When.

When did I get old exactly?
When did my youth pass so far away?
Yesterday I was not so old
as I find myself this day.
Yesterday I was so young
I could run outside and play.

The cold it did not bother me
The world shined bright and new
So when exactly was it,
when did it all change,
when did shades of lemon pops,
turn to dull dark shady blue.

But wait.

Why should I accept this?
Is it not Me that makes Me old?
Do I just act the way in which
the world around expects?

Is it the grey
that's made me frey
my edges to unravel?

Is it the pain,
the daily strain,
my mind is truly baffled.

This, here, This, now,
My statement I shall make.
Old is something now I state,
that I refuse to be,
For everybody's sake.


Ok, so there's no more running.
But plenty of time for funning.

I shall take my grey.
I shall go and play.
I shall walk in cold and rain.

You can keep your old.

Cage the World?

Words are the method we use,
to describe the things all around,
but if you capture the world with words,
is it placed, in a cage, chained and bound?
Or is the reader set free,
soul cut from the body like wings,
to absorb the descriptions within ,
of all the wonderful things,
in the world,
in the cage,
chained and bound,
by our words.

This Light.

in day i dream of night
in dark i dream of light

shining liquid moonlight soaks
through the night like syrup tea
flows past starlight
cold like ice
sharp like lemons
comforts me

greet the dawns dark grey sky
thick cloud heavy layered deep
fluffy warm
haul the blanket
snuggle back to sleep

sunlight creeps through cracks
streaming down like fire
turns grey to shining slate
threatens storm
beware

rain falls
sudden
heavy
pouring down
to stop as swiftly as it came

slate shatters now and splits
drifts away to crystal blue
so bright
this light
the aftermath

from snuggled down to cool crisp blue

in dark i dream, i dream of light
in day, i dream of night.

yes well

is it enough to be sufficient unto the day?
or should one surpass ones own expectations constantly?


it seems all I live for these days is the end of the week, such that
each day no longer matters, and as the weeks pass, it seems that life
matters little overall.


to live is to reach, to strive, to push forward. to better oneself so that one can better enjoy what one has. Yet when there is no enjoyment in such living, such striving; when it is all that you can do to get through each day, then the point of such reaching seems long lost.


Yet life is the most precious thing we have; or should be; maybe.


Getting again to that point in life again where despite all attempts, all has reduced to nothing, and it seems that nothing is all there will be.


Shall I survive this time? When all falls away, and fades away, what is there to hold to, and what is there to anchor me.


How do you teach yourself to cry once more, to feel, to be. How is each day faced, when facing each day takes more and more, leaving less and less behind.


How is easy. Left foot, Right foot, one step at time. It's the why that escapes me just now.


Why reach? Why strive? To Live? or just to be?

Time

Spring is here, or so they say, the days are longer sure
and proof, if proof is needed, comes again this year 
an hour lost to change each day, till autumn ends and winter dawns anew

Yellow heralds, bright champions of dawn, have yet to show their face
after snow and ice spread far and wide supressing growth and shine
but now earth turns to sol again and the air is slowly warming through

But oh short a time we have till all will change again
and nights will draw sooner in and dark will rule once more

daylight

daylight fades to darkness at the closing of the day

colours fade to black as the sky fades to grey

life becomes invisible in the closing of the light

when daytime ends each day and daylight fades to night.

i muse, therefore i am.

sometimes you just need a stranger in the darkness, a bench by the sea, and the waves washing up and down the shingle. A full moon rising in front of you laying a silver road almost to your feet adds to the scene but it is not nescessary. someone for whom you recognise the shape of thier soul.


if you don't understand that, or are not sure what it means, well i'll try to explain but you'll have to forgive me if you still don't understand, and you'll have to trust me. when you first meet somone you measure them against what you know, who you've met before, what they say, how they say it, what they do and how they act. you measure them against what you feel is right and wrong. what you know to be true.


you don't and can't do this consiously and most of the time you will not even know. then you will hit an epiphany moment. suddenly and all of a piece you will recognise them totally.


ever met someone totally outside your usual circle and after just a few moments feel like you've known them for years. feel that if for whatever reason that never associating with this person again will leave you poorer. you have recognised thier soul. it won't happen often, maybe will never happen at all, but it can happen. and when you don't let yourself believe that is has, and turn and walk away, you'll never realise until your heart starts to break over the loss.