Thursday, July 28, 2005

An Heir To A Thought

Many clouds spoke to me, saying that the rain had dried up. A surprise was asked of me, but I found none waiting. The moon spoke of long ago, when the dew used to reside on the earth, it being the nurturing force in which all drank from. Where did all the birds go, they roaming the heavens looking for shelter from the coldness that follows the weary traveler. How long do I wait for the rain, or should I pack and head for another realm in the universe, free from the chains that enslave them so. A frog told me that he was dyeing, and If I wanted to save him I would have to go on a journey for the nectar of the soil. I ask him where this nectar was, and he did not answer. Seeing how lost I was I thought for a long moment, and then the answer came to me. Happy that I had found it I ran to the frog, only to find that he was dead, his insides being eaten by a strange plaque. I feel into despair, of not being able to provide for this little frog, so what hope do I have for any of my presumed species. A sharp ray glimmered past my eye, it being frozen in time as a revealer of the past presents that have made up the existance that I have known. In this ray was the reflections of people and places that I have encountered, they all having frowns upon there face as they look at me with dim eyes. I told them to seek themselves first before seeking my faults, but they would not listen. It is always this way I suppose. The sky looks so soft and peaceful today, as if not knowing the desolation of ourselves they reside below it, turmoil that we create alone, out of misplaced boredom, I wish I had this type of ignorance, but unfortunately I am fully aware. Joy spoke to me in a dream, but then spit upon me and vanished by day, silly joy, playing like it does with us, filling us halfway, then poking a hole to drain us.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

What is it?

The threads of the future streaks to the horizon of forgotten fate, seeing this before the sun stimulates the imagination of the past of tomorrow. Will the darkness forget the light altogether? Or is the dust of yesterday before the mind only. A man told me a riddle today, but it was forgotten on the trivial speech of the clown like children that roam the desert looking for scraps of buzzards. Cold desolate matter emanating from the ground of breaking hearts, slowly seeping into the gashes of the mind. Did you say to me the things of the past, or is my hearing slightly disrupted? I think not on the negative aspects of life without reason, for they are abundant and imprint themselves into the soul as daggers. Young child so soft, but hardened by the life of strangers, is this the fate of all, or just the lonely bagabon under the briges? " I care for you' they say, but then proceed to ingest the inside of the emotions. Soft spoken words appease my soul, they are forgotten though by the incandescent memories of the pain that follows them. What does the poet speak? Or do his words remain hidden as they should, for if they where truly understood many would hunt him, to kill him, for revealing the fermented poison that bubbles forth from them. Of course the journey is short, and nothing really matters in the end. For what do we really own, or posses, or care for, but nothing. It is all lost on confusions. So I say what I feel, and still the prison cell awaits me. Honesty is only as important as the one in which you are talking too. This of course is fallacy, for with some honesty is the only importance. I wait for my sentencing with dullness in heart, for I have been on trail before, and have always been found quilty by one that does not fully see me. Oh the unjust trails that lay before us all, and to what end do they claim us, only as far as it is convenient to them, for themselves have looked into the mirror of self revealing with shame and loathing, only to see the self that they truly know and fear to realize.