Outside in the dark night flying,
Tattered wings on ǽther gliding,
O'er a bleak land and ocean sighing,
A wretched shape draws ever near.
In between the pools of light darting,
Past dead leaves and grass advancing,
At my windowsill now scratching,
Looking through the glass too clear.
Peals of twelve in the air, hanging,
Each heavy as stones, dropping,
Father Time himself is slowing,
Drawing out like the edge of a knife.
Through time's bog I wander.
To a time forever before forever,
When I did not know such terror,
That creature scratching at my life.
Once, I think I do remember,
'Neath the sky of red September,
There are tales passed around
On cold windy nights,
In a sideways highway bar named,
The Devil's Own Heights.
It was a lonesome little joint,
Hardly five regulars a day.
But always in its corner sat,
An old woman on the gray.
E'ry day she orders the same,
"A gimlet and lemon side."
Then to her table she would stay,
To drink, drink, and abide.
If a kind soul took to askin'
"For what do you wait so long?"
The only thing she would ever say,
Was "Some rain and a song."
Well rain it did on that land,
Perhaps once a lifetime!
For that little stretch of road,
Was too high for clouds to climb.
But still that little old woman,
Some smiles are heart warming, cheerful, rictus of an expression. Others merely show teeth, nothing more.
Mine is subtle, a tightening of the lips and maybe a chuckle. I don't smile very well and when asked to I look like the Joker.
There you go.
One of the tragedies that a young person will learn in growing up is simple misfortune.
Just imagine, something sad happened (your mom dying in a car crash, your significant other suddenly leaving you, your garage band breaks up), and you simply have to live with it. Forever.
Sounds terrible, doesn't it? Best, of all, you get to keep experiencing these pains over the course of your life. As you grow older, worse and worse things happen to you (like having to bury your own parents, then selling what they owned).
You'll start to see how you might have lived differently and ache to live again to correct your mistakes. Most of the time, you wi
This is simpler.
There are actually very few cases of true insanity. Most of the time, when people come upon another person that cannot be understood, they are labeled as "crazy", effectively dismissing them.
A teenager who shoots up his school cannot be boiled down to "insane". Sometimes, there are events or people who are so unacceptable by the standards of society that trying to understand it invites more persecution.
A rare few truly glances behind the facade of civilization and have a epiphany on the nature of the world. Just a glance could change a person forever, drive them to acts of brutality and cruelty. They are also not insane,
This is a tribute to the fickleness of memory.
This sentence is for all the times you had a great idea, then forgot it as soon as you had the time to write it down.
This sentence is for the dream so profound you woke up screaming, but forgot in another five seconds.
This sentence is for the nostalgia that glosses over all the unpleasant parts of the past.
This sentence is for the song that never goes away.
This sentence is for the fright you get as memories slowly fade away to nothingness, visited only in your dreams (refer back to sentence 2).
This sentence is for the warmth of that time you were all snuggled up in just the right chair
The spring of the heart, the ticking as the sand trickles down the hourglass of your life.
Drives for emotion, lust, need for companionship. These are the things humans have trouble re conciliating with. Everyone wants to believe that they are not driven by something primitive, that they are somehow meaningful.
What is not realized is that these drives are the power for meaning. How many works of art involve the passion of sex? How many books are written on the subject of making friends?
Realize, that while you can't kill off your drives, you can drive it instead of letting it drive you.
Realize also, that having a spring mean
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