little cup

I used to write. A lot. It helps...and everyday, I think I will but then the day passes and my eye lids get heavy. It will happen tho. I got stories to tell and wisdom to share. Most times in the form of mistakes and stupidity, but hey- some of us learn things better the hard way (and become better teachers for it) :)

Here's something I wrote years ago. I was listening to Little Cup by Thao and Mirah and it reminded me of a different time...when I was a different person. But- the beauty in writing is the opportunity we have in taking a peak back and seeing for ourselves 'the fork in the road'. The moment when change happens. And the awesome feeling we get when we see that change only got better as time progressed...

paralized. in a coma.

The beast has spoken and once again I am parallel with hope,
walking numb, weightless, blind,
when senses fail and nothing means everything there lies the dream:
that fear distorts what love can heal,
his presence just as loneliness knocked on her door,
the dream of one day being young again- not in age,
but in hope and innocense,
I find I've grown too old, too frail, my fountain of bliss seems too high to reach...
portraits are similiar, yet thoughts have escaped,
I wonder if spiritually it has grown or gone- hiding from me,
with despair in denial and pride, firm, in place,
change is an oasis- a blur in the future I forgot to acknowledge, or dread to accept.
Nothing is done, nothing is over, only munipulated, ignored..
Here once stood a strong and forgiving soul, un-alone, wishing she was...
then she left.
I wonder if she'll ever return,
I wonder what knowledge she will attain,
I wonder if it will matter or all be in vain,
a pointless act of heroism, pathetic, but bold...
Still I miss her,
and wish her the most... growth.
Unknown- I want to learn...
my faith lies in others-
with dreams of being independent, yet needed,
mysterious and trusted,
uncommitted, always loved.....in love..
where senses fail and nothing means everything.

2003.

enjoy.