Awakening the Soul

Monday, August 08, 2011

There is this pain instilled within my heart.
A pain so crude and torturous
A pain that numbs the emotion of love
That deafens laughter and exercises discontent.
A pain that plays the devils game and leaves hearts entangled in a hopeless fall.
An attraction fatal,
A wound unhealing,
A soul shaken,
A unity shattered,
A chapter forgotten
and a story untold.
tempest

Write and write and keep writing, but what words can I put on paper? How can I allow myself to write about pain and hurt when the pen writing and the paper receiving do not deserve to have such thoughts heard? Do not deserve the pollution of negativity, of ill thought, of hatred and defeat.

Write and write and keep writing, write whatever comes to mind. Allow the darkened image breeding in the tomb of thought to become a descriptive painting. Write and write and keep writing. The innocence of the ink, the accepting paper should also have the chance to encompass words of peace and love etched out in gold. Deserve to hear praises and happy thoughts, for no single particle was born for the sole purpose of suffering.

Write and write and keep writing, whether it makes sense or not, these are just words stringed along by the deliverer living in a parallel universe, where all that there is, is an entity of sheer desperation, wanting to be heard, but loses the power of expression when given half a chance.

Wanting to know human compassion; can it really exist in all its entirety?

A dictator I have become, commanding the ink to fall, torturing the paper with cruel intentions and pleasures.

A dictator I have become to like, to have this simple power. Power to control what words are received and what words stay a thought, never to be heard, never to frighten or grieve.

This power I like and it comes at the expense of the ink and its tolerant comrade.
tempest