Slow and Steady

May 26, 2010

It’s small slimy head broke the waters surface and sent tiny little ripples in different directions. It looked around with it’s little black eyes, searching for danger. It began kicking it’s legs slowly but surely swimming towards land. Little pellets of rain fell around it, splashing onto the water. It was a calm rain. Up again the soft wet land was drawing closer. The Turtle could see the water slowly trickle down the shoreline into the creek. Along the sides reeds grew tall above the Turtles head, reaching up high into the blue beyond. He had reached the shore, slowly he began to walk up the mound but it was too wet and slippery, and he would slide down again and again, trying harder each time and feeling the same disappointment. Turning around he plopped back into the water with a little splash, and swam along side the land and the reeds searching for a way up onto the shore.
After a few minutes the little Turtle found some small moss covered rocks leading poking out of the water, leading onto a flat surface. The little Turtle gave a big heave, with the last energy he could find and plunked himself out of the cold green water and onto the wet mud of the land.
The pellets of rain were getting slower but a cool breeze blew across the slimy face of the Turtle, he peered around manoeuvring his head in a almost comedic fashion. Moving stumpily along the shore and up further towards the trees. Lowering his head towards the ground he began to dig a hole, shovelling the wet dirt aside. Soon his hole was deep enough and the little Turtle turned and sat in it, beginning to lay eggs.
He was a she and she was giving birth.
Soon the winds had died down and the rain had stopped and a golden ray of light shone upon the creek. The Turtle slowly buried her eggs, and stumbled back towards the water, golden from the pebbles below and light above. Upon reaching she gave one last look up towards where her eggs when, and plunk, she was back in the water, back where she had started.

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Pandora’s Box

May 24, 2010

I am incapable of showing human emotion. I cannot find words to express sadness or loss. If a friend were to break down, crying about being molested by their father throughout their childhood the first words breaching my lips would be: “That sucks.”

I am not a poet or a writer. I cannot find words to suit an occasion, to calm or help a person. I am completely uncharismatic. My tongue jumbles words, I find it difficult to put together a coherent sentence.
But this is not my only problem. A normal friend would be shocked and appalled. I would just wish to be elsewhere, not hearing about it.
It’s not that I don’t have a conscience, I know it’s wrong and sick. It’s fucked up.

But I’m not God. I have no fucking idea what you should do.
And I can’t help you.
It’s like I’m not human. Like I’m a robot, comprehending but impartial…. or something.
Maybe I’ve lived to long, seen, heard or learnt enough to give up and not care.

Pandora’s Box was opened and all hope was lost.
That’s just how it is. I’m sorry and I wish things were different.
But the truth is, we’re fucked.

Nostalgia

May 23, 2010

Burning nostalgia.
So strong, intense, images searing through the pages of time.
A memory so strong you can still smell it, still taste it.
Flashes, thoughts, building, becoming clearer, the fog fades, the crystal becomes glass.
Could a memory be so powerful you could go back?
Could you travel through the very fragments of your soul to a memory so intense that you can exist in it? Make changes?
Could you perhaps flip through your life like the pages of a diary?
Can you remember who you are?
Can you remember who you were?
Can you remember who you will become?
Can you stop me?

I’d like to see you try.

We measure time by the annoying tick of the clock. We measure by our tedious sense of boredom. We measure life from start to finish.
From fade in to fade out. Why not fade away?
Does a memory vanish with your mind?
Or can you relieve the great and wonderful. Find the mysterious.
Feel the love.
Feel the heat. Feel it burn. Feel your body burn.
Ravenous flames burning your diary, your book of life.
Ink melts and seeps through the pages. Your life becomes a muddled mess.
Memories meld together and you forget what was when.
Wake up in a memory. Forget the writings. Your diary is blank.
Rewrite history.

Journey’s End

May 12, 2010

Voyage is over. We’ve found the shore.
Solid land with sand in my hand.
We’ve made it to journey’s end.

I close my eyes as tears seep through.
I hold you in my arms tightly.
I never want to let go.

Night falls and the stars above shine down.
Rays from heaven sparkle in your eye.
The moon reflects in the ocean, light on the water.
The air is still, and cold, and my body feels the warmth from your breast.
You hum a lullaby more magic and calming than the open ocean.

Your black pearl anklet, a reminder of those lost.
The forgotten souls over the oceans and mountains.
Destroying the past.
Destroying evil.
Erasing ourselves and becoming blank files.

Why can’t you sleep at night.
What thoughts and images plague your soul?
Will you fight till the end of time?

The waves become mountains, and you drown yourself in the black ocean, raising from the deep to swallow you.
Why is this our journey’s end?
Why am I alone?

I am alone now.
I wait by the shore, gazing into the horizon.
A glimpse of heaven, a glimpse of you.
The trees creak and say words. I ask them if it is you.
Faces in the shadow.
Signs of your love?

I must follow.
My journey must end.
I follow you through the garden of oblivion.
I am swallowed by the sea.
I have reached my journey’s end.

Crimson Angel

May 6, 2010

The gravel beneath my bare feet softened and soothed my wounded feet. I felt the sloshing of mud squish between my toes. A complete spiritual enlightenment given to me by the forces that be. A connection not through something mystical like a soul… but through simple creation.
I tumble to my knees by the ice cold creek with barely enough energy to breath. The frosty water stings my face and my life flashes before my eyes.
I mumble in tongues, ancient and forbidden.
My God is not yours.

Dreams- confusing; images- no words.
Understanding silence. Full comprehension.
Heart and soul fed by the fires of your love.
Burning passion. Hot and intense, keeping me warm when I go cold.
My God is not yours.

The turn of the globe as small in the universe as the tiniest atom.
Small waves slap against my face, bringing me to consciousness.
Fallen soldier; do you even know I exist?
Thousands of words, showing inability to express the flame that burns for you.
My God is you, sweet crimson angel.