i invite the darkness inside my mind
and allow it to wrap around my every intuition
i still haven’t figured out
how to get the sunshine
to string its light across this threadbare room
but i will try
to light a match
beside each thought
so i feel the glow of hope instead
Applauded by the hands of dead but not their spirits
A little bee sting
of varying importance,
to anaphylactic shock
undoing a pleasant day.
D W Eldred
Found a tome of Alfred Lord Tennysons poems in the op shop for $1.50 that’s old enough to be slightly battered but not too old that it’s precious, leaving me free to scribble my thoughts in the margins!!
Also I found the flower between pages 312 and 313, a super cool remainder from the previous owner
Bless the golden daughter of the ancient kingdom,
Oh mighty lord of the enormous lake,
So that her people know what is freedom
And enjoy its taste to not destroy but make.
Bless the witty lady of the merchant god,
Oh brave master of the grey horses of foam,
And protect her from every foe and fraud,
In her magnificent fortress that she calls home.
But please don’t take her away from us,
Oh fierce father of countless sea creatures,
Though her form may seem to many glorious,
Sinking her house to hold various treasures.
i think there is something indescribably beautiful about the fact that art, in all its forms, lasts longer than we do. you will never read all the books or hear all the songs, watch all the movies or see all the paintings, but there is comfort in knowing that there is always something more out there. even if you’ll never get to experience it.
the world is infinite, even if we are not. never think that you should stop searching because “there’s nothing to discover anyway”. make the most of your limited time in this wonderful, cruel world, because one day you’ll be gone. and when you leave, you shouldn’t regret what you didn’t experience. instead, be grateful for the things you did experience. the books you read, the paintings you looked at, the movies you saw- all of them and more added a little piece in the complicated puzzle that is you.
never regret. instead, remember. and love (love even what you didn’t get to experience).
you can wonder about who you could’ve been, but remember to appreciate who you became, too.
Until you walk over my grave in your ghostly white veil and pull me thru the ground. I will wait for you, my love as I don’t want to be alone in this cold an lonely world so I will wait, wait till you come along and walk with me like you did before.
4th of July…Oh Goodie
By: A. M. Paulson
Today is the Fourth of July…
For most Americans
This is a happy time…
Not for me…
Ponder the founding fathers…
Have a nice barbeque…
Look forward to fireworks…
This is a day of dread,
For when night comes…
So does the noise…
I can’t handle loud noises…
I am a high functioning autistic
Loud noises hurt me…
They make me shutdown
Or have a breakdown…
I don’t know why…
This is just my reality…
I can’t really enjoy the fireworks
Even when deafened by earplugs.
This day brings me pain…
But I can’t complain…
That would make me
Most people can’t understand.
So I never tell…
All I can do is say,
Today is the Fourth of July…
May the merciful flame be enkindled
In the grand nature’s ebullition
And rid of old lives that are troubled
So to bring forth a new generation.
Silver bell, silver bell,
Protect us from a malefic spell
Of a fairy in a time of Noel.
Dancing around the idea of you being gone becomes so fun when I know the risk involved.
Take your woe is me and head straight out the door. Keep your eyes low, if you knew what was better for ya.
You let the idea of us be construed so easily , hiding behind the gentle smile was truly a face of misery.
I’d come undone and you knew that I loved you.
But in all the parts where I went wrong, you could never move on.
Piece by piece I fell apart for you,
I laid it piece by piece
Now you’re laying pieces of your clothes around his room
I understood the essence of how fragile we were
I understood all the greatness we could be
But you could never take the silhouette away from your eyes to see through the patience of how our love would unwind.
So ashes to ashes , let everything weve built turn to dust,
All for some uncontemporary lust
hold my hand, tell me it’s alright;
tell me I will be fine, that it’s not over;
take away my sorrow, my despair;
tell me it’s okay, tell me out on the balcony, tell me under the stars;
remove my unshed tears, mend my broken heart;
push back my fears, give me love;
hold my hand, and hug me tight.
the quiet side of life, s. f.
taglist: (message to be added/removed)
/ disclaimer / not going through relationship issues, unlike what it suggests
In a fickle carousel of life,
May there be no strife
Between us husband and wife.
Life is an endless game of tag,
Between yourself, and a dream on the run.
Where you both would track the moon and back,
Always trying to catch up to the scorching sun.
The dream is always just out of reach,
She never gets tired, and is always upbeat.
Finding shortcuts in every nook and cranny,
And I don’t think she ever sleeps.
It sounds pretty tiring to say the least,
But she doesn’t mind. Nor should you or me.
And it’s good to know, and inspiring to say,
That there’s always something ahead of me.
That there’s always something to look forward to,
So I don’t forget what I’ve been doing.
For whatever reason, what may be the cost,
When it doesn’t matter if you’re winning or losing.
You just need to cross the finish line,
To pass the torch to whoever’s ahead.
To grow and evolve into something better,
Not drown the fire in the lies you’re fed.
The more time passes, the closer I get,
The closer my turn chasing her will stop.
But being able to do that is a feat on its own,
Before the moment you suddenly drop.
Stay dead in your tracks, then she turns around,
Getting ready to return the favor.
But she doesn’t move either, not an inch,
Because not even dreams can meet their maker.
And she follows me back, waiting to tag me,
Hoping I’d wake up and chase her again.
Then I’m buried below, where she can’t see me,
Still waiting. In sun, snow, fall, or rain.
She doesn’t leave. All she wants is to play,
But now, it seems like it’s too much to ask.
She felt tired for once, and has finally rested,
Until the time she too had passed.
Stones left in graveyards aren’t easy to count,
But the dreams that follow could fill up the sky.
People choose to die to achieve their dreams,
But this is where all dreams come to die.