voices logo top'obeisances before the written word'
spvoices logo bottomWritings  Discussion Authors Help Search Home
You are here: Home >> Discussion Group >> Writings and Talkbacks >> Gothic Thoughts

Discussion Group

Gothic Thoughts

< < Ashes Affiliation and Morality > >


Gothic Thoughts
By: R.A.B. on 4/17/2004; 11:34 PM

It’s been thirteen years and still the sun haven’t shone on me--
Its coveted rays hidden beneath a plethora of dark, gloomy- nimbus clouds.
My faith has dwindled to near-nothingness now;
My fate unknown, my laughter robbed of gist—robbed of…its life…


…but, come to think of it, it was non-living to begin with…


It’s been thirteen years from when I first came to know what color is,
What nakedness was, what water meant, what life is—at least, what is it… to be dead (like my first dog)
And yet the rays of the sun deprived me of its presence.
And my pale, calloused skin screams for its warmth… each and everyday.


…but, come to think of it, being sunburned hurts…


It’s been thirteen years and still melancholia engulfs my heart—
Sweet flowers evade my touch, bunny rabbits despise my crotch.
Truckers greet me, shotgun shells wound me, fire crackers scorch me.
Now I can’t touch—I can’t feel with my hands—neither left nor right can tell me what smoothness is…


…but, then again, the smooth edge of a knife can cut me. Or better yet, decapitate me…


It’s been thirteen years since I knew who my loved ones were.
Who my Mother was, who my Father was…
And yet--I’m still puzzled to this day on what they are.
Yes, I can’t quite comprehend for I am the fruit that has fallen far away from the tree.


…but, then again, to grow beneath someone’s shade is inconceivable—at least, for me, it is…


Now, thirteen years after I first recorded a reel of memory in my obscure, well-rounded jar of thoughts,
I’m sad, I’m happy, I’m contented, I’m jealous, I’m bored, I’m busy—I’m complex—or better yet, distorted.
To a well taught out tomorrow boredom comes—to a greed-run life emptiness transpires,
Nothing to live for can kill the soul—or worse—the essence.


Sometimes I am empty, Sometimes I am full.
Sometimes I am Interesting, Sometimes I am dull.
One thing is for sure—I am not perfect and I don’t claim to be one,
For perfection in its other logic…is boredom…


Reply | Bookmark this post
Enclosures: None.


E-mail address


Password



< < Ashes Affiliation and Morality > >
 Login
Email address:
Password:
 
 Toolbox
 

top

Copyright Notice | Privacy Policy | Contact
Site Managed with Conversant