Dark Poetry Prose Poetry January 11, 2005 Dark Poetic Prose

1-11-05 tuesday 9:32pm

life. like a blank movie screen. stands tall and wide and empty. waiting for the projector to turn the reel. illuminated those negatives with its light.

i guess i've seen too many movies. people seeming so real. until just at the very end when everything turns out all right.

i guess i've seen too many movies. fallen too deep into the fiction. all that love and affection. so sorely lacking off the screen.

it's as important to know your limits as it is to know your potential.

i know mine. very well. every thread of mental tendon. it's length and its breadth. how much it can shrink. and how far it can be stretched.

and i know my potential as well. just what i can do. and what i couldn't ever. just which talents to nurture and which ones to neglect.

don't always follow my own advice. but freewill is and always has been both a gift and a curse.

trouble is, it's not enough. to know yourself. especially when. sometimes all you want is to know someone else.

you can divide the story up into as many chapters as you'd like. but you can't change the plot.

everyone has their levels. plateaus in the mind where we perch surveying our lives. you can change your viewpoint. how low. how high up. but it's hard to change what you're looking at. it always feels like all i can do is watch.

10:30pm tuesday 01-11-05

time doesn't heal. it can't. there's no such thing.

wounds don't close. we just grow accustomed to the bleeding.

there's forgetting. that's very real. but healing. no. just ripe dandelions in submission to our breathing.

i don't know what i'm supposed to say. what i'm not.

all i know is what i feel. have felt. and that i won't dimish it now.

i can't be better because i retain. can't be worse because i don't.

it's feeling humming its tired refrain. but when i close my eyes. there's no sounds at all. only pages.

when i remember. the people. the moments. i feel how gone they are. intangibles. not anything i can hold or be held by when.

to touch, but not to grip. that's what love and what happiness is. and also their opposites.

01-11-05 tuesday 11:27pm

he said he used to think life was the gift and people the strings attached to it. but then his mind changed. when life betrayed him people were there to rescue him.

my mind played upon his insights. my heart ignited by his spark. and all i could do was wonder. as i contemplated how he was as much worng as he was right.

life doesn't encompass us. we fill it. with moments and people. and memories that no other life can duplicate.

and those that wish it could last forever seem to be the first to be cut form it. while the ones who hold it in little regard linger. whittling crude artworks from the raw wood their lives have hewn.

i rambled. as i tend to do. lost iny myself. lost in the tendrils of how my life once connected with theirs. as if it ever really did. we tie our knots in the. but nothing is poermannent.

it forgets us. and we forget it. time's power not healing. but forgetfulness. that's all it is. feeble brains overflowing with more memories than they can tabulate.

and so we lose some. and let others fade away.

letting go fo that which is no longer a comfort. and clinging to what reamins.