The man I know he bids farewell to me and other men
for there are leaves to attend to
His own yard he rakes and his mother’s too
because he is doing what grown men ought to do
Some say he has put away childish things
that he is growing fast and that fun is growing short
But he has always been this man
who has known when to put toys away and pick up a tool
(work in progress)
I may be drawn back here, I may not be. But this is still ever present on my dash and so it does not escape my view.
We will see.
So expect updates whenever I feel like it! Whoo!
With a will he didn’t know he still had in him he rushed forward, screaming as he charged. All he had to fight with were his fist, bruised and bloody as they were. The lone reaper watched on with pity as the beaten figure before him made one last desperate move. This was it? This was what the punk, the kid playing hero had left in his hand? It was beyond pathetic.
It’d been two years since I’d seen her. I’m sure that as I get older they’ll seem like insignificant drops in the bucket, but in that moment they felt more like two oceans. Two years with months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, and seconds that I’m painfully aware of. Before she left I was an actor playing the role of a better person, a good friend. I wanted to be a guy she deserved. So I told her to go for it. “Two years? That’s nothing!” I encouraged her, more than that, I pushed her away. She had her own doubts, some days it seemed like she wasn’t actually interested in leaving. But my constant nagging sent her off to what I told myself was a great experience for her.
To the anons, I can’t say I didn’t expect any hate from that post. Though do you follow gloriousfist or elemeandor or are you just tag surfers? Either way it is fine.
Like strings that form and bind the cosmos
We dance around the truth
each vibration forms something new, something else
words pushed out of our throats, yet too hard to swallow
too many dimensions to account for
tangled in a web of untruths
a new real is formed
another entity to crowd the cosmic bulk
a universe that does not obey our own
Then a string is pulled, the web unwinds, the dimensions unfurl, and the universe collapses
No matter what is lost the dance goes on
the strings vibrate and form and bind and tangle
A universe is born in the cosmos
as lies are born on our lips
I say that I write to offer a voice for others to use
that I wish to illuminate
to shed light on misdeeds and chaos
But truly, I write for me
For myself I put pen to paper, literary therapy
Every word is my voice, the inner, the outer, the past, a voice I’m trying out
Sentence after sentence, they are attempting to be heard
I’m never sure of where I want to go or what I want to say
But by the end I’m standing amongst something new
Often my voice lets me down, it happens I know
But on golden days, I’m satisfied
But they won’t be on time.
I want to actually get some writing done, outside of small drabbles and such this week. Also just a busy week.