|Played: 3 times.|
In order to rid myself of the o’erhanging reminder of the shift I’ll soon have to write in my life, I want to get my house sorted. I dislike accepting new things into my life unless I can help it, which is to say that I want to prepare myself before such things come, as to see how it will affect me. I’m cleaning house, making shiny all the ugly bits and pieces in order to feel better about myself. It’s all a matter to me, and I’m wasting time writing. We’ll see how the last few weeks go. I certainly hope the best for myself and my friends.
You’ll have to understand - I am happy for you. I, sitting here alone, can think on and on and still see you as no one else but a good friend. Perhaps a bit flawed at times, but so is everyone else in their own way. I’ve come across from my wayward ways and far off days as something I never intended to be, and if that makes a villain out of me - well, I always wanted to wear myself out of my own skin. I cannot help but be confrontational or choleric at times. But, you are a good thing in my life, and soon I’ll have to refer to you in the past tense. I’ve no one particular in mind as I’m writing this - just all of you who’ve been there for me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, and I’m sorry for having been the basterd I was at times. Now, as always, goodbyes will come and then everything will restart anew, if not slightly tattered or frayed at the edges.
In the years that followed, his regret lessened, bitter seas subsided with the tides, and he had finally forgotten the pleasure a pair of finer eyes had darted i’ the heart. But, the emptiness remained as an imprint of memory, apathetic towards all passions but want. He acted as hollow as he imagined himself to be; without substance or meaning, other than existence begetting existence. What is it that he wants? To be re-assured? To fit in to that ‘perfect space’? I couldn’t say; I am but a little thought to him, though always here.
I just want to not feel the ways that I feel, and gain more feeling in the bits of me that need it. I am nothing short of thankful to my friends, but I cannot call myself that to you. I’m not much of anything right now, to myself and all looking o’er my way. I want to curl up in a ball for a while, and to have you guys there for a bit, just so I might feel a bit a part of.
I don’t understand; I never have, and fear I never will.
Of Lions and Lambs
Take care, little cub.
Tread lightly paws about nimble hoof,
Once meant to chase after, now alongside.
Still do you remember bygone days as years past,
To snipe and scrape against kin
Who offered help by din
Against innocence, turned ignorance.
Here, no elephant bores grave,
No constant, rippling anger
Against troubled youth or bitter resolve.
Not so haughty as haunting
As echoes are to mountains:
Of little occurrence or matter to Gods,
The manners of men and lions.
Here, there be lambs of kinds
Once holy, now lonely to us -
Or that it makes me.