Withered trees embrace the night,
Clawing up the sky reaching for the light,
Wanting to bloom, knowing it can,
Only hindered by the cold white sand.
Visions of a life superior,
Glorious, imitating his beloved senior,
An open monastery, a life giver,
A beacon of hope, a world changer.
An image broken, distorted,
Forces external, infiltrated,
Core internal, super twisted,
Original code rearranged with a wave form frequency aggressively changed.
Knowledge of who you are hidden,
From prying eye by the pryer.
Engaged in a loop of sorrow make-belief that was sold
With an eye blinding transparent fold.
A fictitious earth made by your own,
How is bloom expected from soil clone?
Pray for a rainy day to come,
To wash away such fantasy sand,
Gaze upon the world without eclipse,
Then you’ll see, the conviction of withered trees can be dismissed.
Knowledge revealed to the pryer’s eye,
Cold white sand is no more, time flies by.
I look up at the clouds.
They seem darker and closer from here but i see no hint of a silver lining atleast not from where I lie.
The water makes its way to the lake.
Crossing each others path through the many channels in the ground.
I have never really felt mud on my face.
It feels uncomfortable.
From this angle life seems different.
Rain drops hit the soil like a multitude of grenades.
It is like a spontaneous shelling causing its clueless petite guests to scamper and seek shelter as it bombards the place they call home.
It looks funny to me.
Puddles, many of them all around me.
Their origin could be from the many adventures i took with my sister.
Searching for gold, exploring the land around us and trying to escape from the pirate, one eyed Paul.
They were formerly hollow but now filled with the tears of the sky and a little bit of mine as well if i should say.
My face still lies in the uncomfortable mud.
I wonder why people buy this stuff.
I still see the water crossing each other, this time with a hint of red.
I suppose its from the blood oozing from the wound in my head made when my father whose depth perception arises from monocular cues bashed my head in with his gold knuckle buckles in his rum induced drunken rage.
But im just guessing here.
It could be from the newly painted red shed.
I am however leaning strongly to the former.
There’s a certain calmness here maybe its because im drifting into unconsciousness.
I start to grin a little because i realized i found the gold but could not escape one eyed Paul’s monocular gaze.
Holding on to hope, I look up at the clouds once again. They still seem darker and closer from here but i still see no hint of a silver lining atleast not from where i lie.
He only hoped to gain her trust,
Because he failed her in the past.
For granted he took her,
Not knowing what he had.
Causing a rip and a tear,
In her little feeble heart.
She gave him up.
Saving her little feeble heart,
For someone that would last.
Turned to love gained,
To love ignored,
Then came the pain.
Life is perspective
Each angle maybe deceptive
Whats real, whats fake?
Afford not to make a mistake.
Because a life is given to each of us
A one way trip a one way bus
With love and questionable fear of existence all inclusive
Our goal is to reach actualization, this should be nonelusive.
Key events in life and death
Our journey through it all till our last breath
Is filled with aspirations, emotionality and conflict
This is the human condition, just in a gist.
The human condition
As confusing as an oddly shaped prism
We wear different masks as coping mechanism
Putting up a facade, like we understand this thing called life
We are only living in denial and waking up with strife.
However, there’s an answer to this condition
Acceptance is my solution
Acceptance of who you really are
Not just a person but Gods very own star
Acceptance of the world we live in
That its not just hate but also love and alot of giving
We have a purpose for living.
Remember, we are not scars on earth
But stars bursting with worth.
A fitting description to my shadowy self
An individual part of me
Unleashed when it needs to be
Free.. it wants to be free
To do the things that oppose me.
However its kept at bay
Even to this day
Deprived of even the sun’s rays
I keep it dormant, never to even have a say.
It is however my dark passenger
Growing stronger in the dark, waiting like a scavenger
For a moment of weakness, a steer to misadventure
To be the head, to be the manager.
Wanting me to yield to its will
Like a thousand pills it seeks to kill
My soul it seeks to fill
my destiny to control and seal.
An unruly parasite
Feeding on my dark desires and unjustified rights
My dark passenger, a hyde to my jekyll, an intangible presence with a palpable narcissistic need for reverence.
Festering inside of me
Its Odyssey is to be free.
Complexed with my fate, this question has to be
Am i to end its journey with me
Or live in complete harmony ?
With it in me and i in it
In a state of complete balance, in a perfect fit?
So riddle me this all who have tamed it.
The loss of you who is thought not to be truth, has become the true you, even in the absence of its truth?