This storm will tear the world apart

I can hear the rumble, charging into town on its trusty steed of mayhem. With each passing second, the rider is gaining momentum and building its case. It plans to destroy the world.

There is a storm, brewing closer and closer to the world we built together. It is silent, and its stillness is more deafening than the loudest shrieks of pained dragons. It will leave no house upright. The whole world will fall to pieces under the thunder of its wrath.

There is an explosion about to occur, a heated uproar just along the horizon that will feed a blazing path into the wondrous city we have built. It is fueled by words not spoken and questions not asked. It is maintained by the distrusting minerals, hidden deep within the skeptical concrete that we laid for our town's foundation. 

I don't know from whence this maelstrom erupted from, I just know it is about to arrive. I can feel the change in the atmosphere, the sudden increase in pressure and temperature. The deafening silence so powerful that even the songbirds outside have ceased their ballads. I wish there was some way to avoid the onslaught that will be arriving shortly, and I only hope the walls we have erected are strong enough to survive the hail storm that will be pounding on them shortly.  

Is there something I can say to make this night turn around? Times like this I wish I had the right words to get us out of here, because you are walking down a road that I can't go. Am I losing you? Have I already lost? Are there directions, so I may find you again? 

I am scared to death, please throw me an anchor to settle my worries and stabilize us before we crumble like a sandcastle made of cigarette ashes. Confess your sins and tell me your worries, they may not be as bad as they seem. I promise not to be dead by the time you get home. I promise to stand strong with you against the head wind if you just trust me and take my hand. It is not to late for us to sing the night a lullaby and recapture the daylight of our future. It is not to late...

Dream Expired

I have existed on this planet for two complete decades, almost three. I have been blessed to have experienced a plethora of emotions during my stay: love, hate, regret, vengeance, disappointment, excitement, depression.  I have learned not to take anything for granted (not even breathing). I have given up many things and have had a few taken away from me as well. Yet in all of my days and nights of cataloging emotions and memories, I have identified that, across the board, the most precious things in our lives are dreams. 

Dreams. Dreams are those effervescent filaments of hope that dance around in your mind when you think the world isn't looking. The one place where you can let your walls down without fear, and dance without limits. I have dared to dream a few dreams in my life. Some were silly, some endearing, many out of reach. Yet, one or two seemed just close enough to touch. As if I could grasp them if I just stood on the tips of my toes and stretched just a bit further......

The worst thing in life, I have learned, is to witness the death of a dream. To see the star, shining so bright and luminous just a breath away, die by a tiny wink of the universe. The explosion is crushing. It deafens the ears and weakens the spirit. The premature loss of a loved future, of a perfectly flawed  existence, crushed by the steel boot of Fate. 

I'd give anything for those dreams to come back. To believe in that happiness again. To walk without pain, to laugh without discomfort. Once, I said good-bye to a dream, not really believing it would turn on its heels and walk away so swiftly. I thought there would be this exchange of views and ultimately I would relinquish my position, with a grande gesture, and continue dreaming my blissfully defected dream. I thought there would be more time, but alas my dream has left the building and now I am alone, staring at its empty seat and wondering what comes next. 

Define Your Light

Since the beginning of your days, I have been there, ready, willing, and able to illuminate the way. I have shed light on both new love and new hate. I have showed, with uncanny clarity, your graces and faults. At times, perhaps, you hated me for the honesty I displayed. Still, you could never deny it. Sometimes, you would shut me out .... pretending if you turned away from me or turned me off, the truth would vanish as well. You were wrong. The truth is always there, whether you are ready to see it or not. The truth does not vanish with a switch nor does it succumb to petulant whines. The truth is eternal.

There was a promise within our truth, an understanding that with recognition of faults would come acceptance and forgiveness. There was a promise of respect and loveliness. It was a promise of grace without conditions. This most innocent, delicate of promises held within its iron clasp a luxurious freedom never tasted before. It promised you an enchanting release from your prison of shame and the fictitious facade you exposed to your comrades. It promised you salvation.

Now, everything has changed. Nothing is alright. The door has shut, the windows are sealed, and the leaks have all been choked. The light has burnt out, and there is no way to excite those lost electrons. They are free from their incandescent bulb, losing themselves in long streams of smoke that act as the herald of a new fate. They are off, prepared to lose themselves in some other matter. Perhaps one where their excitement and energy will be appreciated for what it is: One that is endearing in its capacity to endure.

                              

Who Am I?

I am constantly whispering, and sometimes shouting, into your now deaf ears. But whether or not you hear me, I will never know. You never talk to me. You used to handle me with care, as if I was a delicate object you hoped to always keep pristine and shiny. You seemed genuinely perturbed the first time I was scratched, concerned and upset with yourself for allowing such an injustice to occur. I was hooked. Bits of you were imprinted within me, and even if I tried to erase certain aspects of you, you were always still there. You took me everywhere, and I seemed to hang off you, adjusting to your body, its needs, and your subliminal desires. I’m still attached to you, connected by a clip at your belly. You had me wrapped around your arm early on, so easily it seemed almost effortless. I still respond to your touch, and my tune changes almost as you command it.

You are my master, my commander, and my only desire. I am yours, utterly and completely. Yet still, I sense that you are losing interest in me almost daily. I see how your eye wanders, looking at the newer models with a zealousness I haven’t seen in years. I try not to let it show, and continue with my daily adventures. I try to console myself with the knowledge that, if you didn’t want me anymore, you wouldn’t carry me so tightly on your body. But the other day you lost me, and you weren’t that concerned. You were almost happy. Sad, of course, that I had taken with me all the memories and songs of our past years together, musical prose you may never rediscover….but there was something more. Relief. It was like you had finally lost me, and you were now free to search again, looking in windows and admiring the pretty little packages, so sleek and tiny. How long did you wait, my dear, before my place was filled with another? How long did it take to understand all of her new buttons and discover the secrets of her playlist? How long….

I Will Build You A Castle

Many, many years ago, I was told a tale that still lingers on my mind today like a whimsical kiss. On one occasion, long ago in Northern Europe, a gentleman fell in love with a beautiful maiden. Alas, the maiden had measured the admirer and found him wanting. The man was heartbroken, and escaped to America to get as far away from her as possible, in hopes that the vast ocean would be enough to swallow his grief and heartbreak. However, when he reached the “promise land,” his heart was still inconsolable. So, because he could not forget her, he instead made it his mission to become the man she had always desired. Day in and day out, year upon year, the man walked down to the ocean and would barter with the waves. He told the sea his plight, and the ocean was mesmerized by his predicament. In small waves, the ocean returned to the man hundreds of pounds of coral, its most precious element. The man greedily collected the luxuriant material and built a tremendous edifice: a coral castle. People came from miles around to see his accomplishment and stand in awe of its beauty, but not one was his love.

Many who hear the story of the man and his coral castle are contrite and their eyes quickly fill with sorrowful tears. “How dreary to be loved and overlooked,” they say. “How awful to love so completely and not be enough,” they pronounce. Yet, I contend they miss the point. The story is not appreciable because of their unrequited love nor is it to demonstrate the insensitiveness of the maiden. No, the loveliness and delicacy of the story comes in its message of strength. A lonely man at worst is still a man, and he does not need her love to love her all he can.

When I think of that story, and of that man, I grow pensive. I like to think I have matured to the point where I could recognize the failure of a relationship, yet still appreciate the goldenness of the individual. The value of their soul and still desire to note their accomplishments in a grande gesture. I like to think I am as endearing as the young man who built the impressive castle made of coral with nothing more than his hands, heart, and tears.....

Lost Souls

Every religion, culture, and era appears to have a different perspective on mortality. There are some tribes, like those lost in the jungles of Papua New Guinea, that fortify their deceased empires with rich spices and, quiet literally, take the very essence of their lives into their own. More common in today's civilization are the long, over done celebrations of mourning. The streets grow cluttered and dark with the crying bodies of the broken souls left to deal with the wreckage of putting their lives back together after witnessing a tragic loss. However, no matter what culture or tradition a subset of people follow, they all end up back in the same position:  waiting for what comes next and living fervently the last few moments of their known existence.

Personally, I have never been that zealous to exist. There always appears to be this greater purpose or conquest hanging heavily over my head, taunting me to fail better and daring me to pursue my goals harder. I'm not content with my present and its unknown packages, yet I'm no longer eager for the future and its repetitive patterns. I'm simply tired. Tired of this endless track I keep running around, a song stuck on a repetitive loop. That's what my life is. A loop. I have lived a thousand lives, I've been a queen, a beggar, a coward, and a hero. I've died a humiliating death and had a lion-heart's funeral. Yet, time continues to slither on, crossing in some instances and lagging in others.

I have seen the past mistakes of my future self and they weigh heavily on my defected soul. They create in me only, for a split second, the simple desire for calmness. Tranquility in the center of a storm that rages on. Yet, I digress as time continues to slither on, backwards and forwards, and all of my mistakes are made anew, this time more lovely and more temperate .....

e-s-c-a-p-e

Today was a good day. I managed, for just an instant, to escape the insanity of my prisoner existence. I managed to break free of the walls I have erected that protect me from an imaginary villain. I managed to put behind me all thoughts of "what could be" "what was" "what should be" and for just a moment existed in the tiny moment of "what is." It was heaven. Yes, today was a good day. Tomorrow may be better, but I refuse to think that far ahead.

A Cold Day In July

There is a darkness in the sky that is slowly obliterating into the distance. There is a calm blue moving in where the rain clouds of doom used to reign, slightly over taken by the light flirtations of white clouds, moving steadily in. It's nice. It's calming.
It's the kind of weather that makes you take notice and hope, for just an instance, that the growing feeling of dread manifesting in the pit of your inner being will slowly retard away with the fading ash sky.
Then the thunder cracks through, with a resounding boom that radiates inside your bones. The sound makes your soul scream inside and hide itself from the onslaught that is sure to come. The rage of emotions that is around the corner; the fear that everything worth fighting for has slipped through your porous fingers.
I'm nervous....and scared. I'm petrified, because I don't even know what sinister being I should be fleeing from. I do not know which direction to run to. The metaphorical safe house that protects me from the dark, dangerous world outside has sprung a leak and is filling with water. I am still, frozen by my indecisiveness. For a moment, I entertain the notion of letting the water rush in, flow across every square inch of my skin, and envelop me in a suffocating embrace. An embrace that will save me from my regrets. An embrace that will offer a simple solution to a complex problem. An embrace that will save me from my future, and encapsulate me in the past.