i was going to go to neverland,
but i accidentally went left.
I’m craving words.
Words looped around and dotted and crossed. Words flowing and ceasing and rhyming and completing. Words that have no meaning and words with many meanings. Words that have adapted and evolved and changed and words that will always stubbornly remain the same. Words that swell up like music in a crescendo of ink and paper and words that remain quietly in the back of your mind, knowing their right time. Words that come easily and words that lurk on the edges of your knowledge. Words so long that the dictionary cannot contain them and words so short you blink and miss them entirely. Words that are not themselves and you fill in the blanks or words that fill in the blanks in your mind. Words that are written, words that are spoken, words that are seen and words that remain locked away.
There are many words and they are used differently. Some will hurt and some will soothe. Some will complain and some will say thanks. Some will direct and some will comply. Some will possess and some will give up. Some will know and some will be ignorant.
Either way, the words are themselves and the words are for everyone. The words do not judge, the words are a tool. The words are semi-sentient, but they await the final placement of their being. They are the willing slaves of the understanding mind and bow to the limits of creativity. Imagination gives them wings and boundaries give them power. We are our words and our words are who we are.
When you know what your words are, you will know who you are. You will be able to wield them with the care and skill they deserve and win your own place in the pantheon of written lives. The stories you bring forth from your words will be your own life though they have never lived before.
Think long and well before you give up on your words. They are the jewels of the mind and the fuel of the spirit and the impetus to connection. No matter where you roam, the words will follow you, patient and secure. Sometimes they will rattle around teasingly, making you hunt and peck. At other times they will burst forth in a torrent of verbosity. Sometimes they slip out quietly, almost of their own volition. Never underestimate your words. Never overestimate them either. They are to be kept balanced, poised on the verge of the ever slippery written slope. They may help you and they may not. You are the final keeper of your own words.
I'm sitting in a bathtub surrounded by my hopes and dreams.
I pull the plug and watch them all spiral down the drain.
Maybe next time, when I fill up my bathtub again, they'll come back recycled and fulfilled.
she slipped away to the shadows, avoiding the light.
"safe," she thought, letting out a sigh of relief. "there was no one who saw."
but the leaves were watching.
"I was going to go to Neverland... but I accidentally went left to the realm of D'nalreven where all men and women find themselves."
The Elf was gazing into the skies
observing her fluttering butterflies
their crimson wings reflecting in her eyes
as she watched the morning sun rise
while hearing the most painful cries
and thinking "once again the poor night dies"
Throughout the maze of my life,
No turn I ever could’ve chosen to take
Could possibly have been made in error.
Because although I live in D’nalreven,
I know I will never be alone,
For one day, we will be together.
i’m craving love.
love looped around and dotted and crossed. love flowing and ceasing and rhyming and completing. love with no meaning and love with many meanings. love that has adapted and evolved and changed and love that will always stubbornly remain the same. love that swells up like music in a crescendo of bed sheets and sweat and love that remains quietly in the back of your mind, knowing the right time. love that comes easily and love that lurks on the edges of your knowledge. love so long that the dictionary cannot define it, and love so short you blink and miss it entirely. love that is not itself and you fill in the blanks or love that fills in the blanks in your mind. love that is written, love that is spoken, love that is seen and love that remains locked away.
there are many loves and they are used differently. some will hurt and some will soothe. some will complain and some will say thanks. some will direct and some will comply. some will possess and some will give up. some will know and some will be ignorant.
either way, love is itself and love is for everyone. love does not judge, it is a tool. love is semi-sentient, but awaits the final placement of its being. love is the willing slave of the understanding mind and does not bow to the limits of creativity. imagination gives it wings and boundaries give it power. we are our love and our love is who we are.
when you know what your love is, you will know who you are. you will be able to wield it with the care and skill deserved and win your own place in the pantheon of life. the stories you bring forth from your love will be your own life, as though you have never lived before.
think long and well before you give up on your love.
it is the jewels of the mind and the fuel of the spirit and the impetus to connection. no matter where you roam, love will follow you, patient and secure. sometimes it will rattle around teasingly, making you hunt and peck. at other times it will burst forth in a torrent of verbosity. sometimes it will slip out quietly, almost of its own volition. never underestimate your love. never overestimate it either. love is to be kept balanced, poised on the verge of the ever slippery written slope. it may help you and it may not.
you are the final keeper of your own love.
again, by heart.
I wasn’t ever going to grow up. I wasn’t ever going to be bogged down by responsibility. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes my parents did.
So I went searching for the answers. I traveled far on my little child feet. I talked to people young and old. I had many adventures. But at last I heard the way, the magic formula for never growing up. And I did it at once.
But I was born with a little navigational problem and I went left instead of right. I missed those stars all together.
But I ended up somewhere very different from where I’d set out to go. Someplace no less wonderful. Someplace where my dreams were realized, if not in exactly the way I’d thought they would be.
In the end we all end up where we’re supposed to go. I did.
I’d love to tell you all about it, but I don’t have the time. I’m too busy being happy.
I went left nstead of right… but ended up someplace no less wonderful.
Coming softly, lightly down
Shivering, shaking all around
The snow has fallen, white and light
Fallen in the dead of night
She looks up, her light no longer brightly
As her domain was warm and sprightly
Verdant and green with crimson wings
Happy indeed are seasons summer and spring
Now they have come, crisping the air
The imps of the cold, their frosty eyes stare
Freezing her blood, her growth, her time
Speaking not a word, simply acting a mime
The Treeolls are changed, growing colder
Coming out of their caves, being much bolder
She slinks and fades, floating to the south
Away from their questing hands and mouths
Seeking to bring everything to winter
Not caring that touch would cause her to splinter
The Treeolls of cold are not good friends,
Simply agents of snow, bringing the year to the end
In D'nalreven one always finds one’s true self
Whether Treeoll, Grumpkin, Animal or Elf
Wanderers find their way quickly or at last
Often forgetting the wounds of the past
The harshness of winter is not a bad thing
For time always winds its way back to the spring
Those who are cold-blooded need their time on display
Whilst the warm and the meek bide their time till May
Whether lost or confused, the new and the old
Each denizen of D'nalreven live in ages of gold
Knowing their time and purpose, never confused
Welcoming all who would enter, none are refused.
When right was wrong for all she felt, the fae took what fate left and Tinker fell…
So, will they?
You know what they say.
Where there's will.
(But is it so?)
Look at what lies ahead of them.
A whole labyrinth.
A complicated tangle.
(A bewildering puzzle.)
Can they be willed away?
Can they meet in the middle?
(Despite the obstacles.)
Is there a way?
(Through the labyrinth.)
Well, you know what they say.
I recycled my dreams… I will not give up.
Created: Jan 22, 2012Psalmist Document Media