Gazing From Afar
It's late and I'm listening in the dark to Solitude, by Evanescence.
I've been getting that thing again. When I have dreams, and I get the feeling that they are trying to tell me something. I know they are different than normal, sleepy-eyed dreams. They stay with me, and then I just get a feeling-- a feeling that there is some change happening, some unbalance, something that isn't fitting right. It's like misplacing an object... you keep looking for it in the spot you think you left it. You can almost see the outline of it there, but it's gone. It should be there, but it isn't.
I'm worried about the one I dream about, and yet I can do nothing. I could be wrong, but the more things fall into place, the more my dreams make sense. It is distressing to realize that I might be more correct than I expected. I guess I just hopped that I was wrong, and passed off what I felt as just my over thinking. Now I have come to realize that it is harder to be in a place where I have no way to reach out, to touch, to say anything, to even try to be there... than it is to be in a place where I don't know what to do, but at least have a way to try. At times it might seem easier to have nothing expected of me, but in truth it is aching inside me. It is a side of me, pallid and weak, powerless be a friend... It's not me. I don't just stand and watch something break. I just can't turn away... but I have no place to move.
To feel this adds another side to what I have felt before. I still feel, but it seems less important now. I feel so far away, with no crossing over. I just wish for ease. I wish for a grounded repair. I wish for warmth, and a touch that finds its way.
Despite it all, I want to be there, in whatever form I’d have to take. As is now, I just look behind me and see the shadows form into an empty figure. But what can I do, really? Keep on doing what I do. Keep on doing what I love, and let the pieces fall where they will.
A poem in search of the closure I never really found:
Your Wilting Rose
Like burning tissue paper,
The edges of your rose grow crisp.
The colors fade, and then disappear,
Replaced by docile grays.
The once soft and vivid petals
Wilt against the ceramic glaze.
Like your wilting rose,
My smile silently transforms.
Once jovial and grinning,
My lips are tight with uncertainty.
Like the touch of a cheek on a frosty window pane,
Chilled questions seep through my mind.
My thoughts are ablaze with qualms that flash about like sparks.
As luminescent mist drifts through the early morning sky,
I felt radiant at the words you spoke.
But with the new sun, your enchanting words vanished.
The Afterglow left me swiftly,
Returning the dark folds to my dress.
I wonder where your words go when they do not find me.
Does another hear them?
My heart beats rapidly with the memory of what I knew could be love.
Was it deceived?
I sway, as blustery fields of grass make waves.
To just begin the feeling,
Of what it means to love,
Leaves me unfinished in safety.
A painting hardly started,
For fear of smudging.
To be inside my mix-matched chandelier
To let you see me,
With all of my luster and faults together,
It is a frightening prospect.
I crave for you to lovingly seek my brightness,
And to wish to discover every facet.
Even with the fear of falling,
It is breathtaking to fly.
And yet, spectacular besides,
Is the moment that I may tumble and die.
If our paths are to cross no longer,
Please find your blissful days.
Now and then I look for you still,
In empty places that you do not stand.
I will remember you, and with my returning smile,
I will not falter on my way.
Someday I hope to be painted again,
So that I may be completed with another’s shades.
Colors that become bright, and stunning even as strokes unintended.
I've been getting that thing again. When I have dreams, and I get the feeling that they are trying to tell me something. I know they are different than normal, sleepy-eyed dreams. They stay with me, and then I just get a feeling-- a feeling that there is some change happening, some unbalance, something that isn't fitting right. It's like misplacing an object... you keep looking for it in the spot you think you left it. You can almost see the outline of it there, but it's gone. It should be there, but it isn't.
I'm worried about the one I dream about, and yet I can do nothing. I could be wrong, but the more things fall into place, the more my dreams make sense. It is distressing to realize that I might be more correct than I expected. I guess I just hopped that I was wrong, and passed off what I felt as just my over thinking. Now I have come to realize that it is harder to be in a place where I have no way to reach out, to touch, to say anything, to even try to be there... than it is to be in a place where I don't know what to do, but at least have a way to try. At times it might seem easier to have nothing expected of me, but in truth it is aching inside me. It is a side of me, pallid and weak, powerless be a friend... It's not me. I don't just stand and watch something break. I just can't turn away... but I have no place to move.
To feel this adds another side to what I have felt before. I still feel, but it seems less important now. I feel so far away, with no crossing over. I just wish for ease. I wish for a grounded repair. I wish for warmth, and a touch that finds its way.
Despite it all, I want to be there, in whatever form I’d have to take. As is now, I just look behind me and see the shadows form into an empty figure. But what can I do, really? Keep on doing what I do. Keep on doing what I love, and let the pieces fall where they will.
A poem in search of the closure I never really found:
Your Wilting Rose
Like burning tissue paper,
The edges of your rose grow crisp.
The colors fade, and then disappear,
Replaced by docile grays.
The once soft and vivid petals
Wilt against the ceramic glaze.
Like your wilting rose,
My smile silently transforms.
Once jovial and grinning,
My lips are tight with uncertainty.
Like the touch of a cheek on a frosty window pane,
Chilled questions seep through my mind.
My thoughts are ablaze with qualms that flash about like sparks.
As luminescent mist drifts through the early morning sky,
I felt radiant at the words you spoke.
But with the new sun, your enchanting words vanished.
The Afterglow left me swiftly,
Returning the dark folds to my dress.
I wonder where your words go when they do not find me.
Does another hear them?
My heart beats rapidly with the memory of what I knew could be love.
Was it deceived?
I sway, as blustery fields of grass make waves.
To just begin the feeling,
Of what it means to love,
Leaves me unfinished in safety.
A painting hardly started,
For fear of smudging.
To be inside my mix-matched chandelier
To let you see me,
With all of my luster and faults together,
It is a frightening prospect.
I crave for you to lovingly seek my brightness,
And to wish to discover every facet.
Even with the fear of falling,
It is breathtaking to fly.
And yet, spectacular besides,
Is the moment that I may tumble and die.
If our paths are to cross no longer,
Please find your blissful days.
Now and then I look for you still,
In empty places that you do not stand.
I will remember you, and with my returning smile,
I will not falter on my way.
Someday I hope to be painted again,
So that I may be completed with another’s shades.
Colors that become bright, and stunning even as strokes unintended.
posted by Integrity at 1:05 AM
4 Comments:
Oh...
That poem was beautiful. That's kinda the way I feel.
I love the imagery you used. It's so... bright.
Thank you. I just wrote it because I feel I needed to... I mean it isn't like I could call and set things strait, you know? There was just so much we never talked about, never said to each other, and never figured out. Poetry helps me to get my emotions in order, and to figure out how I’m really feeling.
Do you mean about Red Delicious? BTW, does he read your blog?
I don't remember who I was thinking about at the time. Probably him. Who were you talking about? Ant man?
God, I hope not. I asked him if he did (because he called me Lilith one day) and he said no, so I'm gonna trust him. And why would Peter give him the URL?
Ooh scary. thats quite a co-ink-e-dink if he doesn't read your blog.
yeah Ant man. hehe
I wonder who actually reads blogs, you know?
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