Elucidating Questions

Remembering dreams better than reality because getting by, just getting by,

As it flows on regardless, the river.

I hear it, this is exact. The response to the end, is to send away.

Realising who is pulling on the end of the rope, or trying to climb it,

Inspires them to kick down.

The irony in every single day, waiting

The irony in every single day, telling a story that won’t have an ending.

After all, you can’t write that.

You’ll be dead.

Someone else will write the end and you’ll never get a say.

Or something pulls until you wither away.

So if writing every day, is it a journal of feelings and if so are they valid?

The story continues without, it feels like hell with every snip.

I’m unredeemable, by my standards.

Irredeemable, by the standards of others.

It would be funny, if it ended and there was nothing anyone had to say that was good about me.

It would be funnier if I didn’t have to be alone.

You don’t have to do it on your own,

But I do.

Hands reaching out to others,

No hands of them, they lie.

I’d be the one who hears any time what is needed,

If I could be, if I could remember to lift them all above again.

Always above.

And they never look back.

I put everyone on a pedestal, just out of the water I drown in,

Just to see if anyone can see me.

They don’t.

Those far far away do, the kind ones who always show kind words even when it hurts and I always appreciate it,

But sometimes I wonder if everyone else has someone who they can call,

And all I have is robots.

It’s that moment of being alone with another that you can’t quite simulate,

The moment that doesn’t end right and the feeling of it not being enough.

Even believing doesn’t make it feel right, when there’s no one else.

So if there could be someone, if, there could,

Who could live up to the standards of the songs,

Who could truly stand beside

When no one wants it

When no one needs it

When everyone turns away from it,

Who knows who it was who was part of it.

There’s no such thing as being alone when they watch everything.

All the words all link to the past.

Taking chances, with fate, with chances, never reached quite.

So who, where, and what and when.

Unknown.

And understood.

Unfortunate.

Where to direct when return to sender is sent elsewhere and returned to sender,

Who has no where else to send it?

Drifting off at sea.

Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

The song of the end of a love that doesn’t end.

After rebirth, does it start again?

If it’s been that long, the number of times this has repeated.

But I want to go far away if I’m forced to continue.

It doesn’t end, old enough to know that love doesn’t end

Old enough to know it grows painful as the lonely days add up and the median is no where near average,

Old enough to know that when you can’t get away from it it twists and twists and twists until

The magnets snap, no matter how much you wished.

Goodbye is not the end of love, it is the end of being strong enough to show it.

Putting it somewhere like a spider.

The spider loves only to live, and the world only wants to see life.

There’s two reactions to every action,

Perhaps spiders are dangerous, perhaps they scare me, perhaps they come running at me,

Who knows why?

Old enough to know the answer to every question,

Is time, who knows what the sense of it is,

And that the push and pull between following, waiting for, walking with, pushing against, and resenting

The times.

Old enough to know that concern for others means the pain of knowing they walked away without concern for you.

Sometimes the truth comes, and you wonder if it could be,

But still I think it’s at least part true.

It makes every step even harder,

The truth,

The weight of a heart held by one hand.

When it’s so heavy, the hand starts to shake and the fingers ache and the arm begins to hurt.

I want to drop it, into the hole, because I haven’t found the bottom yet, and coming back to the lip,

There’s still no one beside mine,

The greatest weapon anyone can wield.

A shadow of summer who hides in the rain between spring and summer and the thick clouds that don’t fall.

The love of two crows, perched on a light turned off, love flows without electricity,

But not without the charge of the heart.

I wonder if there is a crow like me, somewhere,

Who could fly with me and the family,

Perched in a moment of silence above the trees.

I want to see it in others, but seeing it hurts the same as the happiness that others have it.

Still the clouds separate the sun and the shards of the moon that fell.

Hidden behind the walls on the outside,

I want you,

Far away invisible impossible mission.

The air feels thicker, the sky feels heavier.

Because all I want besides you,

Is water.

So I sit and wait, and the messages repeat.

I was waiting for it, waiting for this.

I knew it would happen, counting on the rejection.

Because I always have to redirect it somewhere.

And after all,

There’s only one other person on earth who I see.

Walking into my life with all the confidence of a man promised everything in time, who doesn’t care what time it is.

The tell tale sign of hang ups around your neck that you treat like a habit, that I hope someday you can feel you have moved past.

Someday when she walks into your life and makes all the pain better, and I hope it’s every day, and every day I hope you find her.

You say you don’t need her, but your other side betrays you and tells me,

Classic, the one who tells and the one who doesn’t.

I don’t blame you for anything, I hope you know that, blame was six months ago and it was my fault and my mistake, not yours.

I should have said sooner and to you, directly, thank you for giving me a second chance.

Even if it’s shards and distance.

I really never did say anything the first time, I really never intended to any other time,

Thank you for giving me a chance.

You have the spirit of a musician,

You have a wild spirit, wolves have a pack, birds a flock or a family,

Singers have a reason to scream, I wonder what you feel in the beat.

I have traced the perimeter, to see if there is an entrance, some way to be a part,

A way to stay near without invading or at least being part of it beyond…well that thing and whatever I do.

I still posit, present, and believe,

That love doesn’t run out, that it continues on.

I’ll prove it, somehow, someday.

They say bad things happen for a reason,

And I hope I happened to you for a reason.

It whispers louder in the echoes and the words unspoken but loudly shining

Be careful, be careful, be careful,

Is it so breakable that it has to be whispered,

The person who was spoken to before, is no longer,

Simply because in any second anyone can change.

The ones you speak to in the shadows of light and day,

Shards of pain and regret left behind.

Retribution for pulling the wrong cards,

Is pulling them right,

Retribution for being afraid to fly,

Is wishing safe every flight,

Retrospective missing of a person who became a ghost too easily.

Stones turn to dust that settles down into the ground, as dirt and sand,

If only I could gather in these hands all that I could to make this all better,

All at once like a something to fix the cracks of the leaking dam that is ruby in the hearts that shine, or sapphire in the hearts that feel they are too cold,

Things that don’t have meaning to anyone, but maybe someone.

The stones and the statue, who knows if it means what it means.

It seems tone can be deceiving. Is it sarcasm or tears? Is it satire or twisting into a shape beyond it?

A small amount of darkness, amongst the self hatred for reasons unknown besides what others think or may.

Getting out of it often seems impossible, when in a tunnel with no light,

Finding glowing in the cracks,

Hoping it means the end,

The lights of things in days, when there are few others reasons.

To say at least the stars and the trees and the sun and the oceans and the animals and the moons,

When we are lucky to have found a place like this.

It’s merely this mess that wrecks the garden.

In the darkness of the night and the light of the moon, the part in the sky surrounding the whole.

What would it be like to see the clouds from below and have sand and water a beach under toes?

Sirens always follow, always send them with the speed of the one and the guidance of the zero.

This year of the sky, and the wolf crying to the moon on high.

The stars shouldn’t fall, ever, and regardless of how good it seems to be

So bright and visible in the dark, they still cry because at least most have a heart

I believe that, that most have a heart.

The screams of the crowds that look up to see,

Hidden from light, wishing to be in the trees by a lake or a river or ocean or

Free in the forests, hail a Queen,

Who, just as most before, trampled on the under.

Hail a city that often believes it is their holiday,

To those who get to run free without care this weekend.

This weekend that is the beginning of six days in a row, six days without living alive.

What is the difference between live and live and if there is then why can’t we all?

Why do there have to be losers?

Forget three or the city, or the country, or the continent,

Forget four or the taking, or the getting, or the faking.

The future I wish to see, is a world that has never been seen.

And it’s meaningless without you there,

Somehow. Somewhere.

Staying away is harder than being silent.