A little prose for the day…and truly tangential for I was heading in a completely different direction when I began to peck at the keys today.
She wonders if he knows the strength of his spirit, for it surges across the landscape like a river seeking a path, cutting its way through difficult terrain. She admires him, reveres him for keeping his course through suffering. Would be easy for him to give up, accept his lot in life, but his light shines, and she has been soothed by its warmth and for that she is grateful. She has found freedom in his kind of love – not one of superficial promises or declarations, or false assumptions of “more.” Instead, they move in the deeper waters of life’s ocean, where the open heart of the universe embraces their need and want and desire without judgment. He is, at once, complicated and simplistic, and she dances with both sides of him without missing a beat because she has been moving to the same rhythm her entire life. Theirs is an intimacy of understanding, likemindedness and dreams. Deep thought and exploration for truth and meaning suffers him to write. Seeking to understand the dark places of the heart propels her ramblings. Their pens both strike the paper not to share some wisdom from within but instead in an effort of hopefulness, in order to discover that which lies within the vibrations of life. They never reach for an umbrella when the words begin to fall like rain. Instead, they lift their heads and open their arms and get soaked.
Under the glow of a neon light
Flashing cheap rooms for rent
We buried our needs in one another,
My loneliness found yours,
Together they entwined,
We believed ourselves in love
For a moment;
Sunlight, violent in its accusation,
Pointed a finger across the dusty room,
Casting shadows on soiled sheets
There we were, knowing;
No more would we walk in the Garden
(photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/mdconnell/7688521744/”>Michael Connell</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>)
Where do some of our thoughts come from as writers? I probably don’t want the answer, especially when they are dark thoughts. I still allow them to come, flow out onto the paper. What does it say about me? I’ve come to the conclusion that in facing darkness I conquer it. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. The following are a few words that poured out – they have meaning to me. I understand the implication of every line in the scattered way that a sloppy desk makes sense to someone who loves organized chaos. Feel free to share your thoughts.
Restless but weary, seeking wisdom from an empty well – how can he know when he finds it if he doesn’t know what he’s looking for?
And you, what do you offer with a top hat of tricks like a bad magician with a broken wand? Go ahead, have your fun but don’t forget the consequences. They linger on the wind, following the cheap fragrance you wear.
We are all rattled by broken promises, the overt dereliction of duties and falsified evidences, displayed for the masses, blind to Truth. Send a child to offer a whisper – they are more likely to hear the voice of innocence than the shouts of a million willing mouths. Are bound hands capable of reach? The worthless have value unknown to greed.
Wrestle your forsaken conscience to the ground and see who stands the victor.
I’m an unholy one to offer these thoughts, living in the fringe of all that has been lost to goodness. I am that consequence that tears at rotten flesh, looking for a meal of utter abandonment. Let go of your fears and grab onto mine, and we shall inspire one another.