Category Archives: reflection

Junk Food and Gasoline

A world that sends you reeling from decimated dreams. Your misery and hate kill us all. So paint it black and take it back. Let’s shout it loud and clear. Defiant to the end we hear the call…to carry on.  ~My Chemical Romance

Traveler Sunshine The Clouds Wilderness

Let me tell you a little story about myself.
A little story that shows how I think.
It is presented in lots of speak that doesn’t stream together.
But who cares, let’s have a look.

Traveling down a road he looks to the other side and decides to go off on his own.
A motivation brought on by the longing of something different.
Yet, when the road is back into view, he runs back to it with his tail between his legs.
A coward some might say, others might call it a tactical retreat.

This man takes  a few steps into the wild and sees a light.
One that defines and shines in the sky, both at night and during day.
When he is adrift it lights his way and when he hides it brings out what he wants to keep hidden.
An open book that is hidden well behind this tree.

Next, he sees himself in a parade.
Colors are everywhere, and then in the distance he sees it.
It looks like hope… hope in the form of a black shrouded figure running off into the crowd.
The parade is going swell, so he decides not to pursue the silent observer.

The floats fly high in the sky.
Held up by the dreams of those around him.
Their colors represent the wins he wishes he could have.
Also illuminating the sin that is always in his head.

One day the shrouded man came to his door.
He knocked and knocked, but he did not answer its call.
Glued to TV screens and gasoline…
Junk food and short bursts of ecstasy that mean nothing in the long run.

The knocking began coming at least once a week.
Always lasting for hours at a time and sometimes he answers the call.
A wave hits his chest when he does for the entirety of the worlds oceans crash into his apartment.
He drowns and lives again as the shrouded mans’ cloak disrobes to reveal the light that is always present.

The end of our tale is close and the climax may come.
The problem with that though is the story is continuous and I don’t know how it will end.
The only part I am sure about is that the other side will be there with open arms,
But what will need to be endured to get there is not in my control.

He sits still, the only thing moving is his mouth.
Singing a song about hope, love, death, pain, and life.
An eclectic mix of power pop, metal, and rock.
A blending of ideals, looking for a balance of learning about other views and solidifying his personal beliefs.

He sits and he sings.
He sings because it is worth it to him to understand the melodies that have been given to him.
He sits and he weeps.
He weeps for the chance to make a difference, or for happiness and joy that can sometimes ring true.

He is sitting their singing the songs of saints and sinners.
Singing the songs of pain from the unbelievers.
Singing the songs of hope and redemption.
He waits for the knock to come and the ocean to meet him once more.

I look and I see the story unfolding all around me.
Wondering if it is just me who sees their life in metaphorical agony?
Wondering if it is just me who examines their hopes and dreams in context of melodies?
All in all I see it as a dance between me, myself, and the Maker of I.

 

 

Please Listen

“I wanna know what it’s like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent.”  ~Motion City Soundtrack

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I actually decided to die today.
"Please don't be so dramatic."
"You have so much to live for"
People please, you are so unaware of what I mean. 

A tear down and a build up.
A knowledge that what I was doing is not working anymore.
I decided to die today.
And I believe it will be a very good day.

"Your life is worth it don't do it!" They say.
But I don't think you are listening to what I am saying.
Because I decided to die today.
So let me have this one.

To spell it out for you... I decided to die today.
A death to the life that never treated me well.
One that is changed into a new way of thinking.
Going about temptation with a new form.

Not one full of tunnel vision blockers.
Not one full of disarray. 
But one that justifies and glorifies the hope that's inside.
Because if I don't die today, I will never learn to be alive.
I will never learn how to be okay.

This Old Porch

“Live your life, where you’ve been, where you’re going to. Say goodnight. Say goodnight to the life in the world we live.”
                                 ~Lana Del Rey

~This Old Porch~

I sit on this old porch looking back to what I was before.
For who I am now was defined by those moments from my past. 
A melancholy existence, sprinkled with moments of sanguine. 
A cloud covered daily, broken up by streams of sunlight peeking out of the clouds. 

This old chair is getting older.
And this porch doesn’t stop aging.
Even though I am young I feel the ache of age in my bones.
And on this old porch I reflect on all that has been me. 

The youth made out of glee.
Having no care in the world.
And the only care being if my school lunch was packed or bought.
The simple times when mom could comfort when you cried.

Today crying becomes a cathartic awakening for growing up.
Today crying is frowned upon by those that claim to be too masculine for such childish things.
Today crying is a symptom of being insecure.
For “real’ men do not cry.

Growing up and finding God then losing Him and then running back again.
Making mistakes and taking names.
Learning how to be a good ole boy.
A walk in the park that ultimately leads to this porch.

I think it is easier to reflect than move forward.
I think that our time could be better spent than reminiscing on things I cannot change.
I think life is worth more than this porch.
I think a little reflection didn’t kill anyone.

For the past is what made me.
And I am finding that a little bit of closure is needed to move along.
I am finding my mind can cause me to walk while looking back.
And the pain of yesteryear can be used to fuel the being I was made to be. 

I sit on this old porch looking back to what I was before.
For I am defined by what I did last year.
A melancholy existence, dancing with intent.
A cloud covered daily, that one day will be put back together to what it once was. 

Maybe one day someone will be next to me.
On this old porch.
On the bench and not the chair.
For the porch can be used to look forward too.