Syro
Waves will crash upon themselves. They are crafted from the same substance and it fills the oceans with a similar eerie sound. A similarity between each human being, crashing within each others boundaries. Like elusive bugs buzzing around each other, wondering and gasping and gawking.... gawking.
Oh!
How different we so are. Thoughts bouncing up and down within the confines of these walls. Smashing within the picture frames and tables-chairs, I sit squarely between her, over here and there. How could she read me? Did she? My shadows are vaporous but she knows where my enlightened being flies.
Across nations and statutes, frisky like a frenzied lurker. Deserter. I move in the deserted lands where no one dares to look. Searching for some type of mirage, one that I know surely exists within my mind. Oh how I hope to make it come true. Like some mirage it is, in a dry arid land of customs and trivialities. Manners, how they encroach on me! When all I wish is to move likes waves, crashing into her over there. Hoping for something between us to coalesce, but how the stress eats away at her very curt dress ...
And in defense, I never dispense tense words that lend to an airy sense of immense drenching stress. Hence why I look here and there, for where I find knowledge I bare only to hold you there.
And you there, thine heir of some golden goddess whose hair flows like a rivers unkept self. Flowing out yonder, into the trees of translucence, how your words move in cadence with the fracturing edges of water crackling at your commence...
How I wish to know you more. But there are things in this world that I know. For I must conceal them, congeal! Reveal! For I am holding on to them now! Like important things that must be hidden from public.
Truths that I have come across that bear no true meaning. Or do they? A man of age holds on to these truths with assertion and confidence that he has earned them from the world. As if he learned them from the harshest of events. But is anything truly static? If not death that comes upon is like a divine light... so bright... and cold as winters night. I do not believe it. For the warmth that the sun brings to us , is my arbiter.
And you still sit there, looking here and there once more. Oh how I should implore to you, with your decorative galore how you're eyes must be sore, mine never at your pretty lips moving once more.
And how they look at me, waiting to see my next improvised movement, living as if I had never done so before! As if humans were something new, a creed whom I just now knew.
Everybody is new. Maybe its curiosity that strangles me, in its tenebrous tentacles. Knowing that I do not know. But that even though, I know something about you, that you dont. How I feel like this for everyone sadly, nothing is extraordinary in the realization that we all live in the same fashion.
With extremities being part of the dilemma, but extremities are fun!
Its like tangling with a certain death.
Who, are you. I ask with eyes open only to you. I see you in this class room of fewer than few, but when I look at you I ask you, whom are you now? Crowned with your knowledge at hand, how shall you handle chaos? Chaos of manners. Words of apprehension. Fingers fidgety to understand everything, consuming it all like a void within the middle of class. I am bound by my own egotistical crass, I fall face first into the bludgeoning thunder made by others.
And how laughter alone will suffice. How that very action, will suffice. But it could now or never ever be harder to capture. In this slipping moment, drooling of sifting emotions and words of quick paced devotion, will I see you once more with my own feelings as they are?
I want this, I want that. I want to see you, and you there, also you, and you too. We all would like so, maybe, in time, slowly and slowly it could occur. But we could all share it at once, like an enveloping hive of sharing information that is forgotten, no I will not forget it.
And even when it is forgotten will I not forget it. For a face like yours, is hard to forget.
