Solitude . It descends from the North, this vast ice that I understood in my distant travels. She rises from the South beyond this desert dry and burning lips tortured me for days, plowing my flesh and leaving me breathless in a setting of red blood and sand cold.
Millennia ago, I traveled immense minute, contemplating the castles of ancient kings, coasted mad scientists who have learned not to be myself I browsed through the clouds slid on snowy slopes, climbed mountains to finally not rising above that this column of clay as a colossus built in a bygone era.
Today, I drown my eyes on the underground lake lost in the middle of nowhere but I can distinguish nothing beyond. Everything lake and clouds, sky and water, heaven and hell, no dichotomy evil and good together in eternity without end. I torture myself in order to understand the life that I am given. I try to tame this breath of life that passes in the depths of my bowels. But when loved ones pass and disappear, leaving only white marks on my light dresses, I stay on shore, only again and again, devastated by a love unrequited and unfulfilled desires.
Maybe he should go up like evil, threat and pain. Then cast a shadow bold on the ground, believing in the future and continue on the path that could lead to good. What I call the evil, pain and emptiness, it is perhaps a furtive groping towards better, best or property indecipherable. I advance all costs and continues to believe that the spirit that animates me is life and accomplishment.
Yet I feel I am alone in this fight that I lead, solitary on the horizon in front dunes of snow and glaciers hot, so zealous in the apprehension of another elusive to vomit sometimes in the quest for happiness, hurt to see that dreams are often white than dark clouds swirl in a bottomless pit, hurt by mephitic be tearing my virtue.
is an unequal battle against loneliness. She walks away but always returns, stealthily, without whirlpool so strong that I feel it lurking in the shadows even in bright light. I feel the interstellar void, even bigger than that installs between the stars in the sky, the immense global travels and fills the universe to the vapors of copper. I think building to fill the void, filling the interstices of life, take some stones that I ask patiently on the wall already erected by the ancestors but at least Whispering Wind clever, everything collapses in a deafening silence that fills the ears of the dying cries. Evolve in the streets of the city humming gives the impression of being me, being unique among the many. In addition to noise and oppressive walls clad poster planting himself in my eyes when I did not ask for anything and all thoughts parasitic entering my brain, I'm never, alas, only one among the various brains fluttering on the sidewalk, alone in the solitude of murmuring my bombastic century heresies and contradictions.
Human existence is sometimes so precarious and made a succession of laborious routines.
Take the time to have time to waste time. I have the opportunity to lose at anything or even be unaware of its flow, and then be suddenly caught by an immeasurable and uncontrollable anguish arising beyond the Golgotha, triturating the minutes and hours, until 'that my heart rate revved. Time prints all over my skin and I do sometimes get a slight shadow among other faces rickety, moving silently through the streets of a megalopolis unknown at the center of a play which I do not know the replicas, panting and Anon snippets of text no longer belonged. Being on stage with scenery spin between my fingers numb I can only lead to destructive madness.
I may be one of those people who, returning home at night, find their cave so narrow they stop right away against the opposite wall, while the door closes and the cries outside fade.
I'm not realigned in sympathy, I got a mention in the venerable but Stoicism I own the Golden Palm in chat ironic that their heels, this armor as a way to keep stashed in playing strong-minded. But life fucks me full face every day: it is useless to shirk, humanity overtakes us.
Today I decided to speak and write because I consider it reduce our humanity to flee from suffering, then I let her speak, finally, as a candidate who takes impossible. Open and available to express and holler and cry. Expose myself, throw down tinsel up my skin, I walk naked and flayed, raw.
Solitude . I come up against it but I struggle. It makes me upset, I fall, I crawl, I am scratching my, I am suffocating, I get up, hands in blood and I continue to falter, walking as if I was drunk. Maybe I'm finally because I swallowed everything, all my memories, smiles and tender moments suspended in the breath of eternity. These images of peace are so numerous, they plow my flesh and heart and I would finally say, I miss this smile, that wonderful smile that was yours and that disappeared forever in limbo, the clouds that you wanted to tame.
In my time I have helped so many people to escape, to break their shackles to find the golden warmth of the Sun. Now the center of the door of my prison is the opening to verify that I have not had the bad taste to take the key hanging. But when it's my turn to escape, even for a moment, nobody comes. When the sun goes down at night I see the rope that swings alone in the middle of the dark skies, down in real ray of light, forming his noose. This thin lifeline of hope and trembling slightly as I fall asleep, he clasps his tentacles in gray and misty.
But I hope, still, still and always there at the bottom of things, there is a force that pushes the unborn, to take life and form, filling the heart of those who watch the nature and men who live there. I dream that if each of us is alone, yet we are united in solitude.
Beyond this suffering and loneliness that I plowed, probably there is a side blind, obscure, random thing that is changing, and I am powerless over this, I am unable to contain and channel it. So I think that despite the tears that made my bed of the lake, the fragility and grace of the flower outweighs the empty desperation of a life that is mine for so many centuries buried.
The grace of the flower against the rough stones. There is still hope.
Signed: The lonely lover
© Delphinium February 2011
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