Wednesday, June 18, 2014
All those dreaded hopeful expected things...
Thunderous applause, doth break upon the nighttime skies.
Broken, the rags of time and space release a stench of knowing decay,
One cannot glean from another's mind even a slight stench of their reeking thoughts within a life of time.
I hear I keep you back from your dreams, I stand upon them, a distant memory.
I hear I hold the hand of time, and disrupt your midnight peace of not mine,
I listen to the shaking nighttime breeze, as it whirs around my windows and downs the innocent birds,
They tweet indignation and ignorance prior their swift swift swift unbegotten fall,
They ask the wind why it seeks to leave.
The wind replies their wings push it down. It does not desire to keep in their feathers the breath of life.
I stare now into the dark sunlight. The darkness covers the sun,
And I remember years ago the comfort your presence brought,
And the excitement of your fickle life breath.
You say I hold you back. Or perhaps you wish I would jealously react.
Maybe you seek my disapproval or a reaction of some kind, for you strain against time's distant reign.
You say I hold you back, with my dripping distant once memories,
Yet all that remains is a shadow of a ghostly apparition.
I search but find only hints of your foot-and-finger-prints.
They only show up within my mind. All other evidence is with you, once almost dear.
They say I hold you back a bit, perhaps you wish it were not so.
They say I whisper in your mind, in dreams you have long forgotten to ask yourself to renounce.
And when I ignore you, they say you call out, and demand I not forget what once was a dream of fallen life.
The birds fall perilously toward the ground.
They beg the wind not to take their lives. The wind upon which they once did soar higher than the heaven's heights.
If you desire freedom, I do not hold you back. My memories though they fade, are but that.
The long forgotten almost hope I once found comfort in with you.
Ahead of me is life, and I doubt I see your shadow within my path.
All these dreadful hopeful expected things; All these fading memories;
Ahead I walk into the sun, and the falling birds do find their wings, as a second later the deadly wind does die, and another wind does lift their wings, birds are creatures of aspirating hope.