Who dwells in my waking dreams, my sleeping thoughts,
The nights asked with a troubled sigh.
The words fumbled to speak of her
Who haunts the shadows where my demons lie.
Where do I begin?
Of those eyes should I confide?
Seemingly fathomless and churning.
Where anchors flounder and storms take flight.
Tuesday 18 February 2014
Saturday 1 February 2014
Keep the flame alive
You're an ignorant child who has yet to see the myriads of trouble and dismay that life has to offer. You live protected behind a veil of happy and gaily songs, woven with trifles that have your highest priority. Where the hardest thing is getting rejected by your crush and breaking up with your love of adolescence... where you cry when others fail to wish you a happy birthday.
You are a child of spring with sweet coying flowers that bloom anew everyday, where the night's dark is kept at bay by ever-twinkling stars and the soft moonlight. You haven't experienced the cold, biting frost that gnaws on men's hope and souls. Savour the joy of innocence while your ignorance lasts. It is said that ignorance is bliss. I would never know if that is true. But you would.
When the icy claws of the monsters under the bed grab for you, only then will you realize that monsters don't exist, but humans do. And that is a terror of a different kind; the kind that makes you rear with its justice, that disgusts you with its mercy, that makes you shiver with its touch of compassion.
You may have read many inspiring sayings, even jotted down a few in that little diary by your bed-side stand. Hear this one.
You are alone, surrounded by chattering wisps of people who are too engrossed in their lives to pay you any mind. They'll chatter away happily when the dark creeps forward. Many will flee when the shadow so much as falls upon them. A few will remain beside you, but swaying like the flame of a candle in the breeze. When the dark grows strong, when your own shadow abandons you, they'll flicker and scatter away, too. You will be distraught, your heart will shatter. And this is when it all matters. You won't remember those motivating quotes then. It'll just be you. And when you hold yourself together in that darkness, when you keep the flame alive, that's when you'll come into your own. When you'll finally know yourself.
The winds will blow, relentless. The dark will engulf you, ruthless in its mercy.
The trick is to keep the flame alive...
You are a child of spring with sweet coying flowers that bloom anew everyday, where the night's dark is kept at bay by ever-twinkling stars and the soft moonlight. You haven't experienced the cold, biting frost that gnaws on men's hope and souls. Savour the joy of innocence while your ignorance lasts. It is said that ignorance is bliss. I would never know if that is true. But you would.
When the icy claws of the monsters under the bed grab for you, only then will you realize that monsters don't exist, but humans do. And that is a terror of a different kind; the kind that makes you rear with its justice, that disgusts you with its mercy, that makes you shiver with its touch of compassion.
You may have read many inspiring sayings, even jotted down a few in that little diary by your bed-side stand. Hear this one.
You are alone, surrounded by chattering wisps of people who are too engrossed in their lives to pay you any mind. They'll chatter away happily when the dark creeps forward. Many will flee when the shadow so much as falls upon them. A few will remain beside you, but swaying like the flame of a candle in the breeze. When the dark grows strong, when your own shadow abandons you, they'll flicker and scatter away, too. You will be distraught, your heart will shatter. And this is when it all matters. You won't remember those motivating quotes then. It'll just be you. And when you hold yourself together in that darkness, when you keep the flame alive, that's when you'll come into your own. When you'll finally know yourself.
The winds will blow, relentless. The dark will engulf you, ruthless in its mercy.
The trick is to keep the flame alive...
Conflict
It hounds me day and night,
the damned question that wears me dry.
There is no mercy and no respite,
from this conflict of...
Who am I?
the damned question that wears me dry.
There is no mercy and no respite,
from this conflict of...
Who am I?
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