Tossed together, one chance in a thousand, They sit across from each other at one of the Identical tables sprinkled around the ground floor Hospital cafeteria. A wheelchair-bound old woman Seated across from a blind man, two invalids who Have tripped upon an ally through mutual woe. The blind man rests both hands on the white, red-tipped Cane—the sole object that reinforces the hours of Monotone days. The woman leans forward and offers A smile, pleasantly puzzled to see that her gesture is Received warmly by her acquaintance. Softly awakening from Ages of silence is their vigor for fixing others in need. A Vigor hushed by evolving into a needy existence.
This is a poem that I wrote a long time ago in high school. I think it marks the true beginning of my obsession with words.
Can you see it in there?
Look within your own heart, care
About things not seen,
Try to see what they can mean.
A land of elves dancing,
Of blue unicorns prancing
Across meadows streaming with light,
Watch the condor about to take flight .
Look deeper, and deeper yet,
It lingers within you – never fret.
See? The tiny fairies are spreading their wings,
Ready to fly freely ’round the land of kings.
Magic sparkles in the majestic breeze
Sweeping the land by way of the trees.
You or I would notice this delight,
And taste so sweetly it well might,
But not the dwellers of this place,
For them it’s become their daily race,
Fully filling in every way,
So they notice not the passing day.
Now have you found it?
Can you see a bit?
Within your own self you must look,
Before you don’t need to open a book.
Look over this way.
See the elf children all at play,
And listen – the bubbling laughter
Of the crystal clear stream, after
Her life-like water has purified
The wader with her tide.
Enchantment rides on the sea-fairing wind,
Enriching the dwellers deep down within.
Gnomes mount upon birds of great might,
They look down, and know that they’re right
In choosing the simple life,
With so little strife.
Raindrops compose their own unique song,
Playing on rooftops made only of leaves, and long
Quiet hours they pour down, down, down,
But not so much as to make the land drown.
Can you taste the wonder yet?
Do you wish you could say these things you’ve met?
Travel these places inside your mind,
And joyous tranquility soon will you find.
Only one thing remains better than this,
And that is to visit yourself, and not one thing miss.
Buried deep in the crevices of this my friend
Lay unspoken dreams, and shadows therein.
White pages have patience the living do not;
Words cannot utter the comfort they’ve brought
Me while wandering silent through unlighted woods,
While in quest of knowing logic the best I should.
The nonsensical ramblings I now call my own
Have inside only me: They’re my own home.
Home in lightless sorrow, she Dwells among the empty white Walls--They hold her secret so Softly. Perfectly blissful her Sorrow lives now, closed to all Outside pity. Once a day, routine brings her One illusion of light in Hiding: Everlasting Sunshine--a Bottle of shower gel sits 'Gainst the cool, marble-like wall, Its odor filling the air. Taking After its label, it colors the Marble's blank stare with its warm, Purely golden aroma of daylight. Try as she may to escape any Relic of warmness once touched, Everlasting Sunshine, in various Forms, continues to tap -subtly and secretly- Into her heart frozen in Sleet.
My soul at all times lurks dangerously close to
The abyss flooded, seeping with darkness, through
Which no mortal can see light, but the abyss creates
Its own deceptive glow. Darkness, delicious, flings wide its gates
And gropes for my soul. Blood, edged in strange glows,
Appears deceptive, yet inviting as so smoothly it flows.
Evil prowling about seems not wrong, but cold
As it brushes past, freezing but bold.
Like moonless night holds protection in dark,
Or the black, darkest dream is sweet, in part,
So feels this evil, this nightmare, abyss. But somewhere deep inside says something is amiss;
I feel it within the presence of blackness felt so long,
But is this really all so wrong?
Why is my very being drawn with passion toward
What I know all mortals should strongly abhor?
Black is lighter than all things white,
But it takes also on a more dizzying height
From whence I could fall and plunge toward ground
Without even uttering the slightest sound.
Helplessness is a state of mind
In which no man can ever find
A state of assurance, large or small,
Yet he desires to conquer it all.
Helplessness can consume you; devour you
In whatever you try your hardest to do.
You want every mountain to move,
And by this thing to prove
That you can succeed, then rest.
But all is hindered by helplessness.
Silent she floats through the trees of her
Choice, and the time of her breezes is none but of
Own; Inspiration and She are as one, unified,
Sighing through treetops who bow with her
Now, O Enchanter, allow me to see all the
Signs of your work! Where you’ve come all the leaves have been
Shaken from their limbs; where you’ve left even branches will
Proudly remember departed stalks. Some boughs have
Gently and scarcely felt by beholders,
She glides on toward others, gathering
All the aromas from previous hosts, so to
Sprinkle on new prey, who gains from the woods left by