Black Surf
I often sit here thinking "what the fuck am I doing here", such as myself, why have I not made good on the promise of my mind. There is no telling or retelling of the story, itself a tale of no consequence, that is only to me important. Such self importance, seems to me to be the bread of the day. This is the thoughts that enter into my day, the scarce breathes of clarity in an otherwise obscure blur of consciousness.
It really wasn't to long ago, although maybe to long since, that I was not what I am today. What has changed in me, some little hands that burnt the rage out of me. I was driven then by a smoke of dreadful consequence and circumstances that necessitated the need for self reliance. For this I am given of no real movement these last few years, by which means.
When I was fully emerged in the study of my darkness, then I understood well the price I paid for light and brevity. It was scolding to be so forthcoming, to be so forward, given that I now find this is the same time as was once but without the escape that was afforded there thrice before me.
Now I see this again, in a child's eye, well what would be a child in mine eyes, but is not such in her own. A glimpse into that darkness, that remains, maybe on the edge of maturity, maybe just aside the age, given that I know not now that which I professed to know then. This is given here in the silence that I speak not, provided I can still see with these gray eyes that which I once saw with the clarity of young eyes then.
The last I saw, was a wave, that over me hangs now, to determined to stay my way to the land.
It really wasn't to long ago, although maybe to long since, that I was not what I am today. What has changed in me, some little hands that burnt the rage out of me. I was driven then by a smoke of dreadful consequence and circumstances that necessitated the need for self reliance. For this I am given of no real movement these last few years, by which means.
When I was fully emerged in the study of my darkness, then I understood well the price I paid for light and brevity. It was scolding to be so forthcoming, to be so forward, given that I now find this is the same time as was once but without the escape that was afforded there thrice before me.
Now I see this again, in a child's eye, well what would be a child in mine eyes, but is not such in her own. A glimpse into that darkness, that remains, maybe on the edge of maturity, maybe just aside the age, given that I know not now that which I professed to know then. This is given here in the silence that I speak not, provided I can still see with these gray eyes that which I once saw with the clarity of young eyes then.
The last I saw, was a wave, that over me hangs now, to determined to stay my way to the land.
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