Tipping, Tapping, Don’t be Caught Napping

Tipping, tapping, tipping, tapping, don’t be the one that is caught napping.

They’ll snatch you up and eat your soul. Slough off your flesh and devour you whole.

Then you’ll awake and wipe a sweat drenched brow and think to your self just a dream nothing more, nothing less, just idle thoughts tipping, tapping at my minds door nothing more, nothing less.

Tell me my friend, how does that comfort sit when you pull your hand back and see the blood on your clenched fist?

How does it rest with a throat torn raw from the screams of hell,  that idea that whilst you were napping it was only just nightmares  tipping, tapping, at your minds door?

I’ll say it again and I’ll speak no more, I’ll not be the one napping as they tip and tap upon my door. It’s never just a dream, or at least that’s my fear.

Because quite truly friend, while it is a dream, and it might be less.

There is a chance, a slim belief, that those tipping and tapping at your mind’s open door, might indeed be something, not less.

But quite dreadfully more.

Distant Star

And there upon the evening star sat upon those lips ever far, a smile.

Despite the distance that smile did make that evening star so bright, and yet upon the dawn that star did dim.That smile so far, so distant and however bright, did mourn the unimpeachable grasp of time, that length of space between revealed within the sun’s cruel light.

My friend so cared for that evening star, ever watching from upon the far, far off shores of home, I offered friendship, comfort to both, for that distance, that length between his dear evening star and the shores of home.

The tyranny of that space between, the grasp upon their love, it never did cause their love to wax or wane despite the weight upon their hearts.

It made me wonder, it made me wish, if ever I were to find an evening star of my own; would I give my all despite the distance, between that far off smile, and these distant shores of home?

I’m Sorry I Sorrow So

Tired of sorrow so I’m sorry I sorrow so, I never meant to worry you, climbing so high I never thought to fall at all.

I’m tired of sorrow so I’ll say one last time I’m sorry I worried you so and now its morning and your mourning for a friend that climbed too high and never thought to think of that fall at all.

Someone who needed to be above the clouds just to feel safe to breath, the press of bodies the swell of souls was to much to bare, to know.

So I climbed higher still and never thought to fall never thought to slip or tumble, or worry towards that at all.

So I’m tired of sorrow, I’m tired of mourning but I’m sorry I brought you to it. The last apology, the sorrow of a sorrowful poet, my tears have dried and my years have gone, and gone without any kind of love or hope, just mourning every morning, and sorrows every night, I couldn’t rest I couldn’t stop so I reached and reached towards those glorious heights but I never meant for you to hurt for my hurt, my inability to stand the press of people and the swell of souls, and that dreadful wound that was the only emotion I was ever to know.

For The Smile of My Muse

I’m just a dreamer, living the lie, I know its not right but god damn it I deserve it, it’s my time.

They call it pointless, they say I’ll never make it through, I’ll show em all, every one that calls it a dream, I’ll show them I’ll make it real, make it true.

It’s not just a dream, its a calling, an art, not just words on a page its a matter of soul, sharing of hearts.

I’m not just a dreamer living the lie, I know its right, god damn it, I’ll get what I deserve, I’ll make it my time.

I don’t want lights in the skies, or praises for my name, I don’t want riches, or simple material gain. I want my muse to be proud, to hear that smile in her voice, I want her to say to me, when it’s all done and gone.

I’m glad it was you, you were the right one, the perfect choice. You weren’t just a dreamer, it was never a lie, and it was right..

I knew it was your time.

Doubt

I can’t think for all the silence yet can’t talk for all the shouting, this constant echo ends with only myself that is doubting. Rounding the corners of the mortal coil it doubts my own existence, unable to shake the apathy it breeds with a rather cursed persistence.
It scratches it gouges it wounds my very mind, causing the coils of thought and sanity to become disturbed, unwind. I feel myself unmade, i see myself undone, and I have to wonder in the first place, when this even begun. When did I exist? Was it ever real? The doubt inside spirals away, disbelief shadows everything, all that I see and feel.

Don’t Call it Survival

Don’t call it survival

That’s not what I aim for, that’s not for what I wish

I want a revival, I want something more, I want the lights and the bells and all the whistles, I want the glitter, and the glisten and I want all of you to lend your ears to listen.

Don’t call it survival, that’s not what I aim for, it’s not for what I wish

Survival is empty, a thing of meeting needs, never wants, and it never ends and never gets better, it only gets worse. There is no dreams, no lights, no bells but the funeral bell that tolls, at the end that is forever and always foretold and known.

No, what I want is not survival, I want a life, a meaning, something more then an endless meeting of needs, of simply surviving, never truly doing, not striving.

Don’t call it survival, it’s not all that we should aim for, aim higher, and see the light, don’t call it survival.

It’s so much more than that, so don’t call it survival, don’t aim so low, remember your dreams, those stories you told that you would one day be, and look around, look at your now, and ask yourself, did I ever live? Did I try to strive to thrive?

Or did I simply try to survive?

Some (hopefully) good news

Ok, I know I don’t have many followers, and I know I’m not the most active person on here but that is, mainly, because between work and school and I’ll admit, some down time, I just don’t have the time/motivation to do all I want. I’ve recently, due to college, had to cut back on some hours, now I’m thinking of picking them back up but I might wait a bit to get started on something I wanted to do and give a true attempt. A Patreon page, now if you don’t know what Patreon on is, go to patreon.com to get started, cause its great. It helps artists/writers/musicians, creators really, do what they want and let the people that like what they are doing give them what they feel they should get for it, monetary wise anyway.

Now, nothing is going to change in my posting practices other than it will be more frequent. as I say on my patreon page, no one will be required to give me anything to read my writing, I’m not looking to make people buy my short stories and poems. I’m just asking for perhaps, a bit of help. Any amount (as long as its not under a dollar) helps, if you don’t feel you like my stories or that I’m not worth the money to you, go ahead and share my pages with people that might like them. Again though, I’ll be posting everything that I post on Patreon, here as well, so don’t go thinking/worrying that I’m going to get greedy all of a sudden and start hiding things from people, that’s not what I’m trying to do.

Also, I’ve a facebook page made for that as well, the patreon page is http://www.patreon.com/brensig and the fb is facebook.com/brensigsocial feel free to look at either but know that I just started the patreon about, an hour ago, if that. There is only one story up, its a free pdf, and its probably not edited all that well I know and apologize but it is up for download! I’ll have a youtube video short up soon, as well as be doing some videos talking about a story idea and looking for ways (to be discussed in comments) on how to expand upon it or go further with! I hope you all enjoy, and if not the patreon I hope you stick around on my WordPress! Look forward to some more stories, I’ve got my muse, and my motivation, back!

Brendden