I don’t know what to call this kind of thing. I’m sure there’s a term for it, and if I put a lot of random returns in I could call it poetry, but whatever. It is what it is.
I sit at the edge of consciousness and dreams, and stare past the glass. Cold fire and tight stars littler the streaky sky as the night takes over and passes by the day. And as this dark mistress steals over the world I am trapped in limbo, neither awake nor asleep, but drifting half in and half out of that other place; the place where dreams and inspiration lie. And as I hang, suspended at its edges, I feel that I am close to some revelation. Some truth, about to be revealed, tickles the tips of my fingers, though I cannot grasp it. The exclamation of discovery quivers on the edge of my lips but refuses to be vocalized. Yet I can feel it; destiny is so close that I can almost taste it.
The fire dies and the darkness grows and with it the restlessness of my spirit. I strive too hard to touch this unattainable thing – this knowledge which is waiting for me to find it. I try too hard and it slips from my grasping hand and fades away into the late twilight. Though I try to bring it back, I find that it is utterly gone and that the chance fled when I applied too much force.
Is not that the way of the world, and of humanity? When we see some fluttering beauty weaving just out of our grasp, do we sit and wait in quiet, finger extended and expectant, for the butterfly of reward to light upon it, or do we run and stomp and cry as we try to tackle down the elusive dream and wrangle it into submission? The dream must submit to our hard hands, it must form the way we wish and give us that which we desire, and it must do it now.
And with these threats, the gently fluttering treasure flies away at break neck speed, and we are left stumbling alone through a field of yesterday’s stubble and wondering why nothing good comes our way. We let the stalks crunch beneath our feet, never looking down or thinking what damage we might do to those who we walk over. All the while we moan and cry because we have not been fulfilled, we have not been given what we deserve.
But what do we deserve? A throne to sit upon and dictate edicts to the common man? But who is the common man? The one who has yet to catch his dream, or the one who we deem to be beneath us? Who decides what rank and privilege is handed out? Is it in our hands or the hands of the universe?
But the universe- oh the universe – how fickle does she seem as she dances always out of reach, tantalizing the weary with the golden truth but never handing it out. Still, what would we do with the truth? If she gave of it freely would we even know? Or would we be too busy staring at the sky and moaning our misfortune to see that truth lay all around us, bathed in purple as the sun died for the night?
Fav song of the moment – Simple and Clean (long remix) – Utada Hikaru
Another new blog. Holy smokes!
Okay, so I was updating my website the other day (another shocker!) and I thought “I should generate some poetry to slap on there!” because I tend to churn the free flow stuff out in a few minutes (especially if it doesn’t rhyme!) and so it’s an easy update. I didn’t end up using any of it, as it turned out I have some stuff I submitted to a mag awhile back that hadn’t seen the light of day (will post it in the future) but I thought that we could have some interpretation fun!
That’s right. Interpretation fun. I will post three random acts of poetry and you tell me their meaning! There’s no right or wrong answer, so read away and tell me what YOU get out of them!
The rain drips
The canvas crawls
Moonlight steals across the room
So many thoughts betray this wicked mind
A phantasmagoria of sight, taste and sound
Rainbow wishes made of porcelain
That break at the sound
Of the cricket’s
The meaning hidden behind the mask
It crumbles though your fingers like the dawn
Broken shield of your imperfections
In a place where all the dreams were held together
By a rusty colored staple
And a piece of faded twine
As if a child had stored them away
To keep until they grew, like some treasure
Tarnished by the years and stained
With dust tracks of forgotten tears
The taste of empathy still lingers
In forgotten hollows of imagination
And all that once was, is lost
And what remains is just a wrinkled phantom
Still clinging to the illusions
An eternity of silence drips
Like raindrops from the eaves of time
And drowns this petty room with suffocating tension.
Words have deserted us and left our mouths empty
Fleeing from the scene as though running
From some tragedy replete with flashing lights
And witness statements, too many signatures to count
Now we are just casualties of our own indecision
Injured by our fears and trepidations
All the apologies we should have made
And confessions that we should have spoken
Now to old and heavy to give life to
So there is nothing left to say or do
Except scream silently inside and pray
That someone can see the blood mixed with our tears
And save us before it is too late
And this ever growing silence
Suffocates us both
Did you get anything out of those? or is it just a random smattering of meaningless words strung together because they sound cool? YOU decide!
P.S. Titles would be helpful, too!
Fav song of the moment – 30 Seconds to Mars -Hurricane