I hear the notes, I hear the noise, I know the path I go. I lose myself to song, this art that travels through my soul.
I listen to the noise, standing among the notes. I see them move, I see them shift, the sound does surround and the single light does grow, a candle in the dark, the path to walk is shown.
I follow the path, through places new and old. Through the stories others have told, with note and noise and beaten path, to show the listener down which path to go. I travel the woods, fly through the sky, I know this story, though it’s not my own.
The noise does stop, the song does end, the story told but I yearn for it all the more.
So I turn the volume up, and continue down the path I know, while I start the song again.
Yesterday gone, tomorrow not promised, see the world as it is rather than for what its not. See the shine, the glitter and the glow, and the rotten, the withered and the old, realize the bile, the bitter and the broken but rejoice in the shining, the golden, the gilded. See the beauty, the wonder in both, and find a point between that light, find a place that borders that night, and hold on to that now, that present place you make with everything you are, will all you have, for that might be truly all you get, for life is fleeting and life is fast but it’s ugly and beautiful and nothing so wondrous can ever truly last.
I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants. Crazed and insane I begin my descent into truly the deranged maligning my own mind with millions of multitudes of reiterated regrets, the reiteration being read in this chorus of crazed chants, the chanting continues and I fall forever forward faster and faster freely flowing towards forgetting the ranting reiteration of the millions of multitudes of unforgotten regrets the rant receding back into the reiterated chorus of a thousand crazed chants. The chanting continues crashing into a crushing crescendo of a multitude of minds that hide meandering miserably inside my own mind with rending wretched remorse that returns me to the rant that awful reiteration of my own wretched nature that leads me back to reading the reiteration of my own rending in rants that simply returns to that chorus of crazed chants that marks the beginning of the cycle going from crazed to deranged the circular psychosis perfected in permanence, the rending repeating with each reiteration as the chorus of crazed chants continues to carry on, the crushing crescendo flowing forth faster and faster as I fall forever. I often reiterate my rending in rants, reading the reiteration in a chorus of crazed chants.
There is a music, a kind of symphony that plays inside the mind.
This music crescendos from time to time and the notes at this point reach a true harmony.
This moment happens but rarely, and for some never at all, but this is the soul of the world, telling you that you have found where you belong.
I need the voices to leave me alone.
I’m sick of all the screaming, I’m sick of the clawing cloying creatures clamoring for clarity.
I’m tired of trodding through trenches that tremble and shake such screaming sirens to saunter through a sick and soiled psyche.
I’m sick of all the screaming, the creatures crying and clamoring, the screaming and the smoke and all the pain between, I’m tired of a scratchy skull and smoldering soul. I’m just so, so tired…please, please let the voices for once leave me alone…let me be so so for once silence might be known.
I would sleep if not for fear of dreaming.
It is not terrors that I avoid by leaving open my eyes. No, it is smiles and light and that feeling that avoids me in waking lands.
That warmth I’ve never known, that care for me that has never been shown. I fear the good seemings, those wonderful dreamings.
That is what leaves me awake and with a fear of sleep.
The idea of knowing a lover that was and might never be, a ghost that I’ll never again see.
That is why I won’t rest my eyes for even a short while, as to know that warmth and smile and lose it so fast.
It fills me mind, body, and soul, with not but rot and bile.
I see upon a tree leaf green, a speck of a stranger hue, a stranger color, something truly new.
That stranger speck that strange new hue, brighter than Autumn’s red, bolder than Autumn gold, it glittered in that strange Fall dawn and was something few would be brave enough to know.
I did dare to see, I did dare to find that color so new and so strange, and it filled my sight and filled my eyes and wet my weary and parched soul.
Now if only I could, if I only I will find that stranger hue, that stranger color, bolder than an Autumn gold and brighter than I brightest crimson. If only I could find that stranger hue, that stranger color I never could say I knew.
Oh to show the world what that green leaf did share that day, something so bold and bright and new. Wouldn’t that be something bold to do?
Truly something to brave, the task to share something so strange and so new on that Autumn dawning, that fall day, oh to be so bold, it indeed would be something new.