, and I know that at least for the next few hours I am untouchable to anything discouraging. With the whole day to myself I walk with a more fluid movement, never missing a beat. I make the best coffee I've ever made, and a breakfast worth bragging about. I light a fire, never turning a light on. Cracking the windows to hear what surrounds me, and turning on a series of movies that will have me lost for the rest of the day.
You may say I'm crazy for loving anothers worst day, but I say I'm poetic in finding the music in the world's disarray. Call it what you want, anarchy, clutter, disarray, disorder, lawlessness, or pandemonium.. but I call it euphoria.
My perfect day would be nothing more than sitting by a fire watching movies, and listening to the sound of the world outside.. Unable to touch me. Add someone special and a dash of lightening, and I'll have no need to leave this dream. I am the opposite of most, when they dream of beaches and tropical islands, I dream of storms.. and am saddened to wake up with the sun beading in my window. I don't like to squint.
Overcoming Myself
Written: January 2nd, 2011
Why do I short hand when the rest of the page is blank. Have I nothing to say, or inability to grasp readers to heed my lyrics. Midnight, do I stop writing because the light has faded, making it hard to continue on; Or, have I stopped because, I myself, have obstructed the light.
I see slight success in the most minor of ways; Yet, I discontinue any further movements. I come to a crossroad in obsolete decisions, and fail to overcome. It's not because I am surrounded by the everlasting impossible, instead I am hindering the next footstep.
My ability to pursue true happiness is only surpassed by my ability to accept it in it's entirety. Moments are given to me everyday where my character is required to act. The primary purpose is for me to make a decision. Whether it have a negative or positive outcome, that's life. True character is shown, not by one's ability to choose right, but rather one's ability to choose at all.
My breath has not been taken from my body, my pulse still beats with a purpose. Rejection runs through our veins, and the beautiful Aphrodite in the corner saying no, will just push me to open my eyes and realize she wasn't real.
If I find myself writing, and the lights dimming, I will find alternative ways to continue on. Nothing in this world can cease our actions but our own surrendering nature. If I stop writing on a count of the lights fading away into the blackness, I know it's not because I leaned out my window and gently blew out the stars..It's because I was too afraid to write in the dark.
Why do I short hand when the rest of the page is blank. Have I nothing to say, or inability to grasp readers to heed my lyrics. Midnight, do I stop writing because the light has faded, making it hard to continue on; Or, have I stopped because, I myself, have obstructed the light.
I see slight success in the most minor of ways; Yet, I discontinue any further movements. I come to a crossroad in obsolete decisions, and fail to overcome. It's not because I am surrounded by the everlasting impossible, instead I am hindering the next footstep.
My ability to pursue true happiness is only surpassed by my ability to accept it in it's entirety. Moments are given to me everyday where my character is required to act. The primary purpose is for me to make a decision. Whether it have a negative or positive outcome, that's life. True character is shown, not by one's ability to choose right, but rather one's ability to choose at all.
My breath has not been taken from my body, my pulse still beats with a purpose. Rejection runs through our veins, and the beautiful Aphrodite in the corner saying no, will just push me to open my eyes and realize she wasn't real.
If I find myself writing, and the lights dimming, I will find alternative ways to continue on. Nothing in this world can cease our actions but our own surrendering nature. If I stop writing on a count of the lights fading away into the blackness, I know it's not because I leaned out my window and gently blew out the stars..It's because I was too afraid to write in the dark.
Dark Waltz
Written: December 15, 2010
Lying still with the moon lighting up the midnight sky, my eyes abruptly take over drifting with the stars. Reality slips away with every deep breath my body forcibly provides. Thoughts of romance and fear, the past and present captivate my head taking over my imagination only to elude my memory in the brisk presence of morning..
At first romance fills my head, the memories of happiness from friends and family overwhelmed my existence. Unmistakably blessed by the people who surrounded me then, protect me now, and will walk with me in the future. Everything I love about life is within grasp, confounding me with complete euphoria. My favorite songs are playing, favorite smells brushing through the air, warm rain falling from the sky. Flashing from past and present I relive the moments that have defined me, made me a better person, and are truly unforgettable. I instantly see the faces of the people I will never forget who have engraved their hearts into my subconscious to walk in my dreams for eternity.
Quickly fading, with thoughts of eternal happiness my dreams drift towards the rest of my life. I wonder intensly what to do next. My dreams are analytical, ripping apart every decision I've made and questioning their precision. Showing me what may of happened if I had turned left instead of right, the colors of romance dim. Accusing myself of ruining my life, arguing by myself proving myself right and wrong in the same sentence. What should I have done? Does it matter now? Inquisitions flare and my future comes into question, wondering what will be next.
Before the colors of life fade into analytical, judgmental similarity I want a chance to finish what I've started. Not knowing exactly what that is, or how it is done I feel dizzy. The shortness of my life sweeps over my head in a dense shadow, turning over an hour glass, setting the timer, and I hear nothing but ticking. Running into empty hallways, opening doors along the way trying to find my purpose in life. Emptiness, nothing is helping me figure out why I was put here. Running faster and faster, turning every corner I feel my body diminishing. I notice my reflection aging with every step, still unable to find the reason for my being.
The lights shut out. Closing my eyes wishing to be back in the color, back to my friends and family, back to where I knew who I was and what I was doing. I wish and wish to be back in the romantic stage of my life, as my body gives away. Sometimes I fall from the sky, sometimes submerging in the ocean, wrecking a car, or even saving a life. Feeling my life was too short, seeing my reflection, noticing a frail elderly man in the mirror.
How did I get here, this can't be it.
Feeling my last breaths leaving my body... I'm awake.
I take my first breath of the morning, the light shimmering through my window. Living an entire life in a matter of hours. Every morning I wake up with a new respect for the life we live. Knowing that I am young, not yet done dancing. I vow to myself to make the most of each day, because that night when I fade away into my sleep it may not be a recollection of the past, reflection of the present, or fear of the future. When I fall asleep at night, that might be it, the first step in my dark waltz.
Lying still with the moon lighting up the midnight sky, my eyes abruptly take over drifting with the stars. Reality slips away with every deep breath my body forcibly provides. Thoughts of romance and fear, the past and present captivate my head taking over my imagination only to elude my memory in the brisk presence of morning..
At first romance fills my head, the memories of happiness from friends and family overwhelmed my existence. Unmistakably blessed by the people who surrounded me then, protect me now, and will walk with me in the future. Everything I love about life is within grasp, confounding me with complete euphoria. My favorite songs are playing, favorite smells brushing through the air, warm rain falling from the sky. Flashing from past and present I relive the moments that have defined me, made me a better person, and are truly unforgettable. I instantly see the faces of the people I will never forget who have engraved their hearts into my subconscious to walk in my dreams for eternity.
Quickly fading, with thoughts of eternal happiness my dreams drift towards the rest of my life. I wonder intensly what to do next. My dreams are analytical, ripping apart every decision I've made and questioning their precision. Showing me what may of happened if I had turned left instead of right, the colors of romance dim. Accusing myself of ruining my life, arguing by myself proving myself right and wrong in the same sentence. What should I have done? Does it matter now? Inquisitions flare and my future comes into question, wondering what will be next.
Before the colors of life fade into analytical, judgmental similarity I want a chance to finish what I've started. Not knowing exactly what that is, or how it is done I feel dizzy. The shortness of my life sweeps over my head in a dense shadow, turning over an hour glass, setting the timer, and I hear nothing but ticking. Running into empty hallways, opening doors along the way trying to find my purpose in life. Emptiness, nothing is helping me figure out why I was put here. Running faster and faster, turning every corner I feel my body diminishing. I notice my reflection aging with every step, still unable to find the reason for my being.
The lights shut out. Closing my eyes wishing to be back in the color, back to my friends and family, back to where I knew who I was and what I was doing. I wish and wish to be back in the romantic stage of my life, as my body gives away. Sometimes I fall from the sky, sometimes submerging in the ocean, wrecking a car, or even saving a life. Feeling my life was too short, seeing my reflection, noticing a frail elderly man in the mirror.
How did I get here, this can't be it.
Feeling my last breaths leaving my body... I'm awake.
I take my first breath of the morning, the light shimmering through my window. Living an entire life in a matter of hours. Every morning I wake up with a new respect for the life we live. Knowing that I am young, not yet done dancing. I vow to myself to make the most of each day, because that night when I fade away into my sleep it may not be a recollection of the past, reflection of the present, or fear of the future. When I fall asleep at night, that might be it, the first step in my dark waltz.
Jumping Puddles
Written: December 4th, 2010
Rain falling from the jet black sky, the street lights are flickering with the wind. He puts on his hat and coat making sure to prepare for the wrath of the skies. A smile develops as he slips on his rain boots, and taking a deep breath he steps out into the unknown gently shutting the door behind him.
Staring up into the sky, letting each rain drop hit his face. Closing his eyes he lets the fresh tears from the clouds wash away his own, and moves out farther into the street. Taking slow gliding steps dragging his feet along the wet pavement, he gazes over his shoulder to see his dog, Sammy, waiting for him impatiently at the window. He smirks and continues to walk aimlessly..
The rain hits the ground harder, and harder, deafening the boy to the screaming coming from within his house. He knows he didn't do anything wrong, but he doesn't understand why they can't stay together.. He stomps in a puddle, letting the water surround him.
As he sat inside he wondered who he would live with, who loved him the most, who love him at all. He cried painfully in his room, and they had no idea. All he wanted to do was be outside in the rain, jumping in puddles, and letting the uncontrollable control him. He's barely old enough to reach the door handle to leave the house, but he finds a way.
The rain slowed, and he had conquered every puddle he could find. They didn't stand a chance. He sighed, in the way that only a lilttle boy can, and looked back at his front door. He slowly moved back that direction dragging his feet, noticing that the yelling he heard was now crying. As he opened the door no one was in sight. His daddy's bags were packed and leaned up against the wall.
Moping down the hallway, he snuck back in his rooms and hung up his little jacket, put away his soaked rain boots and climbed into bed. His best friend came running in, and jumped up on the foot of the bed and slowly made his way into the boys arms. As he drifted away, he wondered.. Who gets Sammy?
Rain falling from the jet black sky, the street lights are flickering with the wind. He puts on his hat and coat making sure to prepare for the wrath of the skies. A smile develops as he slips on his rain boots, and taking a deep breath he steps out into the unknown gently shutting the door behind him.
Staring up into the sky, letting each rain drop hit his face. Closing his eyes he lets the fresh tears from the clouds wash away his own, and moves out farther into the street. Taking slow gliding steps dragging his feet along the wet pavement, he gazes over his shoulder to see his dog, Sammy, waiting for him impatiently at the window. He smirks and continues to walk aimlessly..
The rain hits the ground harder, and harder, deafening the boy to the screaming coming from within his house. He knows he didn't do anything wrong, but he doesn't understand why they can't stay together.. He stomps in a puddle, letting the water surround him.
As he sat inside he wondered who he would live with, who loved him the most, who love him at all. He cried painfully in his room, and they had no idea. All he wanted to do was be outside in the rain, jumping in puddles, and letting the uncontrollable control him. He's barely old enough to reach the door handle to leave the house, but he finds a way.
The rain slowed, and he had conquered every puddle he could find. They didn't stand a chance. He sighed, in the way that only a lilttle boy can, and looked back at his front door. He slowly moved back that direction dragging his feet, noticing that the yelling he heard was now crying. As he opened the door no one was in sight. His daddy's bags were packed and leaned up against the wall.
Moping down the hallway, he snuck back in his rooms and hung up his little jacket, put away his soaked rain boots and climbed into bed. His best friend came running in, and jumped up on the foot of the bed and slowly made his way into the boys arms. As he drifted away, he wondered.. Who gets Sammy?
Take a Second
November 27th, 2010
Breathing is better than screaming. He takes a step forward, and twelve steps back. Procrastinating life's inevitable instances, prolonging.. He is pushed to take another step forward, but instead moves to the right, questioning whether if he should have stepped to the left. Doing his best to find a middle, a balance, but struggles enough with foreseeing the unforeseeable. He refuses to accept the impossible as an option, just the possible, probable, and challenging.
Pressure builds with each obstacle, he can make it through this one, but how long will it be until one more comes. Has he even measured whats coming next, does he even know where to look for the subsequent direction, or is he traveling blindly? He'll never know, whether it's dream or reality.. All he knows is the obstacles ahead are something to pass the time. Who cares what it is, who it is, or even why it is.. The fact is that it just is, and he needs to choose to fight or flight, sink or swim, breathe or scream.
Breathing is better than screaming. He takes a step forward, and twelve steps back. Procrastinating life's inevitable instances, prolonging.. He is pushed to take another step forward, but instead moves to the right, questioning whether if he should have stepped to the left. Doing his best to find a middle, a balance, but struggles enough with foreseeing the unforeseeable. He refuses to accept the impossible as an option, just the possible, probable, and challenging.
Pressure builds with each obstacle, he can make it through this one, but how long will it be until one more comes. Has he even measured whats coming next, does he even know where to look for the subsequent direction, or is he traveling blindly? He'll never know, whether it's dream or reality.. All he knows is the obstacles ahead are something to pass the time. Who cares what it is, who it is, or even why it is.. The fact is that it just is, and he needs to choose to fight or flight, sink or swim, breathe or scream.
Second Guess
Written: November 3rd, 2010
When do you draw the line on the decisions that define you? I find it hard that through out my existence I am being defined by small, obsolete characteristics or decisions. Always wondering if I should take a moment to look at the bigger picture or just to dive in. Do I second guess my choice, or by second guessing am I choosing incorrectly?
Fragile. Thats what our life is. I'm still unable to grasp the effects of what I do day in and day out. The smallest decisions on my part could effect the lives of many, but in the same context they may never feel the effects. I have not the slightest clue when to take time on a decision, or just to act without thinking. Will I ever know? Not likely.. I'm just destined to always face two choices and close my eyes and do my best to not screw the world up in the meantime.
When do you draw the line on the decisions that define you? I find it hard that through out my existence I am being defined by small, obsolete characteristics or decisions. Always wondering if I should take a moment to look at the bigger picture or just to dive in. Do I second guess my choice, or by second guessing am I choosing incorrectly?
Fragile. Thats what our life is. I'm still unable to grasp the effects of what I do day in and day out. The smallest decisions on my part could effect the lives of many, but in the same context they may never feel the effects. I have not the slightest clue when to take time on a decision, or just to act without thinking. Will I ever know? Not likely.. I'm just destined to always face two choices and close my eyes and do my best to not screw the world up in the meantime.
Insomnia
Written: September 22nd, 2010
It's hard to find the words to describe the dauntless confusion when the sun escapes. The moon shines, but not as bright, and yet I only feel time creeping slower. I should be drifting, dreaming unknowing; yet, I'm thinking, and dreaming awake.
Weeks have passed since normality conformed me, falling asleep when I should. A small change in life has caused this in balance, and now I sit hear awake, dreaming.
Dreaming of what, I keep asking. Nothing comes to mind. Could I truly be dreaming of nothing, or just nothing important enough. Tossing and turning, throwing pillows as I try to find something to ease my subconscious. What will it take to just rest, what will it take to rid all of this discomfort, just to drift away to sleep.
I tell myself recent events could not of pushed me off course this much. Instead I am unconvincing, and my argument is almost humorous. Just one night of sleep, just an eight hour dream, would be the greatest feeling. Yet, its 2am, and here I am.. writing this incessant nonsense. Goodnight Moon.
It's hard to find the words to describe the dauntless confusion when the sun escapes. The moon shines, but not as bright, and yet I only feel time creeping slower. I should be drifting, dreaming unknowing; yet, I'm thinking, and dreaming awake.
Weeks have passed since normality conformed me, falling asleep when I should. A small change in life has caused this in balance, and now I sit hear awake, dreaming.
Dreaming of what, I keep asking. Nothing comes to mind. Could I truly be dreaming of nothing, or just nothing important enough. Tossing and turning, throwing pillows as I try to find something to ease my subconscious. What will it take to just rest, what will it take to rid all of this discomfort, just to drift away to sleep.
I tell myself recent events could not of pushed me off course this much. Instead I am unconvincing, and my argument is almost humorous. Just one night of sleep, just an eight hour dream, would be the greatest feeling. Yet, its 2am, and here I am.. writing this incessant nonsense. Goodnight Moon.
Reflection
Written: September 22nd, 2010
What is it that you classify yourself as? Most of us have not lived long enough to reach our full potential, whether it be with life, love, or understanding of anything that truly pushes us to where we are; Yet, we have lived long enough to realize where we stand among the spectators, or where we have placed ourselves among the ambitious.
Do you see yourself as a realist? Do you take things for what they are, failing to see things for what they may become? Are you incapable of setting aside your patience, to give individuals or special circumstances their means to grow amongst the ever changing rotation of our world? A realist tends to establish beings, places, and feelings as they are seen on the outside, never venturing to question why. One who will never use maybe, or possibly in a sentence, but instead actually is likely a realist.
Do you see yourself as a rationalist? Do you feel that things are the way they appear, but have a feeling that things could be deeper? A rationalist feels that things are as they appear, but have not fully sucumbed to the pressure to settle on this basic idea. They may have an idea of what the true meaning of their position in this world is, but are not content with their standing; Nor, will they settle on the idea of feeling complacent.
"You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.." I feel that I am in this category. Rather than conceptualize the reality that this is it, or that this may be it, I feel that this is not it. I know that I have not reached my full potential in anything that I have done; nor do I feel anyone else has. Potential is only reached with your own satisfaction, not based on others perceptions. Until I feel satisfied that I have conquered the world ahead, I will not be appeased with who I am. Dreams are measured through your eyes, they are accomplished through your heart, and until you feel you can do no more.. they should not cease.
Whether you are a realist, rationalist, or idealist is your own path. A realist will most likely find satisfaction in their life, and they will easielly accomplish anything they put their mind to. A rationalist will find a way to bring peace to their life by finding a way of coming to terms with their own situation, but a dreamer.. if you are like me you will not find peace, harmony, or bliss. We will be helping the realists and rationalists reach their goals, time after time; But, we're alright with that because that's what we do.
What is it that you classify yourself as? Most of us have not lived long enough to reach our full potential, whether it be with life, love, or understanding of anything that truly pushes us to where we are; Yet, we have lived long enough to realize where we stand among the spectators, or where we have placed ourselves among the ambitious.
Do you see yourself as a realist? Do you take things for what they are, failing to see things for what they may become? Are you incapable of setting aside your patience, to give individuals or special circumstances their means to grow amongst the ever changing rotation of our world? A realist tends to establish beings, places, and feelings as they are seen on the outside, never venturing to question why. One who will never use maybe, or possibly in a sentence, but instead actually is likely a realist.
Do you see yourself as a rationalist? Do you feel that things are the way they appear, but have a feeling that things could be deeper? A rationalist feels that things are as they appear, but have not fully sucumbed to the pressure to settle on this basic idea. They may have an idea of what the true meaning of their position in this world is, but are not content with their standing; Nor, will they settle on the idea of feeling complacent.
"You may say that I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.." I feel that I am in this category. Rather than conceptualize the reality that this is it, or that this may be it, I feel that this is not it. I know that I have not reached my full potential in anything that I have done; nor do I feel anyone else has. Potential is only reached with your own satisfaction, not based on others perceptions. Until I feel satisfied that I have conquered the world ahead, I will not be appeased with who I am. Dreams are measured through your eyes, they are accomplished through your heart, and until you feel you can do no more.. they should not cease.
Whether you are a realist, rationalist, or idealist is your own path. A realist will most likely find satisfaction in their life, and they will easielly accomplish anything they put their mind to. A rationalist will find a way to bring peace to their life by finding a way of coming to terms with their own situation, but a dreamer.. if you are like me you will not find peace, harmony, or bliss. We will be helping the realists and rationalists reach their goals, time after time; But, we're alright with that because that's what we do.
Fortified
Written: August 25, 2010
It takes ears to hear, but to listen it takes personal desire rather than necessity. Words are often noticed but never absorbed, and continually brushed of as an obsolete nuisance of everyday life. Most words are full of narcissism, a gradual extension of the ego, only concerning the listening if felt directly.
Conversations are lost, less benevolent. More and more our words become empty, falling upon deaf ears. Both the delivering and receiving parties have lost their way, shifting more towards insipid hollow shells.
What happened to communication among us? Is it so hard to express true meaning, or articulate dialog that shows immediate interest in anothers life? We, instead, play games blaming the start or end of the discussion on one another. Who's fault was it that the conversation died? Who was it that began it in the first place? It shouldn't be either persons responsibility, yet it should be every ones.
Instead of keeping score.. Why not use one's effort to try harder. Why not use the breath of the archaic argument to show someone that you are thinking about them, or that you are interested in their well-being. It is less selfish, in this case.
It takes ears to hear, but to listen it takes personal desire rather than necessity. Words are often noticed but never absorbed, and continually brushed of as an obsolete nuisance of everyday life. Most words are full of narcissism, a gradual extension of the ego, only concerning the listening if felt directly.
Conversations are lost, less benevolent. More and more our words become empty, falling upon deaf ears. Both the delivering and receiving parties have lost their way, shifting more towards insipid hollow shells.
What happened to communication among us? Is it so hard to express true meaning, or articulate dialog that shows immediate interest in anothers life? We, instead, play games blaming the start or end of the discussion on one another. Who's fault was it that the conversation died? Who was it that began it in the first place? It shouldn't be either persons responsibility, yet it should be every ones.
Instead of keeping score.. Why not use one's effort to try harder. Why not use the breath of the archaic argument to show someone that you are thinking about them, or that you are interested in their well-being. It is less selfish, in this case.
Frustration
Written: August 25, 2010
It takes ears to hear, but to listen it takes personal desire rather than necessity. Words are often noticed but never absorbed, and continually brushed of as an obsolete nuisance of everyday life. Most words are full of narcissism, a gradual extension of the ego, only concerning the listening if felt directly.
Conversations are lost, less benevolent. More and more our words become empty, falling upon deaf ears. Both the delivering and receiving parties have lost their way, shifting more towards insipid hollow shells.
What happened to communication among us? Is it so hard to express true meaning, or articulate dialog that shows immediate interest in anothers life? We, instead, play games blaming the start or end of the discussion on one another. Who's fault was it that the conversation died? Who was it that began it in the first place? It shouldn't be eithers responsibility, yet it should be everyones.
Instead of keeping score.. Why not use one's effort to try harder. Why not use the breath of the archaic argument to show someone that you are thinking about them, or that you are interested in their well-being. It is less selfish, in this case.
It takes ears to hear, but to listen it takes personal desire rather than necessity. Words are often noticed but never absorbed, and continually brushed of as an obsolete nuisance of everyday life. Most words are full of narcissism, a gradual extension of the ego, only concerning the listening if felt directly.
Conversations are lost, less benevolent. More and more our words become empty, falling upon deaf ears. Both the delivering and receiving parties have lost their way, shifting more towards insipid hollow shells.
What happened to communication among us? Is it so hard to express true meaning, or articulate dialog that shows immediate interest in anothers life? We, instead, play games blaming the start or end of the discussion on one another. Who's fault was it that the conversation died? Who was it that began it in the first place? It shouldn't be eithers responsibility, yet it should be everyones.
Instead of keeping score.. Why not use one's effort to try harder. Why not use the breath of the archaic argument to show someone that you are thinking about them, or that you are interested in their well-being. It is less selfish, in this case.
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