Standing on the shore of what was, I watch what is drift away. It left me behind standing stranded on a beach with no name.
A place long in the past but never outside of now. Where nothing matters and nothing cares and all the world is gray nothing in the span of a single moment that stretches forward into eternity.
I stand there, waiting, and nothing passes, nothing moves. There is only myself and that grey moment, and the silence of the weight of the ashes that have become my home.
Oddly fitting this airy flitting, this flowing floating flowering I find inside my mind.
Waving, wavering thoughts of fleeting smiles and cheerful chuckles floating on floundering ground a strangely sinking happiness I never thought to be found.
A sense of ease at these oddly fitting flitting fleeting ephemeral thoughts of ease that do indeed please, leave me a smile and a thought that in this moment I am indeed grateful to be.
Happy to exist, a pleasure to see, and while I’m happy, for this floating fleeting moment I’ll say with a smile and a wave “Happy to meet you!” with a nod and a quickly added “Good day!”
It’ll not last, that I’m sad to say. But instead I’ll smile and remember, the sad days that stay too long are the ones that make this fleeting floating an ephemeral dream, something that echoes long after its gone.
Hurting, hurting, hunting the scar and seeing the sound as I travels to the ground and Me goes away once more.
We has returned only to go to Their grave and They have yet to be seen again, and Us remains unsure.
I knows not the Me that came nor recognize the We that went once more I lost Myself to Them the only ones I once let in before.
The ones that broke Me and left Us sad, that crippled They and sent the others to Their grave but most of all they shattered I when they broke Me and We have never been the same.
I recognize not the shadows of We or this crazed cursed Me, the ones with scars and pain and its all I see. So all cry and scream and laugh because even shattered, even broken.
I and We and Me and They go to Their grave and sit and carouse and watch as the moon glowers down and the roses blossom tulip flowers, for even mad and even crazed All can speak as one.
“Least We’re not alone.”
I write these words and wonder what they mean, I echo the empty, all I am washed clean.
I write these words and fill a void I feel, I echo the empty, I attempt to exist, feel I am real.
One man once said “I think therefore I am” but the thoughts I have make me wonder what is real.
So I sit here, crying and in tears, writing words that mean nothing, showing what I feel.
I write these words, I fill the void, I echo the empty, trying to believe I matter, that I’m real.
But in the end the words are empty, thoughts on a page, quickly turned, quicker burned, and one wonders what the point of it was at all.
Still, I must echo the empty, in denial of what I feel. I must make an attempt, an effort to fill the void, to prove at least to me, that I do exist, that I am real.
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.
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 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.