Blind heart. Blind Soul. Blind Eyes. The day ever so sad brings peace upon you at last. The colors reflect lust; only on a day like this. It’s so strange to feel this way. The air filled with rain aroma. The leaves swaying slowly as your eyes observe them doing so. Hoping to find the reason you feel emptied of sentiment, you stumble forth the path assigned to you. Indecisive thoughts hurt your mind. Pain loves the sound of your tears falling. Strength allows you to cope, being the only element you’re not ashamed of. Electrical energy flowing through you once you understand the motives of the day you’re getting over with. Lesson being taught to the blind heart, to the blind soul; and to the blind eyes. Live with your passion and don’t try find the only meaningful piece there is to it. The unknown thrill of the blind sight.
The strong self-conscious feeling. The cracking from your knuckles. The sad story in your eyes. Unpredictable winds becoming your personal scent. The lingering sense of loss. The hope you lack. The hate you stack. The world crumbling into your arms. The thoughts on your mind running wild. The pain in your chest spreading wide. The last time you hoped; was the last time you broke. The future lays on your past. The perfect nostalgia won’t forever last. The cold in your hands will turn warm. The way you’ve been hurt; you’ll never harm. The real you, will evolve. The lost you, will dissolve. The next morning you open your eyes, you will thank the Lord. The story that to you is owed; don’t doubt it. It will be told.
The Poseidon Calls
Cold Thursday evening in the carnation flower shop. Lyra was arranging lilies and purple hyacinth. She hears this faint sound, probably someone blowing on a seashell, it’s likely it’s the beach site. as she kept organizing her flowers. The sound faded. It now echoed inside her shop. She found herself following this soothing melody down the street. Eyes feeling heavy. White shades of light reflecting her shadow on a rainy day. Her hair swaying from side to side. Slowly; the beach looking very mischievous. Her dress looking like an angel’s robes. Body fully covered in water. Feeling the presence of broken hearts nearby. Feeling herself awakened by this empowering feeling. “The Poseidon calls. Fear not, it’s a new beginning”, Says Lyra. Her voice as beautiful as her spirit.
Where’s My Cynefin?
No place where I feel entirely safe have I been able to find. Memories. Not since I don’t sit down in my backyard looking at the sky in the most vulnerable state of mind where I can allow anything to make me tear up. The color of the horizon, the sound of a knock on the door from no stranger but my father. Whenever he comes home it’s my cynefin. Whenever he hugs me and tells me he loves me is my cynefin. Whenever I hear the muffled music inside the house it’s my cynefin. Waiting for the sunset to come forth in my home. What if neither ever shows up again? I wonder. No sense of adrenaline any longer. No father showing up. The future handed to your hands; but not wanting to take it. It hurts. The pain. I’m broken. I still am trying to find something that I can fix myself with. When I learn what that is, I’ll heal. Only when I can turn to the past...that will be my cynefin.