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Poetry

Another Start (poetry)

this eternal feeling of fantasy

never knowing if we are lost in a dream

or just never brave enough to truly wake up

never knowing how to make peace with life’s decay

like that bright flower fading and falling in Autumn

 

another start

not because it’s needed

not because it’s wanted

everything that is to be said

has already been said

again and again and again

yet, what can be done?

we are still here

still full of passion

still words spring to lips

emotions embodied in hearts

say the words again

say these same words again

not because they are needed

not because they are wanted

no

instead

they are simply the only words to be said

so say them again

while we are still here to hear them

 

finally reaching the end of torment

light shouting the dark tunnel is over

here, the deposed angel finally ascends

here, color is finally added to the starved palette

and, here, weeping at  a world that is too much to comprehend

there is only one desire left unquenched

for life to be less beautiful, less complex, less

less to make what you are more

less to make the world an easier ball to grab

less to be a bigger fish in a smaller pool

for the newly risen to fall below the clouds

to be in the darkness of the shadow of ignorance

wishing to ignore the wonders of reality

and praying for the simple serenity

of uncomplicated sleep

a monochromatic life

with a place for everything

and everything in its place

 

there has to be a right way to live life

there must be a right way to live life

there is a correct answer

there is a way to live a perfect life

to end this dream that encapsulates everything

this sleep that keeps us firmly away from heaven

slumbering in the drudgery of normal life

yes, please

yes, I pray

yes

and yes

and yes

say: there is a way

a way to make peace

a reason to be here

a reason for existence

a reason to wake up from this sleep

a way to acknowledge the dark truths in our eternal hearts

you exist, don’t you, must you, please?

oh

those weeping waves that buffet us at waking

the closest we come to shrieking consciousness

that waking scream of acknowledgement

buried so deep, but universally possessed

yes, balefully

yes,

yes

and yes

this life is nothing

sleeping through life to escape the specter of life

in all her meaningless splendor

sleep until we disappear

to never exist again

this is truth

this is what we repress and fly from

this is the reason for the lifetime dream

to never acknowledge the most obvious truth

this is nothing

this life is nothing

dust

sand

gas

star

we repress this

don’t we?

don’t we?

must we?

is there a real answer?

a yes or no to that baleful scream of humanity?

repress it

repress it

forget it

repress it

repress it

life or no life

all the same

degrading humanity’s greatest feats

to nothing but another grain of sand on the beach

or a galaxy in the sky

yes

it is all the same

repress it

repress it

yes

live in a dream

we were beautiful

maybe are beautiful

is that not something?

yes

but it is all the same

somewhere in-between

there is mulch on the ground

there is a blooming flower

and then there is honey

so sweet

all we are

all we are

all we are

 

lost again

asleep again

safely dreaming

the map led nowhere

we have come here before

can we just call this somewhere home?

even if it is not the answer to prayer?

try to make peace

dreams of rainbows clouded by reality

or clouds of dreams drowning reality’s rainbow

here is where we are

here is where we stand

and here is all we have

until we dream deeper

 

starting again

over and over again

this feeling of perpetuality

these revolutions are infinite

were we not just here?

another nowhere?

have we become complacent?

do we trust what we have,

simply because we’ve always had it?

or have found it in our hands?

living a life without seeing our own decay

living a life chasing our tail

until, one day

after those we have touched

those we have loved

are ash on yesterdays wind

after we look at ourselves

after we still see that potential we imbue

yet

the revolutions are not infinite

with or without ever waking from our dream

with or without truth

we will be dust on tomorrow’s breeze

a dream with no dreamer

 

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