Friday, January 27, 2012

The Cave

Sometimes, when no one's looking, when life sneaks up on you the way it does, you feel it, getting to you, like a forgotten memory you never saw coming. You feel it, you know it's there, so instead, you ignore it. It's not because you're afraid, and it's definitely not because you don't care, it's just, well, it's easier this way. However, the problem with easy is that, eventually, sooner rather than later, you grow out of it. Because easy is for the weak hearted, for the shadows on the wall who don't know any better. It's for the freed prisoner sitting by the fire who never even bothered to look beyond the cave, while Socrates, all dead and buried, rolls in his fancy little grave.

And so, with easy not being an option, you find yourself at a crossroad. You can turn right, left, or you can go forward. You are not allowed to go back. Back is easy. Back is safe. Safe is uninteresting. Safe is not living. So you sit, right there, right in the middle. Passersby, thinking you've lost it (you probably did), come up to you, asking you all sorts of questions. People are curious that way. You ignore them. You're good at that. Instead, you nod and you smile. They don't know what they're talking about.

Eventually, you force yourself to get up. Now standing, you take a good look to your right, a good look to your left, and a good look forward. With your eyes closed, you spin, in a clockwise direction, until your head starts to hurt. So you stop. Then, just as everything starts to fall into place, you open your eyes.

Now what?

Monday, January 16, 2012

Melted Crayons

it's the uncomfortable void
in the middle of the night.
a null analysis by Freud,
and so, instead, I write.

floating in a melted crayon of doubt,
sinking, slowly, feet touching the ground,
silenced by the viscosity. whisper. do not shout.
visible. here, there. lost. never been found.

awakened by this sudden urge to breathe,
by a hidden sunrise, glimmering underneath.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Chances

life is for the living. that's what they say.
an acronym for the hopeful. day by day.
a game of hide and seek in the shadows,
of a boy and a girl running naked in the meadows.

it's a bird, moving, now standing still,
not wanting to be caged against his will.
it's a silhouette in the background smiling back,
beautiful as the little butterfly kissing her neck.

a happy journey, scaring the shit out of you.
maybe already over. maybe long overdue.
an empty bench in the corner of a park,
afraid of the loneliness as it gets dark.

a sleepless clock, always awake,
mocking you, your every mistake.
a dream in the middle of the night,
of squirrels, rainbows, and colourful kites.

it's that chance, not taken, now probably lost.
a life who should have lived whatever the cost.