It's based on one of a million thought tracks I have a day (I really wish I could draw/write/remember all of them) and was memorable. Anyway, I was doing a poem for it. Please excuse me if it is rubbish.
A shining river of molten silver,
A chaotic pattern of flowers gold,
A slight breeze against grey monotone,
No anxiety with the cold.
Bright white light, yet shining dimly,
Seeing flying doves of ribbon shadows and light,
Beautiful quiet, cluttered thoughts,
Alone with shallow joys and woes,
The storm of serenity softly batters,
Against breaking barriers of tears,
Look into the river, see nothing but glittering sky,
Fall down onto grass where mangled dew and rain lie.
Will this feeling wear down?
Fluttering grass holds my tears.
I feel so confused, longing and desiring,
Hating, awakening, tiring.
'How could you do such things?'
'How can I be, why do I see so much?'
Questions trapped and locked in lock and key,
'Seeing and feeling, why can't I just be?'
But such is the way of the world,
And as creative and imaginative forces collide,
Truths blur and struggles fight over hopes that long ago died,
Struggles those young bear, screaming for a guide.
So seasons pass, clouds shadows go overhead,
The sweet dove rests her head upon golden flowers,
Tears silent, past and future,
But for the present of now,
She opens her eyes sorrowfully,
Into her fake world of the lying whole,
Which for once in her life,
Saw into beauty of the broken soul.
A chaotic pattern of flowers gold,
A slight breeze against grey monotone,
No anxiety with the cold.
Bright white light, yet shining dimly,
Seeing flying doves of ribbon shadows and light,
Beautiful quiet, cluttered thoughts,
Alone with shallow joys and woes,
The storm of serenity softly batters,
Against breaking barriers of tears,
Look into the river, see nothing but glittering sky,
Fall down onto grass where mangled dew and rain lie.
Will this feeling wear down?
Fluttering grass holds my tears.
I feel so confused, longing and desiring,
Hating, awakening, tiring.
'How could you do such things?'
'How can I be, why do I see so much?'
Questions trapped and locked in lock and key,
'Seeing and feeling, why can't I just be?'
But such is the way of the world,
And as creative and imaginative forces collide,
Truths blur and struggles fight over hopes that long ago died,
Struggles those young bear, screaming for a guide.
So seasons pass, clouds shadows go overhead,
The sweet dove rests her head upon golden flowers,
Tears silent, past and future,
But for the present of now,
She opens her eyes sorrowfully,
Into her fake world of the lying whole,
Which for once in her life,
Saw into beauty of the broken soul.
It is also a bit of a vent. A vent overdue for a long time. Bah. I don't like this post...
so, well, thank you so much 