Elucidating Questions

Sugar spice clouds floating in a sea of darkening blue as the wind whispers into the night air.

The sparkles of a million unseen lights that blind only the closest, are the farthest as far as the eye can see.

In a straight line from light to iris the farthest any person can travel,

The impossibility of that exact moment, the moment of light years ago the farthest back the eye can see,

The traveling of the lights under the lights of so far away they are but a spec. But the spec of the planet we live on.

The farther away to be seen the more questions of what we see when we see it.

So much farther into what was than what could be,

A maze of before leading back toward it.

This and that.

Swallowing the pride of freedom, for the safety of something.

Taming the want to be free, so that the fingers that were pointed can be turned back.

I wonder, who that person would have been?

Pandora opened the box, no different than my own,

The box of every evil ever done, every regret, every misstep.

A wild heart that grew too slow, kept back by heartbreak,

Betrayal of faith too young.

Lysistrata fighting for peace by claiming celibacy,

In a strategy that would never work.

As banding together was never as easy as saying a word.

The strangeness of being unwritten,

The strangeness of a path untaken,

Love,

Is it something that cannot?

Never has nothing been for frightening,

Than the silence that follows tomorrow.

Torn from dreams as the alarm goes off. Desperately trying to keep them to remember something that sticks.

Images of a life that is different, but they slip away.

Worlds where the fates don’t scream it is their decision, but dreams make more sense than reality these days.

I tried to hold it all together, but I dropped it into fragments of dreams that never stay long enough to explain themselves.

I never know if I’m running or if it’s a nightmare, always fighting to make it something worth while in spite of the terrors.

If only I could run to you.

If only it was that easy.

These days it is easier to sleep and hide in dreams than it is to open my eyes and wake in the same place.

I don’t know what will happen, but I’m going anyway.

That’s all I know anymore.

Do you remember, remember the days, we used to run like wild things through the woods

Do you remember, remember when it started, when you turned your back on me?

Do I expect a call asking for help or do I expect nothing?

Do you remember the days of a small town in the middle of no where where children played safe and free?

Are the memories pouring or boring?

And the holes in them.

It’s the moments of green left far behind and scraped knees and the accidents of youth.

It’s the sunsets of the past that were loved in the feelings of an endless tomorrow.

Being forced out wasn’t what was the worst, the worst was being slowly but surely demoted.

When we became strangers.

Those are the moments that make the anxious searching harder,

When we do meet again, I want you to know I do still love you.

Isn’t it the most important that regardless of these things they can be forgotten.

Saw so many potential grudges, but couldn’t keep them long enough.

It just needs to be remembered,

That I go back there because I miss my family.

I’m still just hanging on this cloud on your every word.

Every word I see is what makes the days worth living.

Will you see me?

When I wander across the line without a plan without knowing exactly why or where or what.

Except I want to see the beach. I want to see it.

Will you see me?

Could you see me?

Sometimes I wonder if I’m just a ghost or if someone would really welcome such a mess with open arms,

But I just want to go. I will lose my mind, if I have to stay in this box.

I went from the person who never breaks promises to the one who breaks them left and right but the need to be anywhere,

Anywhere else.

Wanting to feel something solid, yet not solid. Something somewhere.

Can I hope to see you?

Maybe we can start again.

If I whisper

Help I am here I am lost

Who will hear besides the wind the whisper pours into?

Will it be carried until it is a scream to the ears of someone who can find me, or do the words fall from lips and settle in the sand.

The glass has to break some time and the ticking clock, the cracked wall, it has to come down.

There has to be a way around it.

Beyond trying to explain my case like a witness testifying or a guilty party taking the stand.

Not guilty

I close my eyes and try to sort through days of memories and words spoken and written that cannot be remembered does someone else remember so I can?

So I can explain what I have forgotten.

If we met, what would you do? Because I think I would finally, finally, have no more words to cry out.

The fear of singing back, fear of wrath.