Why pursue what we
Time takes everything away
Including this body
What time can not sweep away
Is our original nature
The God Self
Had forgotten to fall,
Winter slept-through its season,
It didn't hear Autumn's
Winter was oblivious
To the Earth's changing position
With regard to the sun,
This was made completely obvious
When the likes of Spring
Was well and truly
Over and done,
Before it had even begun.
By Lady R.F. (C)2017
How easy it is to paint people
With one color,
With one broad brush.
Over time the various
Colors on your palette
Swirl together to form globs
And now your monochrome
Judgement renders your world
A bleak, barren desert of ashes.
No longer do you see the world and its
People in its colorful splendor.
Some become acclimated to this dulled
Perception that has taken hold.
A perception that dominates the
Senses and gradually turns the brain
Into gray mush.
Undead they become, starving creatures
With the urge to devour.
No empathy. No compassion. No feeling.
Others, thankfully, know better.
Palettes must be cleansed regularly,
Layers of dried, crusted paint scraped off
Then fresh paint is restored.
Fresh perspectives, encounters, and knowledge
Passed down by the models to the artist.
Yes, we are artists.
We paint the world as we deem fit,
Plastering on others one’s own
Values, morals, and ideals.
But the true masters of this craft go beyond,
Discerning the vast spectrum of colors
That compose a human soul.
But that takes time.
Years of experience and keen observation.
And I go on looking
for the one to touch places never touched before,
a hundred years of loneliness for one day in her arms
(a day in the realm of time another hundred years)
And you go on looking
for the one that holds the other missing part
and will chart all his dreams on a map of your heart
(only part of your dreams as you carry his half)
And we go on looking
never finding roads leading straight to each other
as we share the same sky and walk the same earth
(only twice, once for you and once for me)
our dreams run aground, our rivers run dry
our search for each other, no hello, no goodbye
parallel akin paths never meet one another-
you and i
we'll move on
and forget all of this.
and maybe we'll even
find whatever it was that
we were looking for elsewhere.
why it ended the way it did.
but what we had
was precious and it'll
always exist somewhere.
in dying leaves and
the silences we shared
and maybe, the moon too.
I dwell alone here,
a prisoner within
my own mind and life,
encumbered in burdensome
shackles of my own invention,
locked restraints of self-delusion
to which solely I possess the keys.