Life, Love, Peace, and the Wrong

There are windows far away,

Facing a defeated Sun.

There are doorways there too,

But their locks are undone.

But the Sun and I are one.

Those windows only view,

The things I cannot see.

The things I don’t believe,

Standing before me.

The ground under breaks.

I fold into a bird.

I fall into a hole.

But the Sun’s voice I heard.

But there were lessons I had learned.

There were doors I left unlocked.

There were windows I forgot.

There were rooms I left blocked.

But it was the Sun I mocked.

It screamed in anticipation.

And I just stopped and looked.

Blinded in realization.

But I was left to the making.

I was here with the world.

With this house so broken down.

And the Sun sits high and cold. 

I was once a robot. Hard, cold, and jagged. Many dents, and many scratches. I had no air or blood flowing through me, rather there was grease, oil, and a draft. I creaked when expressing emotion, and collapsed when speaking. My teeth rattled as they clanked, side by side. My goosebumps were malfunctions and my smile was like a slowly opening door. A blanket of rust and dust and dirt and soil covered my aching metal body, and my heart was a broken gear. My lungs were popped balloons. My eyes were 8 balls without answers. My brain was an aftermath of failed wiring. My hands were made of broken lead pipes. My knee-caps were constructed from helmets. My tongue was a sheet of foil. My ears were phillips-head screws. I was a toy, not often mentioned. I was a doll at the hands of a very twisted craftsman. Yet now it seems I am only a shell - a faded corpse left behind from the wake of my mechanical counterpart. 

Ice.

My body can waver through water.

 It can stay firm in sand.

 It can melt in fire.

 But it is ice I can’t stand.

It is ice that melts AND burns.

It is ice that keeps me from moving.

It is ice that cuts my speech.

It is ice that is hurting.

Ice is so simple.

So plain and so pale.

And yet it still bites.

So strong and so stale.

So weak - I, to hale.

To ice that shatters.

To pain that is frozen.

to whom it won’t matter.

To whom I will see.

When I’m thawed from this time.

It will be someone else they see.

And not a soul that is mine.

My body can waver through water.

It can stay firm in sand.

It can melt in fire.

But it is ice I can’t stand.

I know it all. Without even asking.

I believe it all. Without even seeing.

I walk these floors. Without even breathing.

And yet it feels alright. And yet it feels just fine.

These twisted doorways, and blood-lit paths.

I see an image, from my past.

I see the grey in the lightning bolt.

I can see colors, while others still don’t.

My feet press on, and my eyes stay wide.

My scorched emotions, are my guiding light.

My heart is flaming. My soul is dry.

I can see wonders, while others just die.

I know it all. Without even asking.

I believe it all. Without even seeing.

I walk these floors. Without even breathing.

And yet it feels alright. And yet it feels just fine.

The tides have changed. The winds have turned.

A lesson not taught, is a lesson learned.

Grease that gear, pull that lever.

And watch as each body, sticks close together.

I cut the paper, with my shadow.

And I write this letter, hands all aglow.

I walk with reason, without a chair.

And yet I’m not tired, but still I don’t care.

I will push onward, and I will fly.

Killing the mystery, and watching the sky.

I will fall down, into my net.

This is the place, where Death and I met. 

I walk along this road,

My feet fresh and bare. 

Upon this black and stale ground,

With stillness in the air. 

-

With well hidden fear,

I walk on every year,

I see my feet are turning black,

and hands are drying too. 

-

Though this road does guide me on,

all roads must be repaved.

this nostalgic stepping plate,

is bound to be renamed.

-

It’s doomed to no escape,

a loop in of itself.

I keep walking in my prints,

a hostage in this cell. 

-

Lead me on, it does, it preaches.

Build me up, it strives, it searches.

But when will this road end?

When will the ending begin?

-

So simple is this road,

on which I walk bare.

So simple is this dotted line,

to follow and bend in it’s care. 

if only i didnt relate

(Source: crosstheline)