We spend the days getting older, and that appears to the basis of it all. Moving through life, learning, but never actually understanding. Thinking, thinking of our past, our present and possible future until a point where our thoughts become more a burden than a strategy for a successful life.
Growing up is quite arduous enough without our parents and other adults filling our not fully developed minds with their beliefs and roles that they feel we’re cut out to play. Tempting us to make decisions in our youth that we honestly would not yet face us for possibly 10 to 15 years: Your education, where are you going to receive it, what career path will you take, who will you be marring and where will you and the new family you have live…
Figurative questions, although literal examples of what everyone of us is vexed with.
And the repercussion for the children that are more flummoxed over life or simply rebel against the norm are those I need not mention, for we are all well aware of the unfortunate eschewing and overslaugh for those children who are steadfast on their path. Then there are those who are straight-laced and settle for the path that’s safest.
Although we all have hopes, and our own thoughts of what heaven on Earth is. There are individuals that build their own heaven and there are those that rent to own someone else’s.
I am not here to tell you that one side is happier than the other, because more than once I’ve heard,
“Success is happiness, not money or fame…”
Those that statement has it’s flaws. Because I seldom see a destitute man smile when he’s starving, and there are a plethora of celebrities that talk about broken hearts and minutes laters their chasing the tiger. Perhaps expectation is the bad guy here, the constant voice that whispers: more, you need more…
Who can answer that question?
Life is fragile, hope is fickle, and love is sporadic. The only constant is change. Some change we can prepare ourselves for, but most are unexpected just be sure the decisions you make, long thought or capricious be decisions you can without regret live with.
I would rather just be writing,
I would not rather anything else.
Telling stories with my hands with the help of an ink filled pen.
I would rather be writing and that’s the end.
A long fable or poetry, short. I want to paint pictures with the words that fall from my heart.
I’ve talked about love and my uncertainty if in it I have been.
I’ve rambled about my home life and the opposite of blissful childhood I grew up in.
I would rather be writing and I would rather you read, because if you asked me a question, nothing is what you would get from me.
Decision making is stressful and more than a few of my thoughts about life have been dark. I have questioned my close friends devotion to me, perhaps like me within them they’re missing an important part.
I would rather just be writing, I rather write a fable, a children’s story or a poem. I wish I could write in a way that makes the reader feel as though I was standing beside them holding his or her hand. The moon has been my closet ally in stories and in some the sun has been my distant enemy.
I have spoken of beautiful women oblivious to their worth and glory and I’ve talked about both misunderstood and insidious men.
The way people romantically attached themselves to others running from pervious heart break or so they don’t have to be alone.
The way people meet and have causal sex with one another hoping it will make them feel beautiful and again so they’ll feel less alone.
I’d much rather write and that’s my movie based on a true story. Although I am intelligent enough to be a doctor or teach most subjects in a class room.
I would much rather write,
there is nothing else I would rather do.
I don’t know where you’ve gone, but I know that you have left me.
There was a rippling in the water of the lake we once lived beside. And so naive as a child, I only assumed this something beautiful was caused by the pull of the wind.
We have had our troubles for a great length of time now, and the illusion of a love we would have liked to have for one another could not become real.
You were once my vessel, my spirit grew within yours. And in an assumption made from a view of history, is that you would have to love me unconditionally.
You never…
hesitated to tell me when I was wrong and you barely ever bristled any time you shouted you hated me.
For nearly 37 weeks we lived in that house together, and I alone swam in that lake. There was no bound formed and I can not recall hearing your voice, speaking to me while I was there.
But, I do remember how uneasy my heart felt when you said I was nothing you ever expected to give birth to or with such a disappointment you said I reminded you of my drug addled father, a man, a man who was abusive physically.
I could ask the cliche questions; how could a mother say that to her child. And follow with, all of everything I am is half of who she is…
I don’t know where you went, but I do know that you have gone. The lake beside our house has been still for far too long.
We have faced such tumultuous tragedies, some of them caused by the other; You beating me until my head would bleed, and I was so angry I urinating on dinner as it thawed in the kitchens sink.
I do not know where you have gone, but I know that I am very tired.
I am still crying out to you, I suppose I am still a child, unsure if my voice would carry across the once rippling lake.
How dare it be who’s the one to turn that something beautiful into something horribly grey.
I do not know where you have gone, but I am now understanding that it was long ago and without farewell you left.
I sit on the porch of the home where we lived hoping you’ll come back before the sun say goodnight to our half of the world.
I think you’ve given up on us,
I think I am just giving up…
All I did was blink and the lake once with water overflowing was suddenly a bed of dust.
We spend the days getting older, and that appears to the basis of it all. Moving through life, learning, but never actually understanding, thinking, thinking of our past, our present and possible future until a point where our thoughts become more a burden than a strategy for a successful life.
Growing up is quite arduous enough without our parents and other adults filling our not fully developed minds with their beliefs and roles they feel we’re cut out to play. Tempting us to make decisions in our youth that we honestly would not yet face for possibly 10 to 15 years: Your education, where are you going to receive it, what career path will you take, who will you be marring and where will you and the new family you have live…
Figurative questions, although literal examples of what everyone of us is vexed with.
And the repercussion for the children that are more flummoxed over life or simply rebel against the norm are those I need not mention, for we are all well aware of the unfortunate eschewing and overslaugh for those children who are steadfast on their path or those who are straight-laced and settle for the path that’s safest.
Although we all have hopes, and our own thoughts of what heaven on Earth is. There are individuals that build their own heaven and there are those that rent to own someone else’s.
I am not here to tell you that one side is happier than the other, because more than once I’ve heard,
“Success is happiness, not money or fame…”
Although that statement has it’s flaws. Because I seldom see a destitute man smile when he’s starving, and there are a plethora of celebrities that talk about broken hearts and minutes laters their chasing the tiger. Perhaps expectation is the bad guy here, the constant voice that whispers: more, you need more…
Who can answer that question?
Life is fragile, hope is fickle, and love is sporadic. The only constant is change. Some change we can prepare ourselves for, but most are unexpected just be sure the decisions you make, long thought or capricious be decisions you can without regret live with.
Only sweet dreams tonight, only sweet dreams.
About a love and a his lover,
A most comely woman in many eyes.
Only sweet dreams tonight,
He will only dream sweet.
Warm moon light gingerly cascades over the meadow.
While they hold one another’s body,
Basking into heavens eyes.
Only sweet dream tonight.
Gentle, tangible dreams.
Both are gleefully chained to others heart.
A heat takes him over,
Her skin is so supple,
Her flesh in his hands shiver
For they are acceptably rough.
A kind of rough that causes a woman’s body to paralyze.
Only sweet dreams tonight.
No dream before his had ever been more enthralling.
A powerful love together,
While the indigo sky blanketed their honest bodies on the bed of grass where they make it.
He was inside her as if he were her ribs.
Her legs were clasped so comfortably ’round him as though she were his skin.
A felicity so vivid, he tries not to wake.
But the sunlight came creeping in, gently placing kisses on his face.
There’s nothing new about being a gangsta: they bang, they shoot, they ride.
Too many of my brothers are expected casualties on the road we’re hesitant to call their lives.
There is nothing uncommon about being gangsta: so hard, too tough, they all bark like “men.” But not one of them is man enough to say,
“In a gang is the default of the world, I feared I could not fit in.”
There’s nothing new about being a gangsta: they want to rhyme, they want to club and they want to fuck. And purposely oblivious women get pregnant in hopes for a gangsta’s love.
There is nothing enthralling about being gangsta: they are losing soldiers in war they fight.
There’s nothing new about being a gangsta: they’re born, they run and more often sooner than others they die.
I wonder is death so hard as living…
It only comes once you see.
I scare myself in finding an answer to the question,
Because neither Heaven or Hell, have bargained for this recalcitrant soul buried within me.
Beaten and broken,
All while living.
Could death be the solace?
Could it be forgiving?
It only visits once!
Seeming as though,
The cold ones who have met him have found peace.
Are these the secrets the dead have kept from me?
A pen in my hand,
And a million thoughts race through my head.
As I am thinking of you.
These are things that are commonly said.
Laying in bed, dreaming of you, Wishing I’d never wake again…
Things that are commonly said.
I’d swim an ocean just to meet you,
I’d go out hunting just to feed you.
These are things that have been said.
I’d be your light through the darkness if you traveled by ship.
My home would be the hospital where you’d lay if you were to become sick.
If you had amnesia, I could tell you who you are;
a kind soul,
Who is wise and with nothing more than a look, others you’ve charmed.
With an amazing smile and even more beautiful heart!
If you were to see me write this, I’d ask you to look away.
I wouldn’t want you to see me weak
Because I’ve given you all my strength
All these things you’ve read are common, (sighing) I know.
But the emotions that have driven me to write this are original.
Writing, it’s a wonderful passion of mine! It’s a very nature way for me to release my obsessions, anger, the happiness and the confusion that fills my head. Writing…I enjoy it, I love it, I hate it, it bemuses me, it keeps me sane and it inspires me. And now, it excites me to see that there are individuals out there that enjoy my work and or share the same perceptive on the subject(s) I choose to work with. Thank you, thanks too all 100 of you that make me feel as though I am doing something right!
Please like, follow and share these post, the post you believe are worth sharing and share with me your thoughts! Check out my twitter @cunningeisele post comments there, let’s discuss future writing assignments.
And again, thank you!
Eisele Cunningham 