A silent poets loud dreams

Life in the words of a mediocre poet.

Child like wonder.

I use to be a dreamer, digging my toes in the sand; squishing the grains between my wandering toes.
Just an adult man with a child like wonder. Everything thing in the world to be happy about. No a single negative thought in my hyperactive brain. Just an unrelenting happiness
I use to trace the stars and wonder how humans have come so far, how they just hang there in the sky. I would wish that it was mine. I wanted it so.
To dream means your alive, it means that the child in you never died. Why would you want it too? That’s the part that remains innocent and pure, uncomplicated and assured. Only seeing the good and true, laughing and Loving, joking too. The part of your humanity that shines through the adult you grew in to.

What happens when that inner child dies? You lose your voice, your heart, your mind. Forgetting about the skies, forgetting about the star filled nights and infinite skies.
In stead of wandering, your eyes stay down. Head in the dirt, focus to the ground. Confused lost and hurt, no matter how much beauty is around. My head stays looking down. Confused lost and hurt, no matter how much beauty is around. Unable to see anything past what I am at this moment, where are the days where I would take an idea and hold on to it?

Silenced poet.



My mind is a storm, a wash of unpredictable, unwanting waves of thought. Unprecedented by ability to conquer and take back what is truly my original self. I am the storm, a menacing tsunami inside myself, being thrown about, disgruntled but unharmed. For now.

Like the waves and tides that crash ever so violent, forgive the rage, but my heart’s a tryrant; Pulling on strings, puppeting my thoughts and dreams. Controlling every thought and belief, it is ruthless in its objective, to keep me lost and stranded and never collected. Forever a wandering, forever floating aimlessly. I would drown holding on to the very last piece of my sanity.

These waves they tower high, my anxieties become over bearing in an instance that my existence is fragile and weakened.Fragile and weakened… I am faced with my biggest fault, I am only human, by nature I am fragile and weakened.

These waves they tower high, I am but a reckless ship, floating frantically in swells of my own uncertainty. To the eye of man, I look strong, fearless, braving such waters in such a vessel. But in my existential mind I am small, thrown about at the mercy of this vast, unforgiving sea of loathing. I am the void, of which I created. Thoughts of hells and heavens irrelevant, they cannot compare to the darkness that you tread.

Unsure of what hopes to hold on to, a light house beckons in the middle of all this dirstress, I am fragile, but I have been here many times before. These violent raging waters slowly subsided, in the midst of the calming storm I am weary, with my eyes blurried, in search for continuity.

A time.

Stuck in a moment.
They screamed on the inside.
Voices resonating in their mind.
Eternity, a lifetime?
A second?

Chasing what they cannot see.
Obsessing over its meaning.
It is a human endeavour; our plight and greed.
The cries of the weary asking for “more time please.”

Yet what does this mean?
What is a moment really?

A clock runs their hearts, they grasp at hands desperately.
Always slipping through the fingers.
Torn between what is and what should be.
A corrosive chaotic ticking in place of where a rhythmic beat should be.

The illusion of time rots their minds.
That is something I cannot transpire.
Pleading with the unknown.
To have a little more of what is bound to take place nevertheless.

My friends you would feel empty once again.
Once that moment left.
And there you rest.
Sullen and bitter because you wasted all your “time”;
And now you have none left for which you should have already spent.

Living in the now is the greatest gift
Peer your eyes, open your mind.
Have you not one thing to be thankful for.
Right here, right now.

Because past, future or present.
You will never have enough time.

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