kazza_baby
Bluelighter
Unwittingly,
I decided to close the floodgates to my past.
That effervescent yet momentary piece of delicate artlessness
and permanent inscrutability,
and once and for all surround myself;
with a terrain of psychological fulfillment -
as garnered by a fortified truthfulness,
even if that means to lie.
Gone are the pains of being swept across a field of overvalued platitudes,
picking out the rowdy ideas from the prudish sentiments,
and exceedingly worse,
that of falling and crawling back to the top.
The agony of having only such a dismembered self to fall back on!
You mean to cradle your heart but you only cradle your wounds.
I am not making sense.
Yes, but don’t we all?
As we speak about our glorious pasts;
from which we brandish horned shields to protect ourselves,
are we feeling - are we sensing?
If to sense and to feel are products of intuit,
what discernment does one make when the past ignites,
once more,
and in the eyes flicker a fizzle that used to be ferocity?
We never feel the past. We feel the now.
We never feel presence; we feel the lack.
The lack of what?
For my case, the concept of time.
There are never strict isolations as to where I live and breathe,
as time for me isn’t linear but planar.
I torture myself by staring at the clock.
I listen to the steady ticking of the second hand;
but I only hear the repercussions of a heart that beats for yesterday.
We are all dead and we just don’t know it.
Time is trickery,
giving us such illusory premises as age and trends and obsolence.
Contrary to the clock I see, time is immeasurable.
There are no limits with time,
henceforth, there, too, are never demarcations.
We live in the past and present at the same time.
The future is a rather interesting,
although, very different tale.
How certain are we that there is a future if we only have today to stand witness for?
Tomorrow comes with uncertainty.
The future is a promise, not a premise.
An idea, not an ideal.
Sometimes, I fancy myself as some dandy show dolphin in Sea World.
I flap my fins and leap through the air,
flap my fins and leap some more.
All of you are my audience.
Why aren’t you clapping?
So tonight this dolphin decides to let go of the will to live and dies in its timeless sleep.
Would you have known that perhaps as I flapped about and leapt around,
I meant to say:
'Come watch me die'? Seriously, watch me.
I am forced to believe in time.
In history, in life, and yes, in love.
Too bad love is not part of the physical world;
it is not quantifiable, verifiable, or repeatable.
You can’t catch love then seal it in a glass container for display.
It isn’t even visible.
There are no gravitational laws or relativistic theories that govern love because there is only time.
Sometimes it is sarcastic and sometimes it is sweet.
Fortunate are those that catch time ripe.
And for those who have loves that have gone sour;
still, it only takes time.
To love on. To shine again. To die.
I pity my timeline and its simplistic beauty.
It leaves me no choice but to fear this so-called future,
because I am never certain how much of it I have.
In life, there are only two things: time or truancy.
I decided to close the floodgates to my past.
That effervescent yet momentary piece of delicate artlessness
and permanent inscrutability,
and once and for all surround myself;
with a terrain of psychological fulfillment -
as garnered by a fortified truthfulness,
even if that means to lie.
Gone are the pains of being swept across a field of overvalued platitudes,
picking out the rowdy ideas from the prudish sentiments,
and exceedingly worse,
that of falling and crawling back to the top.
The agony of having only such a dismembered self to fall back on!
You mean to cradle your heart but you only cradle your wounds.
I am not making sense.
Yes, but don’t we all?
As we speak about our glorious pasts;
from which we brandish horned shields to protect ourselves,
are we feeling - are we sensing?
If to sense and to feel are products of intuit,
what discernment does one make when the past ignites,
once more,
and in the eyes flicker a fizzle that used to be ferocity?
We never feel the past. We feel the now.
We never feel presence; we feel the lack.
The lack of what?
For my case, the concept of time.
There are never strict isolations as to where I live and breathe,
as time for me isn’t linear but planar.
I torture myself by staring at the clock.
I listen to the steady ticking of the second hand;
but I only hear the repercussions of a heart that beats for yesterday.
We are all dead and we just don’t know it.
Time is trickery,
giving us such illusory premises as age and trends and obsolence.
Contrary to the clock I see, time is immeasurable.
There are no limits with time,
henceforth, there, too, are never demarcations.
We live in the past and present at the same time.
The future is a rather interesting,
although, very different tale.
How certain are we that there is a future if we only have today to stand witness for?
Tomorrow comes with uncertainty.
The future is a promise, not a premise.
An idea, not an ideal.
Sometimes, I fancy myself as some dandy show dolphin in Sea World.
I flap my fins and leap through the air,
flap my fins and leap some more.
All of you are my audience.
Why aren’t you clapping?
So tonight this dolphin decides to let go of the will to live and dies in its timeless sleep.
Would you have known that perhaps as I flapped about and leapt around,
I meant to say:
'Come watch me die'? Seriously, watch me.
I am forced to believe in time.
In history, in life, and yes, in love.
Too bad love is not part of the physical world;
it is not quantifiable, verifiable, or repeatable.
You can’t catch love then seal it in a glass container for display.
It isn’t even visible.
There are no gravitational laws or relativistic theories that govern love because there is only time.
Sometimes it is sarcastic and sometimes it is sweet.
Fortunate are those that catch time ripe.
And for those who have loves that have gone sour;
still, it only takes time.
To love on. To shine again. To die.
I pity my timeline and its simplistic beauty.
It leaves me no choice but to fear this so-called future,
because I am never certain how much of it I have.
In life, there are only two things: time or truancy.
