The Lines In My Hands...

The lines in my hands…

 

 

How old have you grown. How insensible are you now. Jaded…perhaps, forgotten. I stopped believing in you.  Should I let you be free like I used to, was it better then or is it better now. I should not stop, I want to let you go , I want you to be free.  I see you; clumsy, wrinkled, old, deteriorated, marked by time, yet as I let the reigns of imagination go, they too begin to soar.  I open an inward door; a heart, my nucleus, that hidden grove, my sanctuary… Look at them now moving fast, trembling, having second thoughts, never allowing a second, never forgiving the misuse, the detachment.

 

Will they forsake me now, did I exhaust all their love. I couldn’t , I would never, I need them, more than ever, as always, as I have never needed them before, the wheel has turned, the rain has come and gone, and now , as the earth begins to dry and the leaves glisten, I too can shine.  Take me with you , show me that we still can…  that it’s still alive, that there is hope , that in the end there will be light. 

 

Old wounds surface as I let these old hands loose. And with them, they bring old memories, old phantoms, and a feeling of regret; A feeling of weakness, of humanity, of truth.  And as still water runs deep, so does the blood in my hands, and so are its lines , deep, and jagged. They tell the stories of my life, of those pressing moments, of the aching heart, the mockingbird heart, the light, the desert rain, the splatters, the puddles the joy that overcame itself. I.

 

It feels new again, like the first time dancing, I stumble, I’m clumsy, but I don’t stop myself, please go on, be butterflies again, and draw the nectar out of my heart and spread in the form of words, in splatters, in sublime and ethereal pieces of myself.  This is me. I have become unclouded, I can see into my own eyes, I feel the need, I have missed you so much , where have you been, writing hands, my friends, my noblest gift you are. 

Imagination

     Somewhere in time I find myself impelled by the fancy of my pen. But in this modern world, I descend over the keys of a computer.

 

Yesterday could have been a nice day, but it wasn’t. I quickly realize how I’m not that Epic Hero of the stories I used to read. I finally realize that those are only in my head.

     It is easy is to play with people’s souls. I had some loves in my life, but I can be so distracted. It is an example not easy to follow. Yet, I won’t suit in that color again. Yet understand I am quiet happy alone; with me, by myself, next to me.  It is difficult, yes it is.

    

I have trained myself not to think, to close the faucet on my brain. Only for them to remind myself, in psychological torture how dumb my try was. I am a little piece of imagination on a small corner of other people’s nightmares.

 

In the rain I love to swim, and those who run and hide, they wish they were dead. Then again I also love the sun shining over my face. The sun, who can be my best friend, maybe even the only friend these days that seem strange and unreal to me but real to everybody else. And even though, this might sound illogic, I feel that the people who give me the most love and esteem, I give the least back.

 

 I wish I could touch on life’s favorite themes, but there is no room in this piece. Without looking outside my eyes, I can see reasons why the sky would sing and cry. I also see the people walk those streets full of mud caused by the dirtiness, bad imagination and the only enemy of my convictions: wickedness.

 

I need someone. I remember my youth, but now I find myself turning on the tiny motors of pain, which are the cause of my biggest desire. Is this an interminable voyage through the aches of my companions? The doors of humanity have been close by false beliefs in love. And so I look for reasons to change this human form into which I was born, deprived of nature’s perfection and lore.

 

What is what they see on the minds of people close and near, how much faith is there left in the world?

 

I am not the example; I don’t believe in love at first sight. Nor do I believe in the brotherhood of men. Yet now that my life is changing in every way, I do wish I had a light to shine on me with kindness and hope.

 

There was a day when I dreamed of a spiritual awakening that could save me from my poisons, yet I only fond a place to lay my soul. There you can find me still, eating my time away and dreaming of the day in which I can sleep without resting from my dreams. I hope to awake and find that the birds have not flown. Yes there are places that I remember, others I don’t, but they will be there forever, and the people that these images represent.

 

I know that my mind holds several demons that will never let me be at peace, but my life has had love and rest.  Beautiful sounds all mixed up in a huge mess that sprouts from a mind in a life like mine.

 

In the land of broken hearts and of continuous cries, love is what reigns. Every one of my friends is present. The dream of a color, the reasons of a thief, and the tears of a guitar remind me of how easy it is to judge.  How nice it is to have liberty of thought. I turn around and see the wall of problems that I have not yet decided to solve and I would say my name. Then I could hide the little love that was given to me included with this body, because I’m not willing to let it go just yet.  Nor in the center of the sun, or in the deepest abyss of the sea would you find what I seek, cause it has been hidden inside of me (and you).

 

Let me take you to a place of unreality where everything can be real to you and for me. Only there can we find each other, and only there can we talk without the necessity to write or dream.