Monday, December 20, 2010
Reshaping
The words in my head, even those form to you. Scrambling, they reshape and reform, over and over. As if my brain can be lastingly molded to you. As if I can fit you in my head. as if that will fit you in my heart. As if that means I'll be in yours.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Move.
Stale beer and empty coffee cups;
We were told there is more than this.
Life to create, homes to build, a future.
We are always working towards something. In the future, we are sure, we will reach this goal, (We have long forgotten what it is, but still we struggle)
And so we sit in stagnance. Here we wait for the epiphany. The moment that all the things we've been told, been taught, all the things we've read, the great movies of romance and adventure, make sense.
We do what we've been told; we study, we read, we work; stagnant. Stale. Empty.
All there is is movement.
The ballet of the cars as they come together and part again,
That parallel ourselves, as we come together and fall apart again.
The slow roll of the waves across the ocean before they collide with the Earth, and reverse,
To collide with the other end, and come back again.
And here we sit, in the still limbo of waiting, always waiting, for something to set us in motion, something to tell you: This is your great adventure. Your time of lingering in coffee shops, waiting for life to catch up and sweep you away is over.
This is that something. This is that moment. The great wave of life won't suddenly and magically sweep you away, but compel you to chase it. Hunt. Search. Move.
We were told there is more than this.
Life to create, homes to build, a future.
We are always working towards something. In the future, we are sure, we will reach this goal, (We have long forgotten what it is, but still we struggle)
And so we sit in stagnance. Here we wait for the epiphany. The moment that all the things we've been told, been taught, all the things we've read, the great movies of romance and adventure, make sense.
We do what we've been told; we study, we read, we work; stagnant. Stale. Empty.
All there is is movement.
The ballet of the cars as they come together and part again,
That parallel ourselves, as we come together and fall apart again.
The slow roll of the waves across the ocean before they collide with the Earth, and reverse,
To collide with the other end, and come back again.
And here we sit, in the still limbo of waiting, always waiting, for something to set us in motion, something to tell you: This is your great adventure. Your time of lingering in coffee shops, waiting for life to catch up and sweep you away is over.
This is that something. This is that moment. The great wave of life won't suddenly and magically sweep you away, but compel you to chase it. Hunt. Search. Move.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Blank
I have never been good at beginnings,
All I can see is that yellow tree
All I can feel is that numb
And I don't know how to end.
All I can see is that yellow tree
All I can feel is that numb
And I don't know how to end.
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