Aspirations
April 22, 2011

The heart and the soul are indeed tender matters.
If I were to say that I put forth all of my spirit into that which I do,
it would differ greatly from pouring monstrous strength, practice, effort, or skill into a task.
It will not suffice to simply write off emotions as such.
They carry such a weight as well as a healing hand which can either break or mend someone.
Those who claim to have experienced the extent of an exercised heart or soul are wrong.
The yearning that is required, the distant outcry for something unobtainable,
the starving blood thirst for internal satisfaction,
that which I, myself do not yet know, and am merely able to speak of due to my unusual reflection.
I should say for us all to stick to mere movements for now.
Build steps here and there, crumble foundations occasionally,
this is how one should practice in order to one day know of the heart and soul,
and should that day arrive all too soon,
one will not feel complete, but a stinging emptiness,
the resounding echo of being bare handed.
For I truly believe that the heart and the soul are the wielders who hold us tools in their hands.

Your Life as a Poem
March 24, 2011

If I could write a poem that would touch the world, I would.
If it could reach out beyond the paper and touch your face, then it should.
Something so surreal, that it's like a scene from a movie brought to life.
It embodies all your struggles and your strife.

Your life on paper, written as a poem.
Since you can see it, how does it look?
Does the poem talk about your home?
Does it tell your life story like an open book?

Do you like what you see?
What would reading your poem say about you to me?
If your poem reaches out to you, what would you do?
Would you be content and let it sit on a shelf, or be concerned and try to change yourself?

Since the poem's still unfinished, it's up to you to write the next line.
It belongs to no one else - your own unique design.

Do you wonder where it should start or how it will end?
Or have you already made up your mind?
I trust that you know who you really are, somewhere deep, down, inside.

This is my poem that I have shown.
Now it is your turn to write your own.

There comes a time when
February 28, 2011

At least in my life, there comes a time when I have to make a decision, which to other people might not seem that big of a deal, or might seem wrong, or like something I don't actually support.  However, everyone else might not really understand my reasoning or might just think it is dumb or over-emotional.

But can you honestly say that you've never felt like you have an influence on people who matter to you?  I mean, what if you could take this hypothetical scenario where: you give up something that you like - no really enjoy, but were originally content living without - a really long time ago, before you changed.  And by giving this up, you have a chance of getting your friends to do the same.  Even if its only a slight chance, would you choose it, hoping that they'd follow in your footsteps?  Even if it means sacrificing the new, possibly better you.  The you that finally fits in and is 'normal,' and that is actually looked up for being so good at this something.  The you that has so much fun, when in the more recent past, it seemed like you could never be happy ever again.

I mean, what if they mattered to you that much.  Do you think that they'd understand and support you?  Would they really appreciate their efforts?  But then again, even if they don't, at least you can say you tried, in a non-cop-out kind of way.  and plus, you're arguably better off for having made the choice anyways, since now you have the old you back.

If those who I'm talking about read this, I doubt you'd know what I'm talking about, or recognize that it applies to you.  But I've made up my mind on the spur of the moment.  I'm so sorry, but it's over.  I just want to be Wynn again, the me that was so innocent and laughed at, but taken seriously.  And I want you all to be the old you's as well.  As fun as these days are, and as much as I want them to continue on again.  As much as I don't want to grow up now - this early, and I want to keep the image of what we Thought was older and more mature a couple years ago.  I am definitely not ready for this, but I feel like its better now than never.  So again, I say that it's over.

You won't notice for a while, but that's alright.  I know that it'll come sooner or later, I don't doubt it.

Poem on Thanksgiving. =]
November 24, 2010

Bombs tick-tick-tocking in my mind.
Clocks click-clocking in the sky.
Motion rock-rocking all around me.
Eyes stalk-stalking the shadow.
Sound talk-talking from the ground.
Obstacles block-block-blocking the next stage.

So loud I can’t count down to the final explosion.
Please help me, I’m running out of time.
Time, being a lost concept built on fears.
My fears have become more than just a notion.
They are all set into motion.
It’s a commotion.
I’m reaching up for some calm, some land, some shelter.
But I just get the rage and fury of drowning in the ocean.
I’m caught swept in a torrent.
Its abhorrent.
How detestable this is, I’d rather beg for silence.
But if you suppress noise with silence, what good can come of it?
Aren’t you just manufacturing a new bomb?
A bomb made of new fears.
New fears created by this absence of noise.

So which is better, when you fear both: noise and silence?
Perhaps neither is ideal, when all they do is negate and null your existence.
Dare to ascend, to transcend, to begin, to become something better, higher, different.
Reach the next new stage of being, void of sound, and silence absent.
Simply a state of nothingness but everything at the same time, but with time being gone as well.
What is it?
Something which is unobtainable, not understandable, never tangible.
Unimaginable.