I could have written much better if maybe, I had been interrupted much less.
I should have proved a more effective person if I had not been obliged to spend time and energy learning to believe in myself, and my purposes, regardless of overwhelmingly inspiring times I have had the privilege to live through.
That you, who, hopefully, have been spared this particular battle, will live to heightened achievements, till now undreamed of, will make your own contribution to the future, is a constant and hopeful joy for me,
Imitating “Happy Days,”
With precious cups and saucers
Spread carelessly across the ground,
Ritualising “Captain Fantastic” picnics.
Blanketing the veracity of realities pain,
While the laughter of the cups falls
Loosely from their lips,
Like limp orange peel with nowhere to go,
Just “A Candle in the Wind.”
“I felt a funeral in my brain, and mourners to and fro kept treading, treading till I felt that sense was breaking through. And when they all were seated, a service, like a drum, kept beating, beating, till I felt my mind was going numb. And then I heard them lift a box and creak across my soul with those same boots of lead again, then space began to toll, as if the heavens were a bell and being were an ear, and I, and silence, some strange race wrecked, solitary, here. Just then, a plank in reason broke, and I fell down and down and hit a world at every plunge, and finished knowing then.”
The world looks different now,
From where I stand today.
It used to shine a vibrant yellow
Now casts a silent shadow grey
Beyond fantastic journeys,
Towards a cruel decay
And yet, somewhere,
Not, much too far away…
A tired wary child
Sits secretly at play
As a single star,
Beyond the closing night.
Drowning bodies sigh wearily
Through interminable hours.
Empty, heavy thoughts
Echo time’s fragile fissures,
As dripping forms
Steal silently towards Inaccessible slumber.
Clawing, pink and stained
The shadows of the day
Pierces the shrouded veil
As, like liquid chocolate
Night continues to pour forth And melting midnight lullabies
As the still breeze silently stalls
And tender, weary eyes stare