Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The Bent Mirror

I had this thought that just rings in my ears.  I'm pathologicially unimpressed with myself and have been for years.  Better to hide, better to fade, better lurk, better to stay inside.  Is there something wrong with me?  When I look at myself, with what I see?  Everyone seems so ready to say, the golden apple is theirs, at the end of the day.  Kallisti I see, but will it ever be me?

Goodbyes are hard to raise.  Lost in my heart, lost in my maze.  Just a bother, just a fuss.  A perfect silence I would muss.

Can you pound a mirror back true?  Will it ever show the real you?  Will it just crack and shatter?  Does it even matter...

The pyous say humility is a glory.  Better to be the quiet and rightous story.  But I cant believe it, its just a lie.  It all is, but this sickness just wont die...

Friday, September 17, 2010

Something of Nothing

Lately I just dont feel like I have much to say, these whispered thoughts this long drowsy day.  Things just go, moving fast, moving slow.  Everynights wish becomes nothing but a show.  So many wishes, so many plans, its like its someone else I have in my hands.  Another string, glowing life.  Anothers desire, anothers sharp knife.

This side and that side.  What I tell myself, what I lied.

Crazy rantings in rymes, simple flashes of time.  Snapshots of a time so slow.  Passing by like melting snow.  Yet somehow I look and I see, I think to my self, “This isnt me...“

Lately its memories of days long past, the ones that I thought would last and last.  Shocking, sometimes, to see how far they have wondered.  I cant help but smile at so much squandered.

I was writting my book, I gave and never took.  My wishes were dreams, to be held and forgotten.  I felt like they wernt for me, like I was adrift at sea. 

Suddenly I wake and find, all I wished for was always mine.  Waiting just behind the vale, right ourside my secluded dale.  Tapping on my shoulder, saying, “You are worthy“.  Cutting throuht this hearts long apathy.

So odd, that now as ever, I still think like I‘m used to thinking.  Like my mind is lost and my boat is sinking.  But thats all just ghost of misty times.  Of shadowed summers, of unspoken rymes.