%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   All that remains: here in my afterlife as a 'mainstream' blogger, with what little I know. |
Hope in the Margins/ No Ink for a Dreamer Those few fleeting moments of hopefulness: marginalized, incalculable, elusive; hanging on to get them back -- retuning, harmonizing, visualizing -- gone. What was I thinking about? Waiting for a moment that seldom comes. What does it look like? When will it reappear? Will it be standing by me and leave the moment I near? Retrace your steps. Where to begin? Live. Pray. Love. Return is never easy. I held her in memory. I danced with the notion. Fantasy. Ecstasy. Delusion. What child shall I be that you might witness? Smile. Wink. Fade. How shall I sing my lyric? Coy. Charm. Heartfelt. What will I plea? Time moves slowly; escapes too quickly. Throw the car into gear? No. Stop. Park. No joy for this ride. Shut in my shed, I fear -- those eyes I dreamt; the lips I desire, warmth never felt, cooling, colder. I lay my pen on the mantle -- no fire. I shred this paper. No ink for a dreamer. I was preparing myself for a cup of coffee and started to imagine how I might feel drinking that brew. Sometimes, it's the window of opportunity for some great inspiration. Other times, I idle in my thoughts hoping to unlock some mystery to life by jotting down the words that surface. But, I get stuck and just push forward. This is what I came up with (this time): I'm not worried about form, yet some of it helps with expression. Life is always uneven and if we try to make perfect in structure we cage our beast. I prefer to think it is tethered. And while I would prefer a disciplined monster, I understand his need to be appreciated the way he is...warts and all? We're not perfect. We can act like it. Hope others buy into the illusion, but it's only our delusion. Isn't it easier to come out with it? Rather be ugly than false, but afraid of how I'll be viewed. I'm flawed. I make mistakes. I want love and forgiveness. I never want to sit in judgment of another, put in a position to help them with their own delusion. Truth should be easy. But it can be indigestible. I know my flaws. I don't parade around with them like mustard on my face. But, I don't write these words in permanent ink on my head when there is so much more beautiful and right that gives balance to my life. Repurpose me. Shelter me. I'm here, full of love, life and still willing to learn. And the clock just keeps on ticking as if in perpetual purgatory. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
