(no subject)
I am a whirlwind through life. Yet I am nowhere, shackled by my stillness.
The multi-colored, triangular candle that I stole for her from an elderly lady's deserted living room while I was in Ireland is still burning. The corner wax melts away much slower than the rest of the candle.
Through the years my tongue has changed its mind. Was it a smooth transition or did it just hop from over there to over here? The world around me laid in sheer amazement to my mind. All I could think was to be a humble vessel for it's beauty, it's bewilderment. My ability to apply, through words, its beauty hardened to liken a rock. To access that very familiar feeling, that forever known passion, now leaves me feeling devoid of depth. How could I ever let that slip away from me? My tongue, taken over by self awareness and self despair, simply, yet ever so meaningfully, transformed. Now, it's riches lie in dull acknowledgment. Factual seeming complaints. My vocal eyes have sunken further into themselves, first seeing an inner entrapment before being allowed to see what is beyond them. Sometimes I wake up feeling as if my legs are ankle deep in thick, cold mud.
--
I hear them in the wind. I see them in the leaves. Fill me up you spirits of the day. I shall empty you as the ink of this pen. I shall stain the world with you. Together we will tell of this brief moment of distraction. Together we will tighten our clutches of it. Words, as you flow, propelled by desperation, use me as your tool. Return and guide me to do as you wish. Save me, dear friend, from these impediments.
--
Tell me, have I abandoned myself or delved too deeply inside?
The multi-colored, triangular candle that I stole for her from an elderly lady's deserted living room while I was in Ireland is still burning. The corner wax melts away much slower than the rest of the candle.
Through the years my tongue has changed its mind. Was it a smooth transition or did it just hop from over there to over here? The world around me laid in sheer amazement to my mind. All I could think was to be a humble vessel for it's beauty, it's bewilderment. My ability to apply, through words, its beauty hardened to liken a rock. To access that very familiar feeling, that forever known passion, now leaves me feeling devoid of depth. How could I ever let that slip away from me? My tongue, taken over by self awareness and self despair, simply, yet ever so meaningfully, transformed. Now, it's riches lie in dull acknowledgment. Factual seeming complaints. My vocal eyes have sunken further into themselves, first seeing an inner entrapment before being allowed to see what is beyond them. Sometimes I wake up feeling as if my legs are ankle deep in thick, cold mud.
--
I hear them in the wind. I see them in the leaves. Fill me up you spirits of the day. I shall empty you as the ink of this pen. I shall stain the world with you. Together we will tell of this brief moment of distraction. Together we will tighten our clutches of it. Words, as you flow, propelled by desperation, use me as your tool. Return and guide me to do as you wish. Save me, dear friend, from these impediments.
--
Tell me, have I abandoned myself or delved too deeply inside?