- Books, Literature, and Writing
I am rusting beneath your sky
Scream it out
Sit and tell
Pound at me like shadows
Hit the girl still
This sharp need to run
To go where nothing is known
No face familiar
No place to call home.
Count the seconds
Once in once out,
Find the bag in the corner
Always for tomorrow.
What is this beat, this silence, these pacing halls and empty nights? These broken dreams and hollow friends lost in the waves of everyday and never night. Shout in fields, wait in cars and sit at these same metal desks waiting for what? For life, for love? For escape never to come and never to leave. If I stay will I die? If I leave I surely will but isn’t that the point…to live until there is nothing left, no skin or bones no laughter or light.
A city sleeps for me a thousand miles away and yet still somehow mine. Could there be a day there, a day so different from my today, my empty loss at nothing, my patent disregard of family and friends.
I sit alone, drenched in black coffee and angst while the beautiful world flies by. Its golden axis spinning on without my input, without my say. My ego bruised from reality of minority. Death will change nothing, but can life? Can one person make any sort of mark on this rotating orb of blue and green or is it futile, a madman’s joke most are smart enough to pretend not to see. But I can’t pretend. I ache with the knowledge, with the lack of it. I want perspective, scope, some kind of purpose beyond a spewing pulpit and blank promises of heaven and earth. I want today in all its glory and tomorrow in all its pain. To live fully and without reserve, like the child jumping off a rock into water, no thought but pure joy. So simple so right, so undoable.
Even in the speed of words my thoughts catch up and with them the consequences of each syllable, each betraying letter of the alphabet and personality. Am I really so selfish, so unkind as to leave without a goodbye. Or is it pure ego that expects I will be missed?
If there is any lesson to life I have learned it is that everything fades, everything dies and everything can be replaced. How many times have I reached for a memory and found it broken, blurry and tainted with time. Like books on a shelf, spines faded with sun I am sitting useless, collecting dust. The motes heavy on my soul and my mind the only cure the bag in the closet itching to be set free into the great unknown that is this world. So much to see, to taste, to hear and so little time so little space left in this life that could end as suddenly as it began. Do they not see? I want to scream at their complacency and they doubtless want to scream at my lack of it.
So I stay, work, eat, sleep and pace. 3am finds me drooling into a pilling pillow with the rest of the town. Not awake staring at the full moon over the Aegean or the swirling colors of Rio's streets. Just dead to the world from hours of cyclical work, going nowhere and proving nothing. I feel the pressure growing, the valves ready to burst with restlessness and wanderlust. I know it won’t help, a plane, a boat, a train, a car. No matter the mode the broken pieces are within not without. I could be in Tokyo and still feel this dripping beat of need in my gut. Siam, Bhutan, Kenya or Chile…still the same.
Work quiets it, for a time I am distracted by the project at hand, the numbers, the steps, the faint line of water under my squeegees blade. Then weary I sleep, smile blearily at the setting sun and think nothing of somewhere and someday until the morning when it all begins again.
© 2013 brownella