.Ropes & Ladders
Escapism. It can take place anywhere. From the carefully thought out lines of prose breaking off into free-flowing streams of poetry. As the rhymes and cries silently mute and subside. The well digs deeper into the fertile soil. Looking for water as the subject is drowned. Forgotten once more as the cries from below. And the mind loses grip of proverbial words.
Passive, I become to even my own thoughts. Anything that is read is a subject that is taught. Is it worth keeping up the fight when the struggle is within? We say we’re fighting enemies but where do we begin? Some mean good and some mean bad. Dictionaries are tools for the literary mad. Identity is a necessity and it needs to be known. But is it ever shown?
I have flown… digressing from the drifters and slipping into the unknown.. I create my own problems then ask others for solutions. I am most guilty of emotional pollution. Something is inherently wrong with this system. But who defines wrong? And who is the victim?
Questions, questions, questions. I’m all full of questions. But even with the answers, there itself lies the question. Where does trust lie and when does faith reason? Has the day of judgement passed? For this is my confession.
No longer does this blog serve a purpose. Or at least the one it had when I created it. I wanted anonymity, yet I let myself be found. I am not getting far by neither leaps nor bounds. Though I am always running, the ground was always moving. Does it make a difference which direction I face? How much is missed simply tying a shoe-lace? Do I keep strutting forward, or do I stop and ask directions? Maybe from a tour-guide or maybe a policeman. Any one is fine all – I need is direction. Just point me somewhere – I may soon learn my lesson.
nb: read a draft of this at the last Open Mic. It’s been two months since I wrote this, about time I posted it. I don’t care which version’s better. Just needed to put something out. So there.