Elucidating Questions

The silent whispers of words spoken cruelly when such words are not warranted.

As it happens every time, and why I end up the bad guy, when the debt was paid and the apologies clear, when purpose of suffering and pain wasn’t there

Why does this happen in every story, that regardless of actions the words come out sharp,

I tried to do right and it just turns out the same. And taken silent again and again the words that aren’t said to try to right the balance.

Self defense only and never against, as the words spoken aloud are merely a cry to apologise.

Ignoring the pain felt for the pain of the self, and no matter how many times explained, why my pain is invalid when your pain is fair to be felt.

They just leave when it’s not good enough for them.

And it hurts the same every time. And still comes out on top.

Wanting to be rescued, while sitting on top of the mountain.

Jupiter hangs low in the skies, the streetlights blink out.

The traffic lights shine, the night sky’s night light.

The twins beyond sight, the light or the clouds.

The moon yet invisible, the sun far away.

The stars that shine in the night, if today was the last day,

Would record a boring end, to a boring me.

And if that was that story, well it would be unfair,

That any story could just end there.

Yet as it is it was wanted, and is yet still,

By the daily nothing living.

The light flickers back, the waiting for sleep,

The beginning of tomorrow, alone and in bed.

The laughing of the children as they pass by, the cars that move the words that fly.

A city alight with being alive, a place where the other people feel the vibe,

Of an evening out where life is lived and those who enjoy the weekend play, as sitting on the side and watching the day

The sun is gone now, the evening is awake, far off mountains somewhere else,

The growl of engines, the lingering smoke.

The highlighted purples in the spotlight’s gaze,

The rising of the planet, who follows the evening,

A light someplace else, a star who is born.

Beyond the skies the night that is shown,

The songs of a siren who wishes to be seen.

The longing to see the waves tumbling, when it’s far away and the legs are too tired.

Can’t say tomorrow, and the moon’s day is so far.

If there is time on the day after words have been made,

Perhaps we can meet in the beautiful bay.

Too many roads, so many options. Places and things and thousands of human choices.

Choices already made thousands and thousands. Even gone in nothing the words still existed. The things that were said still happened when told

And inspite the start and middle and the end and those things that happened.

At some point it made sense, and then it didn’t. As it is, still sitting in silence so what is the result?

That the wind is blowing on an afternoon that merely is the beginning of the day.

Trying to keep it together when it wants nothing more than to break. The feeling of beats taken for reasons unknown.

If thoughts are on trial and feelings disregarded,

The mind just shuts down, if you take away the wings and drown out the sound of it.

For truly what reason could this be, that this place is here and here there is me,

Merely sitting and looking at asphalt rivers, waiting for the time to leave so the day can happen

And then be over.

In a far away no where, a cabin in the woods. The forest all around, a field beyond where the horses run.

A beach as the field runs to the end.

Rolling hills, tumbling streams, the stars visible at night.

Visitors come and visitors go, the days pass on in quiet.

The birds fly through the skies, the badgers in the dens, the rabbits in the fields,

The pheasants and the ents.

The forest continues, back miles and miles,

The deer run through thickets, the green grows in wild.

The hills that rise, the mountain far away, the snow on the peaks, the trees part way up.

The vast sky, the blues and the greys.

Rain tumbles down, into the valley, the fireflies dance,

The flowers in bloom, the midspring summer,

Owls scream their cries

Night signals the end.

If you connect the dots of connected words to songs that were, but weren’t and then were

You learn of things you didn’t need to know, or things that have no consequence thus

The stories that were and the words that ran through, it doesn’t change or become different

It’s the same words they don’t change, but meanings do.

The actions were past or different or backwards.

Regardless of reasons the bow in the sky with many arrows,

The sweeping wings in the feathers on the arrows.

The pen in the clouds, the ocean keeps coming, the waves keep calling

They flow in and out, the feeling of pulling the dragging of doubt.

The body so tired, the mind so thin, the want to go, even when everything hurts.

So exhaustion, the lack of sleep, memories taken or memories received

It just makes it harder. It doesn’t fix it.