Jan 2013
I sometimes wonder how a home can at one moment feel like one and then at the next be completely devoid and decrepit of any homeliness. Is it the emptiness within myself that does this or is it simply just a broken home?
The window beside me provides my eyes with a somewhat bittersweet beauty that in many ways, reflects what I feel inside: the trees are traced with white linens and shades of red-browns and greens, they seem to mingle well with the thin layers of snow that cover their branches.
This window, this scenery is my only solace now; my one and only confidant. No one else seems to be around, it’s just me and the few flurries that linger in it’s transparent frame. To the touch, the window is cold, much like the way I feel, with the exception of my hunger. Though, my hunger, a physical matter, a need, I find it’s insatiable appetite extend out to regions far removed from food or water, it begs for mercy, for company, for a quality of care that only a mother or lover could provide, but my life has been bare of all these things just as the trees outside are now without compassion.
A new beginning is coming and I am leaving what I know behind in hope to find something other than the fruitless views of my second-story solitary. I've heard from writers and actors alike that some people are meant to just live their lives riverside with just their thoughts and land to look after, and that some are meant to be artists…there are others who hear music all their lives and live by it, I on the other hand am one of those people who pray they have the strength to start all over again.
It’s hard to accept that all I've ever done has not and will not come back around to serve me, if anything at all, my actions have been degenerative. I've seen my life go from light to pitch black darkness. I've walked along righteous paths before and without ever really understanding what kind of mistake I’d be making, have walked right off into the wild brush with no sense of where I was going or how I was getting there. My needs then were simple and selfish. For years drugs, *****, "good times" and women, bars and nightclubs all became more of concern than they should have been; they ****** the life right out of me and to this day those mistakes trail behind me. Even as I look into the mirror they work themselves into my frame of mind as I see my own two eyes glaring back not truly understanding what is standing before it.
It is a sad and cold story just like this window frame and the frozen rain behind its seemingly placid transparency. Soon though, spring will present a fortuitous rebirth and maybe then, just maybe the view from this window will be more vibrant, fervent, and abounding with both warmth and life.
The window beside me provides my eyes with a somewhat bittersweet beauty that in many ways, reflects what I feel inside: the trees are traced with white linens and shades of red-browns and greens, they seem to mingle well with the thin layers of snow that cover their branches.
This window, this scenery is my only solace now; my one and only confidant. No one else seems to be around, it’s just me and the few flurries that linger in it’s transparent frame. To the touch, the window is cold, much like the way I feel, with the exception of my hunger. Though, my hunger, a physical matter, a need, I find it’s insatiable appetite extend out to regions far removed from food or water, it begs for mercy, for company, for a quality of care that only a mother or lover could provide, but my life has been bare of all these things just as the trees outside are now without compassion.
A new beginning is coming and I am leaving what I know behind in hope to find something other than the fruitless views of my second-story solitary. I've heard from writers and actors alike that some people are meant to just live their lives riverside with just their thoughts and land to look after, and that some are meant to be artists…there are others who hear music all their lives and live by it, I on the other hand am one of those people who pray they have the strength to start all over again.
It’s hard to accept that all I've ever done has not and will not come back around to serve me, if anything at all, my actions have been degenerative. I've seen my life go from light to pitch black darkness. I've walked along righteous paths before and without ever really understanding what kind of mistake I’d be making, have walked right off into the wild brush with no sense of where I was going or how I was getting there. My needs then were simple and selfish. For years drugs, *****, "good times" and women, bars and nightclubs all became more of concern than they should have been; they ****** the life right out of me and to this day those mistakes trail behind me. Even as I look into the mirror they work themselves into my frame of mind as I see my own two eyes glaring back not truly understanding what is standing before it.
It is a sad and cold story just like this window frame and the frozen rain behind its seemingly placid transparency. Soon though, spring will present a fortuitous rebirth and maybe then, just maybe the view from this window will be more vibrant, fervent, and abounding with both warmth and life.
