Connection – Rare, fleetingly soft-blown on the wind of my thoughts these days. I look down from the gallery swimming in constant drivel, wandering the echoes of the chambers in my mind that ask one question to which I know only one-word answers.
Fist slamming, angst unburdened, yelled as a challenge to the world. A wall to beat my chest against. Deepness resonates from past to future, how the soul can hurt, bled through shadows of lives lived and paths tread.
Mouth’s moving through familiar tones, spouting words of platitudes, caressing, soothing. How nostalgic. How bullshit, in the memories of lives wasted among the reminder of time forced and not given, of lives lived past the future in a world where we are the center.
Questions whispered in the night of readers’ dreams hopeful and secret. Why can’t I find the time of day to dream, to ask, to listen?
I am the blank canvas blotted and stained, marred by the blackness of emptiness in the real, imagination calling for the surreal. “The moonflower dreams of a sun blazoned across the sky, but it fears the light, embraced in the clouds, pale by moonlight”.
A request, asked gently within my heart, to know those who have become lost. A yearning for freedom, the world in sheltered homes of friends and family.
To be linked once more in a dream perhaps lost long ago, but never forgotten.
To love and to be loved.