Horizons

The sea at rest, like placid glass of sparkling sapphire against a curtain of brilliant gold. It surely is a wandering mind's paradise.
Wandering minds, though, have to be careful of falling into deceptive waters.

What do you make of all you see around you?
Truth, or fiction?
Beyond what you see, what do you make of all you feel?
Again, truth...or fiction?

I have learned that there is no hope for a few out there. Even for those few that deep waters has failed to stop my heart from caring.

I wish you could understand. I wish you would take that back. I really do.
What advantage would it have for you?
...None.
You are what you hate. You are what your big words mask in the face of the world. You have no soul, no essence to bring you light. You live off crooked smiles, co-dependence, and manipulation between your hallow self. How I wish you wouldn't.
I'd give my life to make you see. Is it worth it?

Today, I live well, but you have no concern. Have you ever wondered why they betray you? Do you ever wonder why they go crazy? Do you ever wonder why they leave you?

Maybe they see right through you. Maybe they try to help you see, but you have no sight. Maybe they try to help you feel, but you have no touch. You feed off the senses of others. When all the chances are gone, they are wrought with despair, and your greedy hunger swallows them whole.
They never left you. You left them.
Stop blaming others. Stop branding them with words that are void of context. Defeat your ignorance, open the gates, and let the beams consume you.


No, what am I saying. Nothing, nothing. You are truly lost, and sometimes I wish my heart could give up on you once and for all.
Then I could be as you are...

The Crying Harp

You know, I felt the need to type another post because the other one is so beautifully incoherent. So here is another wonderfully incoherent post.

I am back in the gray valley, floating in the mist of a cold rain. I am so many places at once. I feel the heartache of Autumn, the desolation of Winter, the apprehension of Spring, the failure of Summer; Back into Autumn. I ask the forgiveness of Time, afraid to be condemned, assured that I will carry that hopelessness for a long time. I am currently reminded of a beautiful sorrow which cannot be relieved, which cannot be denied.

Ahh, how passionate those moments of complete and utter isolation were. I thought a mountain top would be the perfect place to speak to the Heavens, who knew a bottomless ocean was more fitting.
Cold and alone, desperate, tragic, and solemn; Yet, the innocence still remained preserved.

There is nothing I can do now. It is nothing but a dream. Dare I be tempted by the illusion, into the well I will fall.

I'll always miss that place, until I am unable to forget its despair. Good riddance, my beautiful ruiner.

Effect of the Cause.

And where was I, this day, what is not so long ago?
Frail, skinny;
Invisible.

It's funny what they say about all things happening for a reason. I feel it is a good reason, but I haven't quite reached that understanding. Maybe I won't. Not in this lifetime.
and I don't have much time.

There is an answer that looms in the untouchable realm. Unto which is sought, there, it will not be found. The simplest rule, and always the first rule.

Happiness though, mistaken for elevation in joyful emotion, is nothing more than an accepted neutrality in the Great Balance. Much like the Yin and Yang. A darkness is a precursor to morning, and morning a precursor to darkness. Once you go beyond the obvious acceptance of that cycle, you reach a level where they mean nothing. Morning is neither celebrated nor despised. Darkness is neither happiness nor sadness. They are what they are. Once that is contemplated to the point where it becomes a feeling rather than thought, it is truly happiness...it's an amazing transformation of...something. It's the unknown energy. The greatest of all the intangibles.

My grip is weak, at best, and I find myself developing an internal arrhythmia to the essential being. I know there is a place where these thoughts become complacent. I experience it often, yet like a daily pilgrimage, I travel the same miles to feel it. It's all there so that I will not become a captive to idle days.

I know I am well...at least in comparison to all I was. I find it hard to believe there are such things as malicious, resentful people. I could easily ruin myself contemplating that idea for too long. I don't carry those seeds. Somehow, I do without.
Still, there is that question. If only they realized that my eyes are mirrors to their own, maybe the answer would be a little clearer. The concept of misunderstanding still remains, and I question its role in that which has challenged me.

This means nothing to you, those who read this. It is merely a memoir from the mass eating the back of my head. Goodnight.