There’s something really awesome about being a reclusive.
Rocking out to whatever you fancy, your true heart's desire, and whenever the need takes you.
Without any worries of looking the eejit, or burning the ears of those with contrasting taste.
Of course, often times there blows a wind, that your groove would be so much more fulfilling were a friend to join the dance, or even a whole band of merry fellows.
Though your enjoying the fuck out of life, blasting your favourite musics to the flow of the moment. That feeling, again, sours your experience and suddenly your tune mellows to melancholy repose.
Now in requiem, a puddle of emotional tumult.
This heart has blossomed with innocent love, and so all scars are borne fresh.
Riddled with giggles and sobs. A cage-rattling convulsion.
I know, all too well, the beautiful nature of cosmic obscurity.
Is it just one of those days? Maybe you’ve been going too hard on the rouge elixir. Or perhaps.. Maybe..
Is it time? Time to reach for that human connection?
Child hands pull back to the warm hearth of isolation.
No, we are safe here! Alone, with our ghosts, in dream.
The darkness of our heart an ever-deepening wound.
Cut the flesh and tear my soul! Break me, why don’t you! Break me! I wish to see past this impetecal cage!
But no. I remain. Alone.
The walls of this reality encasing, still. A burden I am yet to shed, for faith that my chugging along will eventually bear fruit.
Did my enlightened self forsake me?
Was it simply time for a change, to re-discover this tender side?
Am I cursed to feel and care and wallow, in the pain of all human suffering!
The light is only as bright, as the shadows dark, my friend.
You are indeed, forever burdened to cycle this loop of crests and troughs.
Thought you were safe there, on the fence; skirting the edge?
What a notion! You were hung-up, still. You are ever-so human.
To think that awakening means eternal happiness. What fool believes this banal serenity? You disappoint yourself.
Remember those days, spent bordering the dream and waking realities?
Were they not so blindingly real!
Or was it that you were the victim of more selfish illusion?
No, that can’t be truth! I saw the mirth of a life spent in meditation!
I was at play and in dance for every moment, absent of time! A happening! A constant flowing action!
Leave me be, fetid voices! This prison of mind and thought.
I’m drowning in an sea of sorrowful personas.
My skeletal jester can only don the masks so vividly available.
Floating by, are so many, in a river of gloom.
I have been, manifest, Celestial and Demon and Buddha.
Divine seraphim, nurturing and tender.
A terrible beast of chaotic destruction.
The ambivalent grey, statue protector; face of fierce stone that neither condemns or gives praise.
What am I in this virulent maze? Could it be all? Or the phantom that dwells in haze!
A shadow, the light, or that in which is cast.
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