Running water

I am tired of chasing after shadows,
and this hopeless feeling is turning me desperate.
To think I once was one!
Hiding under a heavy purple cloak
I would make excuses for myself
and my inabilities.
Disappearing like a fine transparent fabric
that courts with the darkness and the light,
I would make excuses for myself
and my inabilities.

To think I am now pathetically saddened by the silence
when for so long I dwelled in it.
My previous self would have laughed in scorn
should she have seen my current state.

Get up, girl, and get rid of all these needs. 

People are like running water.
They give life and then they leave you thirsty. 
They play with the colours and the pebbles,
they carry away the leaves that fall in their currents
and then they run dry in the hard times. 

Can you blame them? "No I can't".
Can you judge them? "No I can't".
What can you do? 

"I can love their white skins in the morning when they wake."

And what can you do?

"I can wait till death percolates through their every pore
and pervades their everyday.

And then what?

"Then I will see them grow wings, and they will turn to me for love."

And what will you do?

"I will open my arms to share a hearbeat
and cook some coffee on the stove"

And what will you say?

"I'll say: Follow me to the waterfall, I have told the forest about you."

And what will they say?

"They'll say: Let's hide behind its sheltering torrents and build a house in the mighty rocks".

And you? You'll go? You not afraid to trust the shadows? Don't you know their wings are made of darkness too?
And don't you know that flesh and blood loves but itself? And don't you know that people are but running water that dries up in the hard times? 

And don't you know that waterfalls will turn bitter, and forests will go rusty and die?

And can't you see that rocks will crumble and love will wither?

And don't you know we all live in a hole called self? Deep and dark and clogged with crap.

And then I ask myself: what choice do I have? Think about it. I am sitting among the first leaves, among the fresh soil, I can't just give up on what I started. What choice do I have? Every way I see is the end and I need the water. Many a time I wish to call out a big loud "FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU ALL". But that would be too easy, and too big a battle lost.

And I'd be back to making excuses for myself and my inabilities.


  1. skeftoume se je agapwse.

  2. Pure genius backbeat :)
    Pure genius.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Losing my mother, finding my Mother

Isle of Rum

Possibility Part 1 (written Fall, 2017)