A hobby I've gotten away from
To everybody reading this, I'm sorry for my relative absence from the LJ world. I've been depressed for the better portion of a week....in typical on/off again fashion. Last night, I felt as if I was coming out of it; and now I think I'm right back there again.
I won't go on as to why I'm feeling this way, as it's a long story that likely only makes sense in my own twisted little head. I will say, however, that this mood has really precluded me from making LJ entries, replying to posts, etc. Misery adores the company of other misery, and I am well aware that if you hang out with somebody who's constantly down, it's only a matter of time before it begins impacting you. View it as cowardly, or stoic, I don't care; but I choose to suffer in silence rather than have my woes carried on to people who deserve to be happier.
Whenever I get this way, I tend to focus on my writing; either creating something new or looking back and reviewing previous works. Among the various books on my desk shelves are three which are the most important to me, they are essentially "Nate on paper", where all my writing ultimately goes.
I won't allow others to read them front to back; just one of the three books is certainly enough to land me in a looney bin. I am, on the other hand, comfortable with showing portions of my writing to just about anybody. I used to do this as a way of seeking validation, wanting other people to see my writing and tell me if I really was good at it or not. Anymore, I don't really care. My ability as a writer is a question I now face alone, and basically I choose to show others as a means of expressing myself, or relieving inner tension.
To make a long story short, I looked back through my books and decided to throw some of my efforts up on LJ.
The first is possibly my favorite. If I do say so, I think it's one of my two best. In fact, reading it makes me feel like at one time, I was good at something other than pissing people off. The second is much newer. It is very bad, and very short, even for me.
Blue
So sad can be one's life,
til' death at last ends their strife.
Grief, sorrow, woe and pain;
all too much with naught to gain.
All these feelings can be described as one,
and all is gone save sadness when done:
To me blue is not just a color,
but instead a force, like no other.
Blue is the gloom, the dreariness that hangs
in the air like a pitied person's pangs.
Many things, yet, of blue are wrought,
many deep, dark, and plaintive thought.
Many seas afar and skies are blue,
storm-clouds, nightingales and periwinkles too.
But blue to me is such a feeling;
an un-conquerable foe that sends one reeling.
Blue is the grievous thought lingering there,
those hurts of a soul in a sea of despair
into which one dives, diving deeper,
lost in dreams like an endless sleeper.
Blue is the fear, the abandoning of hope,
the reality of pain with which I can't cope.
The lack of strength, the need to cry,
the parting of friends, and the wanting to die.
Blue to me is a worry-filled story,
ending in death, and containing no glory.
Yet in search I go now
for the need to know how:
to quench this woe I know to be true...
how to get rid of this feeling called blue.
......
Land of Benediction
Failure strikes all;
the old, the young
the shameful,
the proud.
And the wise will say
failure is inevitable.
When will the
inevitable
cease
to be
redundant?
And yes, you might be thinking that I'm being hypocritical; mentioning my desire to keep my unhappy thoughts from poisoning yours, yet posting something like this. I feel posts like this, if kept to a once-in-awhile basis, can't do too much harm. Besides, you were warned by the spiffy LJ-cut tag.
I won't go on as to why I'm feeling this way, as it's a long story that likely only makes sense in my own twisted little head. I will say, however, that this mood has really precluded me from making LJ entries, replying to posts, etc. Misery adores the company of other misery, and I am well aware that if you hang out with somebody who's constantly down, it's only a matter of time before it begins impacting you. View it as cowardly, or stoic, I don't care; but I choose to suffer in silence rather than have my woes carried on to people who deserve to be happier.
Whenever I get this way, I tend to focus on my writing; either creating something new or looking back and reviewing previous works. Among the various books on my desk shelves are three which are the most important to me, they are essentially "Nate on paper", where all my writing ultimately goes.
I won't allow others to read them front to back; just one of the three books is certainly enough to land me in a looney bin. I am, on the other hand, comfortable with showing portions of my writing to just about anybody. I used to do this as a way of seeking validation, wanting other people to see my writing and tell me if I really was good at it or not. Anymore, I don't really care. My ability as a writer is a question I now face alone, and basically I choose to show others as a means of expressing myself, or relieving inner tension.
To make a long story short, I looked back through my books and decided to throw some of my efforts up on LJ.
The first is possibly my favorite. If I do say so, I think it's one of my two best. In fact, reading it makes me feel like at one time, I was good at something other than pissing people off. The second is much newer. It is very bad, and very short, even for me.
Blue
So sad can be one's life,
til' death at last ends their strife.
Grief, sorrow, woe and pain;
all too much with naught to gain.
All these feelings can be described as one,
and all is gone save sadness when done:
To me blue is not just a color,
but instead a force, like no other.
Blue is the gloom, the dreariness that hangs
in the air like a pitied person's pangs.
Many things, yet, of blue are wrought,
many deep, dark, and plaintive thought.
Many seas afar and skies are blue,
storm-clouds, nightingales and periwinkles too.
But blue to me is such a feeling;
an un-conquerable foe that sends one reeling.
Blue is the grievous thought lingering there,
those hurts of a soul in a sea of despair
into which one dives, diving deeper,
lost in dreams like an endless sleeper.
Blue is the fear, the abandoning of hope,
the reality of pain with which I can't cope.
The lack of strength, the need to cry,
the parting of friends, and the wanting to die.
Blue to me is a worry-filled story,
ending in death, and containing no glory.
Yet in search I go now
for the need to know how:
to quench this woe I know to be true...
how to get rid of this feeling called blue.
......
Land of Benediction
Failure strikes all;
the old, the young
the shameful,
the proud.
And the wise will say
failure is inevitable.
When will the
inevitable
cease
to be
redundant?
And yes, you might be thinking that I'm being hypocritical; mentioning my desire to keep my unhappy thoughts from poisoning yours, yet posting something like this. I feel posts like this, if kept to a once-in-awhile basis, can't do too much harm. Besides, you were warned by the spiffy LJ-cut tag.