I tried to run away to a far away land,
where the grass was greener,
and the responsibilities leaner.
I ran from the ghosts,
I ran to foggy coasts.
I ran from the memories.
I ran from our mistakes.
I wanted a new me, whatever it takes.
But life, as she often does, had a different plan in mind.
Now I have to say I'm a little less blind.
I have discovered my god,
no not the one you're thinking of.
I found "it" in the history here.
I connected to souls I now hold dear.
I found solace in the here-after in the stones of cathedrals.
I found hope in stone glass windows.
I found peace in battlefields.
I also found pain.
It poured down like rain.
It took my breath away,
trying my best to keep the night at bay.
I no longer fear the ghosts back there.
I fear being stuck in the metaphorical here.
I've now been unwanted,
seen a love be haunted.
I've finally stood up for myself.
Even if they think I have totally fallen off the shelf.
I have embraced my flaws,
finding the power in their claws.
I have gained respect for those waiting for me.
I have learned a new definition of free.
I learned it isn't in the lack of responsibility
but in my magnificent ability.
I find freedom in the doing,
in the dream I'm pursuing.
Here I am.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of running.
It is a strange feeling...
to not belong.
Like all your layers are peeling.
Like every decision you make is wrong.
I miss everyone who has ever loved me.
I miss that feeling of my soul being warm.
I am just about as far away as I could be.
All my plans are lacking form.
I am a shapeless human,
without a mission, without a plan.
My soul has cracked just enough to let the gloom in.
Wanting to be strong, not knowing if I can.
My biggest fear was always weakness,
but it seems now that is all I am.
My newest personality characteristic is meekness.
But maybe I'm not supposed to give a damn...
Maybe that's what I was supposed to learn.
That not all our dreams fly.
Sometimes our efforts just burn.
That you can do whatever you want, is a lie.
That it is ok to let go.
It is fine to be weak, to lose.
That I can rise once more from this low.
That I will sing gospel after the blues.
Today all carp are swimming high
in swirling waters. Autumn
calls them to flip sideways and glance skyward
Industrious people prepare homes
for the ravages of winter
cocooning foundations with bales of straw
Storm windows prop against scaffolds
like volumes balancing
between bookends on library shelves
Each evening doors close and shut tight
locking out lonely shadows
in search of a bed before sunrise
Skin dark from summer rays fade away
Evenings edge closer to night,
fish form schools in the lake’s warm bottom
Dakota is preparing for winter
Plan something of which you know everything
Rules of the game still remain the same
of course it goes on,
all the time,
all the way at the back of mind,
since planning has always remained not only a part of the game that you play,
but also an indispensible part of everyday life in every possible way.
Plans are subjected to change
Ways of doing and getting things done change
The world is a fast changing place
A strong resolve that something certain will get worked out keeps everything in the present in it's proper shape.
Everything will be in it's place
Everything will get worked out while in present with regards to an uncertain future
Everything in present will find it's way in the right direction,
if intentions are in place,
only if they don't change while in present for short term gains, which cannot be termed as a secured future.
The cat decided, on the Wednesday, of last week
To end the human race, which he surmised, was way beyond it's peak
Cats, he mused, are far simpler, a better, tighter breed
No cravings for power, or thoughts of lust, or greed
As he pontificated and expounded, exactly what to do
The dog, snuck up behind him, and bit him clean in two
A footnote of intellect, a common James Bond theme
Don't pause too long upon your plan, but act, upon your dream
Would be fewer escapes that way, and we wouldn't have to listen to the diatribe. :D
to the boy who treated me horribly:
as much as i dislike you, thank you.
you taught me that no one,
i mean no one should treat me the way
that no one should ignore me
that no one should forget my birthday
that no one should play me
that i should be treated with respect
that i should be loved for being me
that someone should think that everything about me is beautiful
so thank you for teaching me
that God has a better man for me,
a better man than you.
Nowadays, I don't even write nearly as much as I used to. Not for the reason that I don't want to, but I just have so much to say. By the time I get it written down on paper I find myself blank. Grasping for straws with nothing meaningful to say. I've been so caught up with life & all it's let downs that I never sit to actually write them out. Yet, here I am 10 PM at night on my couch, writing.
I am pondering the meaning of my existence. Wondering, does God have a plan for my life, does He even hear my prayers? I'm quite positive I am not the only one who lays up at night thinking these thoughts.
However, I know one thing is for certain. I wasn't put on Earth to get the extravagant house or even the nicest & fastest car. Those are merely toys that break down & have to be fixed every now & again. Kinda like our lives.
We head down a path that seems to be great, then we get there & realize it wasn't at all how we pictured it. See that's what scares me the most. Having got so far into life, but still have yet to get anywhere meaningful.
After all, that's what we're intentionally striving & searching for is meaning. If we weren't, then why try so hard at school or working to get the next BIG promotion. Reminds me of the story in Solomon (which I have yet to fully read.) It explains that he had it ALL yet in the end he says, "it's ALL just meaningless, meaningless."
Which leads me to ask, where should we go from here?
Call down the vultures to dine on something gray and homespun
Problems steadily sink in when you leave the blinds open
Unconscious plans recline in the garden of your home
Two vultures braced solid, arched in a bowl
The reeling air of melancholy is carved out alone