uncomfortable
Peace of mind is lacking these days,
There was a time when thoughts would invade my head, charging out of reflective waters of my past. Mellowing my soul and ebbing the tides of woe.
With the brightening dawn, I would cleanse my mind and body
with trident hot waters showering upon me. Locking away any rays of light,
the darkness trapped my thoughts inside. As the beads trumpeted down,
Stabbing my fears away. A thick lather would do the rest. One wipe away.
These days, however, the tides do not come to bay. The light lurches in uninvited, unlocking my fears to bare amok. The beads trickle like shy school children sheepishly venturing out, fear-stricken. The trumpets sound of leaky pipes, clogged with despair. My soul knows not where to rest, for it has been abandoned, imprisoned with doubt. The lather is temporary, for the world outside my swiss-bubble invites a dreaded heat. The only beads are formed of my own odors, they too seek refuge.
My nights are spent searching for sanctuary, a modest peace. A temporary hum of laughter or pleasure. My soul is nowhere to be found, hidden, and coy from the consequential woes endemic to my world. I hope to create. But hope is dim these days. Can't even count to anything, my vision is near sighted. Spectacles purchased of second-hand black market. Unreliable and still.
There was a time when thoughts would invade my head, charging out of reflective waters of my past. Mellowing my soul and ebbing the tides of woe.
With the brightening dawn, I would cleanse my mind and body
with trident hot waters showering upon me. Locking away any rays of light,
the darkness trapped my thoughts inside. As the beads trumpeted down,
Stabbing my fears away. A thick lather would do the rest. One wipe away.
These days, however, the tides do not come to bay. The light lurches in uninvited, unlocking my fears to bare amok. The beads trickle like shy school children sheepishly venturing out, fear-stricken. The trumpets sound of leaky pipes, clogged with despair. My soul knows not where to rest, for it has been abandoned, imprisoned with doubt. The lather is temporary, for the world outside my swiss-bubble invites a dreaded heat. The only beads are formed of my own odors, they too seek refuge.
My nights are spent searching for sanctuary, a modest peace. A temporary hum of laughter or pleasure. My soul is nowhere to be found, hidden, and coy from the consequential woes endemic to my world. I hope to create. But hope is dim these days. Can't even count to anything, my vision is near sighted. Spectacles purchased of second-hand black market. Unreliable and still.
Labels: reflections
posted by Kurt | 8/03/2007 06:40:00 AM
2 Comments:
i hope you are better now
*lol @ ethel
What exactly does one write in reply to a post like this?
"Gee, man. Sucks that your soul has been imprisoned with doubt. Who knows, maybe those beads will come a-trumpetin' back." :)
Poor Ethel read the post and was in a quandary:
What should I say? I've gotta say something; it's just downright impolite not to. Should I beg him not to commit suicide?
Her first draft worked out to something mildly poetic:
Ere such knowledge of woe,
such purchase of the ear,
coldly while it list'n to cries so distant and melancholy,
And unto it, bearing the icy torment of the gnarled word.
But after a few hours on the editing room floor (with some selective and thoughtful cutting), wound up with:
i hope you are better now
Which is, I'm proud to say, exactly what I would have posted had she not beaten me to it.
Get better man.
Get really, really better. :)
- Voyce of Betterment
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