You want me to live with the pain that you have lived through, through the years. You want me to live the lie, same as you have. You say that I must be comforted with it – it’s a harsh world, after all. You know it first- hand, you suffered it – first-hand. What do I know? I never knew your pains. I never heard your screams. I never knew – if you had any dreams. Did you ever give me a chance to pierce through your silence?
Is there a way to raise and comfort a child broken by life?/ radiantdreamer.net
I want to kill. Do you think a dozen or so will serve the purpose? The purpose of what – of breaking chains, of easing pains, of deadening this numbing silence between us? I want to steal, steal a time when dreams have not been stepped on, just yet. When discord was still to be born and hate was yet to grow and unfold. When promises held meaning and tomorrow was not just a word. And we hope that the bleeding would stop. And the complexities would dissolve into that one fine, simple, defining moment – just before. And it would all come to pass… How?
Different shades, hues and strains of hurts cloud our way and you believe that we will hold. Replacement, an impossibility. The static come from everywhere and you pump up the volume, racing to see who gets deafened first. Can we not just tend to the present, you ask. You shore up the ruins of the old, aging self mustering a dignified front. You never fooled me for a second. You say you have weathered the storms, tragedies and all. Have you now? We’re all wound up, nice and proper.
Why is my embrace lost in the myriad of your fears? We are astray, no stars to guide our bay. The sound of the sea is deafening from afar and the wind gives us no clue – that one day it’s going to happen. That we can smile and this foul, horrifying, awful dread will leave us be – to become. Ah, we have had our losses! Not to count disappointments, compromises and misplaced aspirations… You say we must not make time for woes – there’s just too many, will be needing appointments.
There are days when we seem to understand – this life conceived in misery, suffered in agony and birthed in, upon layers and layers of, aches. You say we must bear up to life’s blows, most of all – yours. You mock me all the time, can’t stand the sight of the weak – you now call yourself strong. You tear out love, gnaw at its marrow and fastidiously deride life – superficial. But you are the queen and the people believe you. You have scaled heights undreamed of and raced to the finish, a feat unimaginable. But whose imagination are we talking about? We squander the days away and sing the same old songs – by the bend.
So, who is worn out with dreams? You who have made it? Or is it I – who have missed it – over and over? Under the morning light, we barely pass the scrutiny. You forbid me to grieve and to cry – injustice is trite, look at every corner. If I hold your hand, would you still shine? We trip and fall our way away to where our conversation started – meaningless. To content ourselves with violence, that is what you are asking me to do… And you smirk at my seeming perspicacity – to suggest breaking clear! You say it isn’t as easy as the coming of mornings, no. Dissonance, disrespect and disconnect decorate the walls between us. We grope and tarry, anyway.
Who is to allay the doubts of two disparate souls? We sit together admiring the repetitive patterns of our divide in a delicate world crumbling, pushing us farther and farther away…
Does being broken mean forgetting about one’s dreams?/ facebook.com
35andupcynicismonhold 