Once there was a small village on the edge of a huge desert. The people of the village were hard-working, because life in such a place was difficult. The women became bent from carrying water to the parched fields; the men became leather-skinned and narrow eyed from the blowing sand and glaring sun.
One day a nobleman arrived at the village. He had traveled an immense distance to see the great desert, and he asked to hire some of the men of the village as guides. The men looked at his fine clothes. They looked at his smooth pale hands with their glinting rings. They looked at his fine horse with its bulging saddlebags. Then t
All the things you shouldn't have said,
and did.
All of the things I should have said,
and didn't.
I remember them.
I remember my hurt,
Your lack of remorse.
You never saw anything but your own opinions.
You never saw me cry.
And I have come to realize that
Seven years of friendship count for something,
And they count for this:
I will never tell you.
We will laugh and joke and talk,
And when you say things that hurt me,
I will laugh it off.
And my revenge will be that I never hurt you in return.
When I was three years old I began to have nightmares. They began slowly, as the usual garden variety bad dreams all children get, and quickly progressed to almost full blown night terrors. Over the course of several years the monsters evolved. I might have no nightmares for a week, or three or four in a night, leaving me shaking and terrified. In one memorable dream, a monster appeared in the form of my grandmother and killed my younger sister as I ran away, unable to help. The effects of the dreams were tremendous; since I was often unable to tell when the nightmares were going on, I became terrified of being alone while I was awake.
The sound of the ground
beneath my feet as
I walk in no particular direction
on my way to no particular place.
The sight of the fields,
the trees, the birds and grass.
The sky arching far above me,
North, south, east and west.
The smell of earth and
leaves and growing things
that stays in my hair
after I come back inside.
The feel of the wind
against my face and
the softness of the
grass and clover.
The taste of sweat and
dust and thirst, and
sweet creek water
scooped up with my hands.
All these things bring comfort
as I sit in this cold,
echoing room of tile and brick
and fluorescent light,
so far from home.
Love is not running barefoot through fields of clover,
nor is it moonlight,
nor even is it loyalty or dependence.
To be in love is simply the knowledge that without that piece of you
your life would be that much emptier,
your heart would be that much sadder,
and your soul would be that much lonelier.
Love is the acceptance of something seperate from you as a part of yourself.
Love is a bond, not of body or mind,
but of soul and heart.
The walls of my house seem
to choke me
and I flee blindly into the night
where I find myself surrounded
by an infinity of light.
The stars
shine down with infinite clarity
and I weep
as I realise
that I will never see such wonders
that must exist
on so many planets
of so many suns
And I cry blindly into the night
"Dear God" (if such a thing exists)
Do not let me die
here alone
on this cold rock
with so many wonders
out of my reach
above me
And there is no answer.
Once there was a small village on the edge of a huge desert. The people of the village were hard-working, because life in such a place was difficult. The women became bent from carrying water to the parched fields; the men became leather-skinned and narrow eyed from the blowing sand and glaring sun.
One day a nobleman arrived at the village. He had traveled an immense distance to see the great desert, and he asked to hire some of the men of the village as guides. The men looked at his fine clothes. They looked at his smooth pale hands with their glinting rings. They looked at his fine horse with its bulging saddlebags. Then t
All the things you shouldn't have said,
and did.
All of the things I should have said,
and didn't.
I remember them.
I remember my hurt,
Your lack of remorse.
You never saw anything but your own opinions.
You never saw me cry.
And I have come to realize that
Seven years of friendship count for something,
And they count for this:
I will never tell you.
We will laugh and joke and talk,
And when you say things that hurt me,
I will laugh it off.
And my revenge will be that I never hurt you in return.
When I was three years old I began to have nightmares. They began slowly, as the usual garden variety bad dreams all children get, and quickly progressed to almost full blown night terrors. Over the course of several years the monsters evolved. I might have no nightmares for a week, or three or four in a night, leaving me shaking and terrified. In one memorable dream, a monster appeared in the form of my grandmother and killed my younger sister as I ran away, unable to help. The effects of the dreams were tremendous; since I was often unable to tell when the nightmares were going on, I became terrified of being alone while I was awake.
The sound of the ground
beneath my feet as
I walk in no particular direction
on my way to no particular place.
The sight of the fields,
the trees, the birds and grass.
The sky arching far above me,
North, south, east and west.
The smell of earth and
leaves and growing things
that stays in my hair
after I come back inside.
The feel of the wind
against my face and
the softness of the
grass and clover.
The taste of sweat and
dust and thirst, and
sweet creek water
scooped up with my hands.
All these things bring comfort
as I sit in this cold,
echoing room of tile and brick
and fluorescent light,
so far from home.
Love is not running barefoot through fields of clover,
nor is it moonlight,
nor even is it loyalty or dependence.
To be in love is simply the knowledge that without that piece of you
your life would be that much emptier,
your heart would be that much sadder,
and your soul would be that much lonelier.
Love is the acceptance of something seperate from you as a part of yourself.
Love is a bond, not of body or mind,
but of soul and heart.
The walls of my house seem
to choke me
and I flee blindly into the night
where I find myself surrounded
by an infinity of light.
The stars
shine down with infinite clarity
and I weep
as I realise
that I will never see such wonders
that must exist
on so many planets
of so many suns
And I cry blindly into the night
"Dear God" (if such a thing exists)
Do not let me die
here alone
on this cold rock
with so many wonders
out of my reach
above me
And there is no answer.