Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A thin line like the edge of a knife.
Obscuring my vision with fog and fear;
Cold wind strips me of all so dear.
Which way I turn, which path I take,
Leaves me waist-deep in a murky lake.
Where are you, when your name I call,
My voice echoing off the wall?
All I seek is warmth and light,
But you are nowhere in my sight.
Those promises, do they mean nothing?
Empty words that leave me stumbling
Through the tears, through the pain,
Through the endless pouring rain.
One last thought, as I lie torn and folorn:
Will you remember me when I am gone?
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Silence hung like a cloud over the auditorium, serenely calm, yet eagerly expecting. Breaths were held, lest they broke the silence. No one moved, no one dared to. The hall was filled with audio darkness. Then, hearts beating synchronised, the orchestra, as one, took a deep breath…
The first note dropped like golden liqueur on a calm pool, casting ripples of emotion through the dark clouds of gloom and tension. The sweet treble sang out clear as a bell, enticing us, calling our names, like fairies luring little children out to play. The bass, deep, strong, lurking, like a velvet curtain, inviting us to draw it aside and experience the mysteries it held at bay.
The melody started slow and calm. A lament for us whose battle was fought and lost, and whose song was now dead. Music has a soul for us to discover. Most of the people who sat in the hall heard the music but could not draw the soul out from beyond the veil. We whose swan song has been sung, we alone understood. Like shades we lingered, watching to see our dream in the hands of our descendants realised.
The tempo picked up pace, from mourning to celebration, past to future. The orchestra trumpeted and shouted their triumph even before it was announced. The drums beat out a tune of jubilation in a foreshadowing of the near future. Fiddles and flutes danced wildly, singing their victory song. We ancient spirits smile and nod. We who belong to the past should not be remembered when there was a bright future ahead. The young, whose time was now, should sing and dance, before they fade and become like us, mere ghosts of an old song.
With loud booming and shrill voices, the song approached its sweet end. We grinned, satisfied in knowing that things will end happily ever after. The last note roared and resonated in the hall, echoing. The note lingered, suspended in the air, then faded slowly, like the waves receding from the shoreline. The last ripples flowed away, chasing as it went, the last traces of doubt and anxiety. We lingering spirits, too, sit back, happy for our descendants.
We were, at last, avenged.
It is a secret lovers share... A tiny seed of hope that keeps them alive, day after day, in sorrow or in joy. You could be at opposite ends of the universe and still be happy together. For he is, and will always be, an angel, your guiding light. The beating of your heart the fluttering of his wings of love.
The knowledge, aye, the very thought of this should be the cause of joy in every man whose heart has known the warmth of love, the warmth so strong it can keep a dying person alive, and make a broken man whole. It is a promise, lasting and binding, that the spirits of lovers will always linger together, inseparably, and that no matter where you are, or how far apart your lover is, you will, without a doubt, be reunited. This bond, this rule of nature can and must never be broken.
This is the love contract... This... is the Eternal Vow...
The great lord Apollo ended his stroll of the horizons, his flaming hair quenched as he retreated behind the mountains, his fiery warmth giving way to the cool, queenly radiance of the moon.
From her pose on the balcony, she watched as the moon began her melancholic dance, her raven hair unfathomable as it fanned out around her, stretching out immeasurably to cover the sky, throwing the world into pitch darkness. She was cloaked in a translucent gown that coyly enticed her worshippers and admirers, as the jewels in her hair winked and twinkled.
'Oh lady of the night!' she prayed, watching mersmerised as the moon twirled, her pace sad and slow. 'Hear my prayer; bathe him with blessings and moonbeams. Make his dreams sweet!'
But the moon was too aloof to hear. She was but one of hier many worshippers; why would she be obliged to grant her wishes? In the background, the radio played softly. She hummed the melody subconsciously, then, with a passionate sigh of longing, she began to sing with a strong, clear voice.
'Think of me, think of me fondly
When we've said goodbye.
Remember me, once in a while,
Please promise me you'll try...'
The moon appeared to dance in step with the song. Perhaps, she thought, the moon once had a lover too. And tonight she danced for her lover, in memory of her lover...
'We never said our love was evergreen
Or as unchanging as the sea,
But if you can still remember,
Stop and think of me...'
By now her voice had begun to waver, shoulders shaking from tears long held back. If only he was there by her side now... She sobbed silently, remembering as she did, his sturdy shoulders. They were not particularly well-muscled, but they had the supernatural strength to carry her burdens, the lightly tanned skin stained with her tears. Oh how she wished!
'Think of me, think of me waking,
Silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard
To put you from my mind...'
She could not take it any longer. Drawing a deep breath, she cried out, 'Oh Diana, fair lady of the night!' Suddenly, as though she had heard the desperate cry of this lonely soul, the moon threw back her cloak to reveal her face, sad yet kind, tear-streaked yet smiling.
'Yes,' the moon seemed to say, touched by her love. 'Yes, I will grant you and your lover my blessings, that you may meet again, this night, in dreams...' From the balcony, she smiled, peace and gratefulness settling on her face.
'Recall those days, look back on all those times,
Think of the things we'll never do.
There will never be a day
When I won't think of you...'
'Thank you, lady!' she prayed silently, hands clapsed together, as she prepared to enter her dreams, to meet her lover...
The air is still and raw,
And yet untold horrors gnaw
Away the broken mask of happiness,
Planting doubt, reaping sadness.
She views the world through tinted lenses,
Dark whispers and murmurs blind her senses.
But the darkness was but an illusion;
The black thoughts, the Devil's intrusion.
So she sits in the dark prison
Of her own mind, her own creation.
When will she wake from this nightmare of pain?
Or is this doorless chamber forever her fate?
It follows a simple structure, each line rhyming with the next. It very much takes on the style of free verse, with exception of the rhymes!))
The freedom to be me
Not who you want me to be
To be the girl behind the mask
To cast off my protective husk
To write and write, all day and night
Without bounds or thoughts of wrong and right
The world may stare
For all I care
They might cast me out
Like some IMH inpatient, without a doubt
But I shall laugh and cry
As the world rolls by
And nobody will ever know why...