Gadiaseite ~ gad-EEE-ah-site ~ NOUN Definition: The great abyss of the empty page, a wishing well with churning waters so deep you can't see the bottom—only the shimmer of coins shine through, entwined with the efforts of past attempts—you can recover the wishes but only if you hold your breath and dive into the unknown waters.
Etymology: Derived from the Latin word Gaida meaning waiting and the German word Seiten meaning pages.
whenever i write i have to write the title last. i am never sure where my story is going to go and i don't want a title holding me back from writing whatever i want. i guess sometimes people don't realize just how limiting a title can be.
You don’t have to do that babe: Getting gussied up to go out and get groped by the grotesque ghosts and goblins that turn the green grass brown and the blue skies gray. Just stay here and smoke with me and lounge around in the haze of your dying potential, But take comfort in knowing that your demise is only eventual.
Let's just munch the leaves and drop the eaves and pet the peeves And reject the difficult and embrace the sensual. Then maybe when we've grown old and burdened from the waves of regret residual, We can be like Romeo and Juliet and end the physical.
The darkness beckons like an aborted child full of possibilities never explored. Potential never reached. Heights never teached. Things never speeched. But life goes on thrashing like a rude animal, desperately devouring all in its path with no end in sight, and no table manners. Trembling slowly, my hand reaches into the abyss for a drop of light to comfort my flickering life force. The only channel of hope that now rushes with the ferocity of a dying turtle, with no home to speak of.
TICK TOCK, click clack, the only sounds that remind me that reality never shuts off. Where’s the remote?
It was never invented.
My shadows play dead to my consciousness, never there to teach me my concrete lessons.
So I scratch my bed stings, reminders of my past, itches of my present, and marks in my future.
The fade to black is my only resolution.
The gavel sounds and I pinch myself, hoping it’s a dream, no it’s just a scheme, ultralight beam?
I just want you to understand where I'm coming from. I tell you time and time again that you have to change. I'm willing to be your motivation, but first you have to weigh in, work on yourself, be the best that you can be. Your immaturity is hindering. Please stop the life your leading. Don't be another statistic. A young black man, so much potential left unkept. I just want to see you thrive. One day you'll look back and understand, but right now you lack the capacity to comprehend.
At spawn of first light Darkness embarks into the recesses of hibernation And so begins the blinding incline, the inevitable blonde coiled wreaths frustration is on the rise forces a discharge so multiple and emanate, the skyward black shrinks back from panoptic reaches, into a delinquent weakened rumor
When this daily task of ridding the black ends a victor The climb continues upward in a high sky setting Consequential over the mornings painstaking labors Wiping from his brow, in a waving motion To release mists over global hydration
By welcoming this morning dew, the earth is one more day new and can take great relief in this rebirth Assuring all parched famine will gain resolve taking in their absolve
What Came to me after several bouts with patience Was wave of relief, not by myself alone, it takes more than the love of ourselves, I had to feel a distant presence to be reawakened