ILLUSION Like an anxiously awaited Christmas morning, by a small child, life is over much too quickly Its days seep through the fabric of time, yard by yard, unnoticed by the hurried humans as they cling to the melancholy of their lost dreams from a naive youth, only to be cut at the seam as realization becomes their enemy. By a heavy cloud of denial they are covered, gray, and the longing to go back and start anew is muffled by the sounds of the lies that they tell themselves. Societies trappings fill the gouge where once was the youthful soul of an artist, painting their life on the canvas of the world before their brushes became stained with the truth. The allotment of breaths that they foolishly called their own, seeps from their vessels like a heavy mist that lingers, and the stench of the vapors is sorrowful yet feels like an old familiar friend. The memories of their long forgotten dreams have now become nightmares, as they are haunted by the loss of what never even was, and their voice is trapped beneath their chest, which feels like a cold steel manhole cover, that locks their words underground while the streets of the city above are trampled by robots in a frenzied rush to go no place. The days pass, and like a hooded thief in the night, take with them the weeks, the months and the years until all that remains is a wrinkled shell, knowing all to well the pungent taste of broken promises, and the irony that plays out like a worn out song that gets stuck under the needle and endlessly repeats itself until the madness overtakes them and they are driven to places of silence within themselves.. The deafness is no comfort and in their stillness they are engulfed by the wastefulness of the salty tears which where painfully shed in vain,and the hollow words that bruised their lips as they floated off their tongue, only to be ignored. In emptiness they lay quiet as the hands on the clock now slow to a torturous pace, suspended between two worlds, unable to return to the past, and the future unsure and dangling on a jagged cliff atop a steep rocky wasteland of a life lived and shaped by the regrets of walking so lightly that they are blinded by the absence of the imprint that was made. Longing to jump off they are too feeble and frail to journey themselves to the edge, but then time savagely decides to pick up its pace and pushes them ever-closer until the view is in site, although now they have finally become comfortable in this existence called reality where resignation is the only salvation that they know. MC 11-16-13
Posted on: Sat, 16 Nov 2013 23:41:57 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015