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Mathew Anderson Nov 2018
I tried. I really did. I had the dream in my grasp:                                                           ­      
it was there for me to accomplish.                                                      ­
But I let go. Now it has withered away.                                    
Nothing mattered.          
But why? I did everything right.

Do not sulk in the corner, things will get better.                                                          ­                                               Try.                                                             ­                                             
Try again. Your long trek through  the dark tunnel will find a light.

"You're useless.  Why even try?                                                      
You'll just end up in the heap again."
So I try again…

Again.                                                   ­                                                 
God, why do you forsake me so? Why is my dream not meant to be true?                                                            ­                                    
Perhaps it is time to lay down my sword  and live the simple life.

No. Never accept it when the dark tells you to give up.                       
You have it in you. If you give up, that dream will forever be lost in the mists of time, never to be remembered.

Finally. I have done it.                                                              ­           
The many times I let go,                                                              ­         
this time I held it tight. I griped the edge of the cliff I would have fallen from, and now I have reached the top. Now my dreams are here.       

I know now: failure will always be with you, that parasite.          
But you have to fight it's influence.                                              
"You'll never succeed," it'll say.

But you're special.

Remember:

Try, fail, repeat: Success!
Mathew Anderson Jul 2018
I wake up: the sun lights up my day.                                         
Another day this prison; a place where I do not belong. As I open my eyes, it is the same as the day before:                      
these creatures on two legs gawp and point at me.                    
These 'things' wear extra skin on top of their normal skin.        
Why do they do this?

To start the day, I walk around. There is not enough space.               
I take a step and I'm in the corner. I feel thirsty, so I drink.           
But the water is murky and barely tastes natural. Polluted.       
There is little to do in the cage. So I sit around or walk about. Same as every day.                           
The only other thing to do is to let the watchers stare.                 
Some shine bright lights into my eyes. Blindness. My vision hurts. 
Some want to pet me. Little cubs reaching out.                             
Their faces are innocent, but I do not trust them.                         
Later on I get fed. The only good part of my day.                        
Good food.Yet I hunger every day.

I hear from the other prisoners about paradise. At night I visit it. Open areas where I can jump and run as I please.                
Freedom is gifted to me.                                                              ­          
No murky water. No two legged,                                                
clothed watchers to bother me every time I desire peace. Blue skies. No fences. Oh how I want to breathe fresh air, to see the promised land.

But freedom is miles away.

My entire life has been a prison.                                                          ­    
I ask the watchers: Why?                                                             ­      
Why do you imprison us? Why the cages?                                   
What have we ever done to you?                                                             ­                                       
Did we hurt you? No: but you hurt us.                                          
Every day is torture.                                                         ­                   

You crush me.

I wake. I drink. I watch. I sleep. I dream. Promised land.    
Promised land. Promised…
Mathew Anderson May 2018
It is a tiny speck in the enormous ocean.

A single father surrounded by his family.                                                          ­                                                

Each one is different from one another.

The closest one is so hot,                                                             ­            
if a man stood on it he becomes a pile of dust.

Number two; Hell.                                                            ­               
Death covers this place with lava                                                     
Once living, now desolate.

The third one: a blue and green canvas,                                            
the only one of its kind. It is home to life itself: everything living, all under a great design.                                                          ­                                  
Nothing compares.

Red is the blood of Mars. If life once lived here, it has gone sterile. This world holds the key to Man's survival.

With enough moons to make multiple rises at night,              
Jupiter's own. The clouds there are thicker than the thickest pea soup. One great spot penetrates from his huge face.

A ball with one great hula hoop made of rocks around its waist. One may say: it is the jewel of the solar system.

Neptune is the Roman god of the sea made whole. 
Blue.                                                            ­                                                  
Gaze upon it from a star-ship, and marvel at its complex beauty.

The second last one. Number seven                                                            ­        
It lies on the wrong side of the bed.

Reach the end, a tiny world.                                                           ­     
He is the runt of this litter.  Stand on it and you'll probably see the other planets of which Pluto is the odd one out.                           
Once a time he was part of the class, but is now expelled.
Mathew Anderson May 2018
The greatest thing you will ever have.

Not like coffee. Not too bitter, tangy or sour on the tongue

There are two ways to drink it: hot or cold.

When it is hot, life is your lobster.
You can achieve anything.
A swallow, and a warm touch lights your stomach.
Like a pat on the shoulder from God.
You'll want to get up in the morning.
Courage is your friend.
No bad thoughts, just luck.
A cup of self confidence and assurance to banish the sorrows.
Anything you dream, with a little hard work, can and will happen.

If you get it cold; misery strikes.
That voice tells:
"Life is a cruel *****. It'll throw you aside.
Why do you bother...? You're dreams are stupid."
Hell: the cold, disgusting feeling on the tongue.

Do you want that?

Fancy a cup?
Mathew Anderson Apr 2018
When you visit the Highlands: go to the place with enough mountains to widen the eyes.

Scotland’s precious: Cairngorms.
Many a traveller comes along for these sights.                                                          ­                                      

Rolling grass fields are its skin, the trees its hair and bristles.      
Look with your eyes, and feast on the banquet of wild all around; all you can gaze.                                                            ­                        

On the top of everything are white tops that hardly melt.  A touch of winter left behind.

If one has enough patience, you may see a beast, big or small.                                                           ­                                                 
Squirrels in the trees; nuts. A herd of deer: does, fragile and docile.                            
Or perhaps a buck, strong for his herd.              
Ruler of the sky: the mighty eagle,                                                   
who catches his supper from the water.                                        
Lucky enough and you may find a wildcat; a rare find.

Bogs are what soak the land,                                                            ­      
as are the bonnie lochs, ice cold water from which mysteries emerge.
Mathew Anderson Apr 2018
From the moment the world brought me out: I was unusual.                                                         ­                                               

I started normal: The same routine as the others.

But when I turned the age of five, that’s  when life moulded me.  My hands were a flutter, always making moves  no person would want in a conversation. I spoke words that were directed at someone invisible.

People were aliens to me: I could not play or even talk with other children;  the corner of my mind was the world I understood.                 
Whole hours spent on a screen with no outside touch.                                                           ­                                             

When I didn't get everything, or forced to do what I saw new, my eyes became rivers.                                                          ­                        
A simple relative's departure made me cry a crocodile's tears.

Oh, how my mother tried to calm my 'extraordinary' traits, but no avail came.

The day came for the higher place of learning, and still I was the odd one out. I do something weird; the other students would make the stares of God's judgement.                                                 
For most of life's great plan, I was a ripple in the water. Other people were still a mystery, like a haunting in my brain.

Now: things are different. My companions are numerous, and my family loving, more than ever.                                                           
­God was patient, and the reward was that I can control my behaviour;  the spell that took over me  before.                                         

Life is a beauty.

Everyone is different; one individual is a stranger to another.   
Your emotions are different, the personality is unusual.             
Even what you like is a missing clue in the grand scheme.                                                          ­                                            

Me: I started out different. That's still the case to this day.

But now I am one of life's greatest examples of change.                     
I am what I am, always have been.                                                            ­                                              

Take it or leave it with you.

— The End —