The last fragments of happy memories are now turning a peaceful silence into shouting matches. While it's a wonderful view from here with a blind and full heart, all I ask is for a temporary deafness, so that I can listen to peace sing it's way back to me.
Poetry, above all, has taught me how to communicate, how to listen - effectively. How to enjoy silence between words, until that moment the words end. To extract meaning from emotion left between the lines. Poetry has taught me that relationships are made without words, without language, without sound. Relationships are built of the communication that poetry leaves behind. Poetry, above all, is not communication - it is love incarnate.
A young girl once planted seeds, where most had sworn the soil barren. She lived her life as though the seeds bore purpose, nurturing them at moments, but mostly carrying about in suspenseful stillness.
The girls name is Hurt, some know her as Pain. A precious and delicate blessing, we should all allow in our lives...once and a while. She'll dance under the faintest moon and quietly escape as the sun rises. But let her plant some seeds before she leaves, and eat from the fruit it bares; it might turn out to be the sweetest you've ever had. ...in pursuit of pleasurable things and condemned to a mind touched with fire, we fill holes to narrate our purpose...
...we feel holes when the narration is mistaken. (Boston Marathon bombings took place on April 15th 2013)
Looking over facebook posts, realizing there’s a deep sense of sadness amongst some of my friends, because of ongoing national and worldwide tragedies. Going to two funerals in one week kind of forces me to look for a reason to smile, for a sense of balance, though its perfectly alright to feel no need to smile (considering). I think society has forced us to respond in ways that create burdens on our psyche. Smiling, laughing, and breathing, help us to alleviate some of that burden. I hope that my friends can find a reason to smile, even if only briefly, if they want to. And I, wanna cry long past the timeframe they’ve told me is acceptable. I wanna laugh until I’ve drowned out silence, or until they tell me to grow up. I won’t listen. I wanna ask those questions, the easy ones with answers like, “Because he thought no one loved him,” or “we’ll never have the answers.” And the tough ones, with answers like, “Because he thought no one loved him,” or “we’ll never have the answers.” I don’t wanna know why and when people stopped listening, stopped caring. And because no one ever thinks they need a hug, I wanna hug everyone I meet. That moment of letting go together, when we feel emotions dancing. And I’d rather dance then grow up. I want my heart to smile, in a room filled with unbearable darkness. Adult eyes piercing me with curiosity, longing to be in my shoes, once again. To grow up, in my shoes. Because I’m 2 years young, 5 years old. I’m that kid you once knew. I am hope. Love is what fills the softness throughout my bones. There are no options for anything less. I am what I want to be, when I grow up. In this society,
to love with your entire being is a curse. A curse that all souls should be committed to and that I’d bet my life on. A curse to proudly secure in the trenches of the space hidden in the pause of entanglement, love briefly put on hold. A curse that warms like the sun, building foundations of time, memories to unravel slowly in. To love, as if society doesn’t exist. Civilization begins and ends when we become cursed by love. Not understanding constitutes the magic that drives us to the forest; rich with vertical stories as tall as Merton’s seven storied mountain. We can’t explain what can’t be conquered, what shouldn’t be reached, the echoes that can’t be heard.
Yet, somewhere in that unexplainable, sleeps an answer. An answer that will wake when the sun rises. The sun that never sets; the one that shines eternal. Edison would bask in this everlasting sun. This certain brilliance that lights the way to our happiness. The light in all of us. And after this, who shall say a God doesn’t exist? At the end of a day, a religious one such as today, I try to remember that all religions and non-religious “belief systems” are tied by a string made of the same material. These fibers form a basic pattern, in the form of symbols, consisting of—a calling, a pull, a need for something “else”, a goal, a journey, an all encompassing love. All of these play a part in the story that is life. The story that binds us all. It’s up to us to keep that story going. It’s the antagonist, that continuously tries to create obstacles while in the midst of that journey. It’s my belief that in the end, the antagonist NEVER wins. In the end what ends up winning, is life, the way it happens…which is precious and purposeful and above all - mortal.
You know the one, the small town girl with the big city spirit. Her smile comes alive at the stop light. Red and green signals stare through her see-through brilliance she calls a dress. But ask her if she knows happiness. She'll tell you all about helplessness. She'll struggle as she speaks, stuttering through her breathe, wearing fear on her tongue as it slips from one man to the next.
And then...she'll disappear, borrowing your big city spirit, for a taste of happiness. Forever praying that you'll want the small town girl to return instead. some of us are born of roads
bare footed, clothed in lonely hearts. forever hiking through nightmares, paths of burning pangs, longing, seem necessary. unraveling majestic farms of our carnal sins, serenading us along trails guiding us to earthly waterfalls. |
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