The closer to christmas the more chaos
We get wrapped up in making treats and buying gifts and watching movies
We wish the days would fly faster and get to the 25
but each day belongs to be treasured and not be rushed and thrown away
And strewn across the floor forever forgotten *
And by the time you try to remember a detail of the day
It is gone in a wise since you rushed through it not caring about the *details or the small things
Time is precious like fine china but weaves a web finer than human eye *can see
Don't let it slip through your fingers for the dice our rolled the moves areplayed
The people are moved coming closer to the end
*Don't rush through life in hustle and bustle for enjoying the small things *in life are truly pleasures *
But I need to sit back and relax and enjoy life and it's pleasures.
How can it be
that you can have everything
and still want more?
Am I greedy when I ask
"is there anything else?"
How can it be
that the ties of friendship
can be undone?
Are they not elastic?
Aren't they impervious
to the ever-shifting sands of time
that weather meeker men
down to disassociated
piles of dust?
How can it be
that you can plant roots
that spread and intertwine themselves,
seemingly immune to any upward motion,
just to pluck them from the ground
that nurtured them for years
and place them somewhere
unlike anything they've ever known?
How can it be
that the world can hold so many secrets
and yet our instincts tell us
to discover the truth?
No secret was ever discovered
by trusting a single source;
like the threads of a dream-catcher,
we entangle ourselves in multiple realms
to capture what we seek.
I don't know which face means more:
the smiling ones
that coax me into song, and folly,
and memories as precious as time,
or the one blemished with melancholy
as it stares back at me
knowing there's so much more.
How can it be
that we have an imagination
as wide as the universe,
and yet we never dare
to find the borders?
K. R. Dalton
It happened in the car.
You said something
With no words at all.
A simple phrase simply not stated
Left us both unabated.
flash, lightning crashed.
In the words your thoughts lashed.
Seemingly unexpected, surreal.
Love's storm neglected to feel
The calm composure of a couple
In a moment so presently past.
Sewn so tightly in quilts of security
Our threads, silence understanding seams.
Only Momentarily, singularly unhemmed.
Crack roars thunder in our ears.
passion's seams unscathed.
Woven seemingly anew
Bared skin of the two.
The moment ablaze.
Red and blue have been blasting through my door
roaring and romping a mighty chorus
stomping through my days
both dying to feel me up
I feel hardy when they love
but they are not mine to keep.
They come to me as scarves and scales
as patches to post over my bodies
muddy and weak
myself to be seen.
These colors flash secrets of superficiality
savor the feeling of severed psyche
with puzzlingly pieced anatomy.
Blue boiling with my boyhood
my mind over smooth shoulders swells.
I stand beside my dad - his sharp eyes teach me
the game of absorption and receiving.
His eyes trap a moment
hold it up by its collar
(look dad, no hands!)
collecting hidden tokens
flipping them in his fingers
a trophy of bladed knowledge.
But my father is color blind.
He does not know which threads to cut
when I plead
help me detangle
they linger tease and deride
tugging and pulling at my heart
the pieces may come apart
sometimes they don't transpire
yet they keep me ......
my creative thoughts......
Hang on threads
In my brain
Nagging just annoying me
Knotting and tangling up
In tight knots causing
Normal feelings that got me
......nope not me ....
.... I'm Just....
We held hands in the dark
When we couldn’t find another hand to hold
We sewed them together so if we ever got lost we would know that we’d never be alone
Watched the stars and the moon play peek a boo with the clouds
And we danced in the rain
Because we knew that together we were safe from the world
Each taking turns shielding each others hearts from the pain of the outside
Building walls of protection piece by piece
Promising each other the sun will rise soon
Just be patient
Because night can only last for so many days
But the stitches in our hands grew lose
And roots of bitterness grew in our hearts
And nothing seemed to be perfect anymore
As we tried to fix all the stitches at the top
The bottom ones began to fall
Threads began to fray
Leaving festering feelings of anger and hurt
We tried to ignore it all
Tried to keep it all together
But the bitterness and anger grew
If we both died would it be joint suicide
Would it be a love story that would resemble Romeo and Juliet
Or would it be a homicide
Because we found the scabs that hurt the most
And pushed until we couldn’t go anymore
We held each other
While squeezing the others vulnerable heart
Until pieces slowly began to crack
As if we were boa constrictors squeezing their prey for the next meal
Yet never actually killing the prey
But letting it suffer breathe by breathe
Yet never letting it enjoy its last few moments of life
Broken promise and broken hearts
Pain written in the clouds above
The inevitable written in the stars
It’s time to rip the last of these stitches out as if they were band aids
Let these wounds have a chance to finally heal
It’s time to let the sun rise and to see what around the next bend in the road
Because our hearts won’t heal behind these walls
And our silent murders are getting out of hand
Wash the blood off your hands and say our good byes
Because this will be the last sip of poison that I will take
We live another complication everyday,
Adding another thread to bind us.
It's been so long...
Can't move my wings, my limbs--
How did I get stuck?
Did I do this to myself?
The puppeteer is pulling too hard!
I want to move,
But I can't
I'm twisted up,
The thread is too tight;
I can feel the dread of suffocation on the horizon.
I'm trying, I'm fighting,
I want to be free!
But I can't move anymore...
The thread won't let me,
The strings are being pulled too tight--
My prison, it cuts into my skin,
I can barely breathe enough to live on...
I want this suffering to end!
I remember now,
I took the thread of my own free will!
It started that day...
When I heard them speak,
I did as they asked,
And the thread wound around me.
I didn't ask for answers and didn't speak of my questions;
I kept on going where their path lead,
And I ended up here:
Suffocated, stranded, in naïve ignorance.
Even though the puppeteer wants me to move,
Even though I can feel his anxiety to help;
He can't do a thing.
The thread has been wound too tight,
If the thread won't snap soon,
We never think about the little details, which began our journey to this instant.
We cannot see the threads that have connected us all along from the beginning.
We have been slowly braiding these strings since we were born without noticing it.
We take for granted the hearts and minds of society, which mold us into today’s being.
We ignore the domino effect of one past event, even though it could have led us elsewhere if different.
We won’t ever know that one person could have altered everything in never-ending time.
We wonder how long and far our destiny goes back to when we finally met that specific human.
We don’t stop to thank the friends who leave and stay for making us open our eyes toward fate.
We forget the grieving of the beloved buried when you and I try to commemorate everyone.
We share a childhood flashback together, a memory once unaware of one another’s existence.
We fast-forward our documentaries expecting tight knots, unplanned outcomes, and made amends.
We experience normal behaviors and are left unsatisfied craving lucidity and astral projection.
We agree on being the original kids cast out with real issues and phobias who nonsensical teens mimic nowadays.
We will only ever hear a few stories out of billions of walking narratives in this loud and silent world.
We are shocked when we conclude that we have more stories with our friends than we ever did with our lovers.
We seek independence to do what we want and have to do unlike our old friends who sacrificed and settled early.
We remember everybody we didn’t get to say goodbye to and wish we can make-up one for each of them.
We want to succeed for ourselves and for our families who are unfortunately stuck with what they got.
We realize things are only getting harder as we get older, but in our youth, we were able to handle anything.
We observe the simplicity of firework explosions because we want to be neon bright and high on happiness.
We try, try, try to remain ourselves when euphoria is lost and give something new a chance for a first opportunity.
We balance out our emotions when we determine that whatever happens, it’s meant to be for self-improvement.
We are caught off guard when all memories, good or bad, are suddenly bittersweet at last.
We decide in the end that it is better to have closure and tie loose ends rather than live as strangers and dwell unfastened.
We hope to discover an entity or someone emotional and understandable like us to end the loneliness.
We continue to strive, to witness the ghosts of morals and lessons and defeat our demons of all sorts of flaws and mistakes.
We do not regret a single choice because the idea of freedom relieves us to arrive at the junctions.
We are tested with our best and worst days to show ourselves we are worthy enough to accept reality.
We keep growing bolder, stronger, and wiser, even when we feel the opposite, to know we are still alive.
We are grateful for the past, the pain and joy, because it guided us here to the forgiving present.
We allow ourselves to become untangled for vulnerability to trust again with the right, relatable bond.
We love and hate from start to finish, from the strands of the cosmos down to the fibers of our bodies.
We think it is strange when a lifetime collapses into a moment with an image but not necessarily.
We found peace in the morning night limbo above the void and life on a place where people find the answer to death.
We ultimately unearth ourselves from acting like fragments of the universe because we come to terms that we are the universe.
Thread. Pierce. Weave.
Her leathered fingers pulling it though from one single taut line, until it forms a flowing tapestry of a quilt.
She forgets. The mail. The laundry. The casserole that burned her house down.
The threads are her memories that have been lost. Each one a moment, a place, a person.
She forgets. Their names.
These threads are the last she will weave.
Family acts as thread. The quilt that catches her as she falls farther from herself into an image as faded as the last photo of her husband.
Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread Pierce Weave.
She forgets. The quilt.
The daughter finds it, and sees a half spelled out name.
She forgets. Her name.
The daughter brings her mother her memories.
The daughter helps guiding her mother’s hand.
Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread. Pierce. Weave.
Threads become patches, patches from the cloth.
Thread. Pierce. Weave. Thread. Pierce. Weave.
Mother and daughter weave together an inheritance.
The quilt is finished, a single name. She utters the name she has been trying to find.
She remembers. Her Grandson.