Even if the voice cannot be heard or spoken with clarity, there may still be a chance to soar...is there? Tell me that there can be. Whisper in my ear reassurance that I shall be forgiven for being the sinner who cheats life and its promises in a search for death.
Oh, I know some people would say that there are horizons waiting to be seen. That there are stars yet left to be named and all will make sense one day yet for the sensitive souls who feel abandoned on this level, that day seems ever more further away when they simply want to go home and feel freedom on their wings instead of chaos. Chaos is heavy, drains the power to fly even for those who see nature as release or for those who know they were born to share love and light.
Sympathy is not the goal to free purge of random emotions. As a writer, art from the heart sails any sorrow towards the rocks where it can be heard screaming in its destruction and rebirth. Indeed, it necessary to vent this way at times and see a glimmer. It is necessary to watch it drown and wish it well. Give love to anything, anyone, any emotion and it shall inevitably dissolve in its negative state or bloom with encouragement. Or so I used to think.
I used to think I had the answers, not universal epiphanies but answers of my own. Enough to cope with the next begrudging hour that would bring many whirlwinds my way and yet today, I am reminded how wrong I have been. The mind can be the most relaxed, reassured thing one minute only to venture out into the world for say, some cigarettes and then all hell breaks lose for want of a better cliche. You return home in a flurried state, thoughts ungrounded as the wind that has blown your last hope away in an unknown direction.
I used to think I had the answers. Oh yes! Isn't life a fragile thing? Ebb and flow. Choke and grin. Surrender or face a battle that cannot be won. It seems melancholic to embrace death's charm. Like the ocean, it lures. It tricks you, deceives you. Leaves you promises unturned and stones thrown at the doorways of your mind.
It all ends...
Here. Where the rain has started to weep. Where the stench of rotten life has become too much. Where the grass has refused to grow. Where the swifts decline their ticket home.
It all ends...
Sooner than thought. Then again, a storm can sneak up on the most observant spirit, silently.
It shall all make sense some day...
Insanity has marked every date on the calender, it waits and waits. It waits in strange lands where even the most courageous warrior would fear to dwell. It lingers in lonely plains where only wolves show the way...to...who knows where. It marks every date on the calender to give itself a challenge.
If there is a day where sanity can overcome the bitter loss of tears and the irrational urge to jump in the literal sense then all candles shall be lit to welcome it home.
"Yes, that's right. Over the barrier, you know you want to."
A challenge that I fear shall be met if the storm fails to liberate such thoughts.
"Think of those you love and those who love you."
Even a light bearer seeks solace in the most strangest ways. The ultimate sinner shall always cheat life and its promises in a search for death.
Time to mark another date on the calender, create a new month and give it a name...expand the seconds...time is running out.
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