Tuesday, 27 March 2012

See The Good

Hands tremble.

Suspended in a space that is not familiar. Writhing in a frozen state. From above bodies look less contorted than they felt. That is surely what the mind does: contortion. Watching the walls as the colour drains away, like water down a drain - but does not pirouette as gracefully. Not even there enough to ask if that was night or me?

Debar the stars from a sky once so clear. Now is forbidden.

Hear what the weather has to say. When it is sad it rains, or sunny for happiness. Simply displayed child emotions. Reverse that, rain for pain and sun for vengance. Though it is such a strange suggestion to see through. Children keep secrets, and often too well. The change of subject was mundane in itself. So too, the days will be to pass.

Not ready. Not ready.

It is all so dark, but the sun beams come through the curtains. Spiralling light hits the bed and refuses to leave the floundered and pleading. Then the water refuses to offer amity and instead reminds you of the old intimacy, where it drowned your skin in silky warmth too good to give up. Buried secrets. Pacts broken, as you start to remember.

You once said you saw me. Now I'm not so sure.

The written word is something so continually powerful. Impossible to understand how something so damning can be so beautiful and those so gentle hide such terrible sadness. Much has changed over the past two years. Though not much gets said, as truthfully as maybe it should be, what appears here is sometimes healing. It's a promise to you, who is here now, that I will not shy from this place totally. So when distance is great or nothing makes sense: I love you.

This is an extract from one of my written diaries, I think it was about all of you:
"I should tell you one thousand times over: of something warm and wonderfully light. That should sit in your chest and fill you with joy. That didn't need a specific day or time of year. It could fill more space than you could see, as each room you'd enter would fill so quickly and silently, unknowing to untided and excited feeling. What a surprise that should be. May I once hope to fill this in your mind and heart, but shall I be too far away by metaphoric distance to really fulfill that promise. Should this happen you can remember of all things mentioned by those who really do exhibit kindness from their being, and you should always remember these people over time, as they probably will never stop loving you."

Very shaken still.

Friday, 16 March 2012

How Strange, Innocence

Using music as a bandage, it wraps around my wrists and mind. It eases the troublesome tirade of a fickle onslaught.

At the ball. There's an incredibly high ceiling, it holds intricate patterns and seemingly impossible artwork. Blood, sweat and tears. With a firm grip, a fantastic chandelier is poised right over the centre of the room, the Architect really wanted to get that part alone right. The floor is marble, of course. It it a mix of triangular perfection, in shades of ecru, peru and with a delicate lining of russet. The light seems to come from everywhere, but the room still remains dim. At the right there is a spiralling grand staircase. To the left the platform for the band. A piano adorns the space greedily, but as it casts out such wonderful sound the other instruments play nicely. The tables have fabulous centrepieces, deep rouge roses, mixed with their innocently white counterpart. There are diamonds on the petals and it's so beautiful because no weight hangs heavy on them. Wink in the candlelight. The chairs are plush, with velvet smooth covers. The satin is so soft on the table surface. Next to cutlery that's polished perfection, sharp and accurately placed. Name cards were done individually, the writing suits the theme. The staff, know when to appear and when to disappear back into the walls. Discretion is key.
A hand takes you and spins you onto the floor. Though it is dizzy for a second or so, the room stops twirling. A slow dance, where hands fit on waists and snugly into a partner's free hand. One hand up high, and placing it perfectly there means eyes will definitely meet. Moving to a beat, different from the one strummed in the left. Hearts adjust to a rhythm and become lost. If it all stopped now there would be a confusion. Rested heads on shoulders. The only smell is a faint perfume, so familiar. Slow movements. Gentle. We were dancing to keep breathing.
"You don't need me, but you won't leave me."

Once again, let's take a moment to clear out the paper from our desks. Spring cleaning. Flower pruning. I guess you were going to make me do this all along. All it would have taken was the truth. No one says that out aloud anymore, for pity's sake. We should be so lucky. Stop pretending. You were no parachute after all. Terrible, falling, down. Watered down versions of the truth.

Looking up to that highly placed hand, sort of ready to say the words.
No one is there. Cruel dream.

Saturday, 10 March 2012

Burst Apart

Open your eyes and see dark. Not 'the' dark. Just an empty void that has no matter. It is endless because, us humans, we will never reach the edge. A creation that we are little players in, take away the word mighty because fear was instilled in our hearts long ago. A shape with an unknown design. The philosophers could go mad over it, and indulge their unquiet, restless minds. How many true types of fool are there?

We spend a lot of time looking at the sky, even wanting to be a bird for the day. Spreading some feathers, which individually are dangerously delicate, then going higher - toward that sun! (A metaphor that is long since worn out). It is so strange that a matter of browns and yellows could be come so distinct and radiant. Where eagles fly in the west.

Out beyond that there is so much more. So much glittering space. Full of things the clever ones try to understand. The darkest night during the longest day. Then a burning intensity. We look for those supernovas as an amazing sight. A star's funeral getting to be such an enlightening experience, for some. Instead that burning brightness just before the end is like one final chance to be remembered. One final thing that they were damn good at. For there are you are looking at a valley of stars. A beautiful picture of something quite unearthly. It is so unusual it is captivating and wonderful. A lot like quite a few of you round here. Gone in a second.

Take away that horrible complex array of feelings. Just for one day. Okay, a few hours. Smile, again.

What a mess! This is not artwork.
"Be good or be gone."