- Jan 25, 2008
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where else but in life can one express themselves to the world? is there not an entire existence to paint with what and who we are? into the life of solid movements and fluid emotion we find ourselves floating weightlessly held down by mountains of our own design. there are thing and ideas, places and shapes that are but for a moment real to us. can there not be a meeting from one thing to another for us to change onto only ourselves but the world into a place beyond and above what it may sink to? there are things that we see, a sign post that we can not read which holds the key unto us. an idea of things and yet alone there is but a voice in the gale around us. where but the world can we say unto life THIS IS ME! SEE ME AS I AM! I AM AND THERE FOR THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN STOP ME FROM DOING! where but our lives can we be alive? life is something that is a moving force around us and flowing through us. life, expression, emotion, LIFE! You pass the end of life everyday, you pass the living of life everyday, you breath and find that life is there and in the breath can disrupt it into the waves of nothingness by emoting an intolerance unto it. Basking in our less fluid of moments and forces of which we change into fallen hero’s and flying daemons of our lifetimes. WHERE ELSE BUT IN LIFE CAN WE SAY WHO WE ARE? The cross that is by the wayside of the road, the cemetery of people and thoughts that you pass but do not see. Ones life who has ended is but a passerby marker in your life. A shout into lifetimes echo into the future beyond sight. Dead to reality, dead to living, dead to help, dead to everything. A life is but a gasp of breath in the winds that no one can hear or see. Just a breath and yet it is nothing is as the seeming innocent that it is. There is a pause in what we know for then it becomes something different and then it has changed and gone away. Not a keep sake or bobble of which to place upon you dusty shelves, a relic to be showcased once in a blue moon to half interested and board listeners of bull spit. Cascading down a slop of disinterest and bland repetitive emotions that single out nothingness in the empty expanse that was once life. A shelter in a storm is only as strong as it is build and then it may fail under misguided frailties of falsehoods brought about by mistrust. A shepherd in the rain harbors no ill will to his flock once the sun warms his frail skin. Sinking into the pit is but a shadow of useless fears of what will never happen because it has already happened and is happening as you think of it in passing. But for the road you follow a ditch may run along side you and make your every step until you follow it astray and have lost everything. There is an expression of what is and what isn’t inside what you hold dear, near and closer than every beat of your very heart and every tear of your weary soul. The voice in the night that calls out for you to come forth and be accounted, to be accountable, to be in and as you are meant in every way of the words put forth unto you. A falling shelter of less than four walls becomes not a help but a hindrance to your very life and well being. Cast down upon the dry earth will not your tears moisten it. Throws upon the jagged rocks will not your blood wet them. Hailed from afar will not your mind wander into forbidden fears of servitude and unjust behavior. Shall not your folly bring about what is within your soul to end above all others who fail. Where is your expression if you live a death for eternity? Will not your death be but an unseen moment in time for you never lived? Be of the ways you are meant for any other are but a crime upon humanity and worse the devastation of your whole being. Be there no expression that will untainted what you fear in death but for life may pass by unheeded? A shallow creek holds life like the sea itself but for the lack of vision to see it. A pond, or a river perhaps you may stumble upon but as the sea that never goes astray, never becomes the missing, the stars themselves will burn away and leave darkness in their wake. A shell of emptiness echoes no joy for there is nothing. A fullness of what life there is upon you to have is it not worth living? Be left behind by your lack of life and there will be for you nothing of worth. Your tears have been counted, your anguish haunts the very soul of all that will come later. Like falling snow there is not proof of its wild ways in the summers sun. like those who came before, will not you leave the light aglow?