curving contemplation ramble

I'm..
searching,
pondering,
continually hoping,
for words to spring forth.
Words, letters, curved symbols,
entangled in the recesses of the mind.
Waiting for those similes,
those metaphors
of circular logic,
of blurred reasoning,
to create clarity
out of the muddled;
to confusingly twist
the confines,
the boundaries
of reality
into something that somehow flows into the realms of sense.

Patterns,
circles,
cycles.
waiting for something.
idling for nothing.

Endless arrays of thought,
entangled in deeply delving roots,
yet glorified somehow whilst floating
far above even the pillars of truth.

Like a lingering wind upon heated sun kissed skin
thoughts flow freely, unabashed, untamed
throughout the medley of noises, constraints and hindrances

Like the caress of your pen
lovingly scratching paper
leaving your mark
creating
manifesting
grasping onto a fine start.

Continually climbing that circles curve.
weaving
stumbling
around and around.
round, circular, cyclical;
attempting to perceive that bend,
that curve of the horizon.

A flash of sunlight,
the dawn,
an awakening,
the realization straight before me.

The words.
I know now.

Hands

Parched, I lie on the damp cement floor absorbing what little I can. My skin was turning as cold and gray as my cage. This is as good a time as any to tell all of my secrets. After all, death is a pretty damn good excuse to repent – if one would call it that. How many times can you write a word before its letters on the page appear foreign? How many times can you say it until it loses all meaning? I pray my youth has not set me up for an age of redundancy foreshadowing an epoch of beached meaning.

I have been so covered with filth and lies, and am now ready to redeem myself. The sins of our pasts would soon reveal themselves as old paint pushing through rust. Edges crisp and burnt would cut at the skin of whoever dared to touch. A look of amazement and scorn would bleed over the faces of those now injected with the truth. Oh yes, we will pay. A priceless fate for the ‘rich’ yields recognition of the worth of the ‘poor,’ and not to mention, a change in definition of terms.

With the sacrifice of our secrets, we shall be free. It has been too long since we have tasted the fruit of our own soil. Forbade to reap from the earth, ordained to us in exile, has kept us from renewal. For countless days we have been slaves to those no more superior to us than we allow them to believe. Our fate, our freedom, is not only in our minds. “Man” – the word itself provides more than just a clue as to where our future lies. It is in our hands.

From the waters we swam towards land until we inhaled with every breaststroke. On our hands and knees we crawled onto soil and smelled the earth for the first time. Made brave by fear and strong by a promise of possibility, we steadied ourselves to our feet. We looked down at our hands, faces furrowed with brandished curiosity and confusion. We were not afraid to look to the sky for the guidance to use these not-so-new tools. Unfortunately for our past, the duality of nature – our nature – has shown us that not one thing on this earth has a single purpose; that which is made for a single purpose will never have just one use.

Our souls are not as dense as our bodies. It is perhaps true that without its protective covering, a soul would feel all the senseless pain we are to endure at the strokes of our hands as they commit self-treachery and enslavement. However, penetration of certain obvious truths would not have had such a difficult journey reaching us had such an impenetrable accessory to life not deflected the assault. At youth, our armor is strongest. Formed from the earth, we stand statuesque and almost as tourists, we marvel at our own beauty. Then, we come to find that nature has many lessons. Each one eroding us until we lie draped at the feet of Time – the opaque curtain of our skin thinning, our dried and lackluster eyes peer through our wounds of truth, once again looking to the sky for help.

The strength in humility comes from knowledge. It is the knowledge that there will always be a step in front of you to take – to bring you forward, to take you higher – that will bring you peace. And with the peace of this knowledge, we can achieve anything.

The sins of our past cloud the path in front of us until there is no path. We get to the point where we truly believe that there are no more steps to take. We think we have reached our pinnacle and from here, surely we must be able to look down on others. If you are one who thinks such things, you are in for a surprise, my friend. The ground beneath you - the very ground from whence you came - erodes with your body and thins in harmony with your skin. Your lungs will reject air with the same veracity with which we once struggled to our feet. From your knees you will plead with Time to take back her harsh sentence and forgive you all your wrongs. But it is not she who can grant forgiveness. Such things can only be earned with the very things given to us by God as Man. The good deeds we commit with our hands carry our souls closer to a peace turned myth. Our happiness lies in the proper use of such tools. After all, what use is a journey such as this if we are not to realize our good and true purpose?