As the world turns

Is this what it feels like as the world stops turning, grinding ever slower to an eternal rest? What then, a cold, dead rock floating slowly through a dying void. The universe will soon forget us, may not even notice as we pass in a blink of its eye. The thought of such unwavering indifference used to bring over me the creeping wave of the fear, a dangerous panic threatening to drag me down. Not now, now I see that empty void as a canvas upon which the energies and particles dance. It may one day end, the dancers all to retreat from the invasive eye, but that will be long from now. Until that day, when the last glimmer of that light, that matter, that life, that love is gone, until that day, some small part of me, of you, of everything ever known will be the stuff of legends. I think all this, and the world turns as it always does, oblivious to its eventual demise. Is it ignorant bliss, or informed denial? The inevitable may be just that, so why dwell? One day all that remains will be dust, and another day many beyond that nothing. There may be some cosmic reset, some great crunch as all matter returns to sender. But what existence is that, some great yoyo, in some infinite loop. Would each spin be the same? Is this the reason for such endless, mindless repetition within the confines of our reality, to prepare for the crushing fact that nothing will ever change. All will die and face the great unknown alone, with no guiding hand, stripped of that which we have worked all our lives to create. The comfort of our egos shattered as we are laid bare before the void, reflected in ourselves we see the very nature of being, that all is a pretence to protect us from the truth we are too afraid to know.

There can be nothing

Or can there? It is an interesting thought, is the absence of anything something? Does the void for which people long so often to swallow them whole even exist? Is there some vast room, some cavernous hall full to the brim with those who wished for freedom? I believe that cavern is here, those empty souls with no lights behind their eyes inhabit this world as though it were nothing. They pass through it like a chill wind to the bone. And who is more the fool, the empty eyed, or those who believe this world is more than nothing...

Dreaming

What's the use when each day is a grey as the one before? When no colours creep in with the rising sun, everything faded now. Four walls, they may as well be a prison, my own hell. And yet here I stay and things will never change. You will never see me as I see you. Such untold beauty, it hurts my soul to think of such things. Yet in my dreams we are free, and I see you walk towards me, hear words you will never say. We kiss and it is as though my whole world is shaking, yet it is only me waking. I find myself alone once more, with only fading memories of that which will never be real.

Joy has gone and the world is flat,
How long before I am swept over the edge?
Every colour fades to shades of grey,
I laugh but to me it is hollow.
Do you see through the facade I construct?
I pray for sleep,
to a god who cannot hear.

When will I be free?

Untitled

They just won't leave me be,
these thoughts circle round and round,
take root,
and start to grow within.
Half truths uttered under false pretenses,
they're all that get me by.
Filled with hope of a better tomorrow,
a world where you're not gone.
Take me away, far from here,
to a time when all was real.
Words are so much louder,
when spoken from the heart.

Internal Arguements

Tell me a story, a fable, a lie. Tell me all the things I thought I wanted to hear. There's nothing that feels so real anymore, the illusion is gone, shattered beyond recognition. Anger, pain and hurt are now my only companions. They lure me closer towards the edge, reason shrinking into the distance. Boundaries broken, but between what I am unsure. Nothing remains, all is lost.

Is this the truth?

Even of this I am unsure, I doubt my very self and who I used to be. Who is this person who has my face? I see them in the mirror, moving as I move but there is no comfort in the face I see.

Ladies and gentlemen we are experiencing turbulence. Normal service will soon resume. Hold onto your hats folks, it's going to be a bumpy one.

I want to scream but there is no sound. I want to run but cannot move. I am trapped here with my internal turmoil, half scared it will rend me in two. What an escape, to split the burden of my soul, to live with but half the anguish.

Fool. There is no comfort there, The only way is up. Forward motion, build momentum for the climb. Is that the slightest hint of clear air? Leave these feelings far behind. Create a brand new future but do not forget the past. Do not let it rule you but do not forget. Without the past, the sum of your whole would be incomplete. This all seems hard, too hard sometimes, but if you had not gone through all you have been through, had not fallen so many times, would you now be standing?

Would I be here?

Take comfort in the pain, the sign you are alive. The hard times seem too much, but you forget the good. Nothing lasts forever, save love, and only love. It is all that counts, the force above all else. Gravity could fail, the stars to fall and the earth to rise, yet have love in your heart and hope.
For all is love.

Sycamore Drive - Short story idea

It happened just as I was pulling left onto Sycamore Drive. It’s an odd junction; the planters between the two lanes make for very poor visibility. I probably could have been paying more attention myself so I don’t blame you. I don’t even know your name, and I never will now. Strange to think I will never know the name of the person who killed me. I say it’s strange, do many people know the names of their killer? All those boys who have laid down their lives for their country, their beliefs, they lived and died in anonymity. They don’t know who killed them, and we don’t know them. Oh we know of them, and we know of the things they have done but that’s all. All they are now is a row of blank crosses, a poppy in November and forgotten by most for the rest of year.
As I was saying, it happened as I was turning left onto Sycamore Drive. I remember light, blinding light, although it could have been the pain that was blinding, as short lived as it was. Then there was nothing. I tried to look down at my hands, my arms, and my body but there was nothing. There was no tunnel of light, no ascension to above, and no chorus of angels lamenting my demise. Just the vast expanse of nothing.

Such endless thoughts,
untied,
no purpose.

Why circle,
why prey,
feeding on my anxious mind.

What a world,
what a world;
where up is down,
and left is right.
Crooked odds,
and slender chances.

And once again;
to sleep,
to work,
to try,
to sleep.

Am I dreaming?

It’s time to come down,
But I don’t want to.

The world cannot compare.

Things were more vivid then,
Every detail more pronounced.

Words had meaning and,
The Silent,
A voice.

Take me back and show me,

The happy versions,

Of ourselves.