Haunted Callings

“When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than any talent for abstract, positive thinking”
Albert Einstein

 

When the night falls and you lay down to sleep,….. a part of you sighs as you try not to pay attention. Silently you convince yourself that you are alone, you repeat the logic over and over again in your mind and slowly you find some peace in your solitude.

 

 

The logic is sound, for you know nothing other, you use nothing other than that which life has provided to you thus far. But something, something which you prefer not to listen to, which you try to hide from yourself beckons to stir. But alas, for it has been too long that your yearnings fell short, too often after endlessly hoping you felt disappointment and the nights alone became familiar friends.

 

 

But again, no matter how certain you become that you must heed your callings alone, that you must suffer your pains alone, that you must endure treasons as a lone warrior, with no one to shade you, no one to wet your lips to quelch your thirst, something beckons inside you to remain tender, to know that what you desire is desired through a truth that it exists. That it exists for you. For You exist.

And your existence is all the proof you need.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Past auras float onto me and I shudder

For I know them, I was there, there for so long

 

 

Traces of where I used to be, what I used to feel, what my life was full of

But they are hardly mere

 

 

They are ghosts of a deprived past

And from these walls they appear

 

 

 

Haunted beings they seep unto me

And suddenly I am taken back to the places

 

 

I used to be Imagination could not have created them

They are here, embedded through time

 

 

And as they take me, I must permit myself to be taken

Stepping into all the pieces of cracked mirrors

 

 

 

For despite the nausea, despite their ghastly reflections

I must walk through this hell, these smoky fires

 

 

Inhaling the lessons they serve to deliver

Facing the truths by which they are enslaved

 

 

For treacherous though they seem to be

They are blessed gifts that have been waiting for me

 

 

And as I listen, watching them unfold

Into the wind they leave, until completely dissolved

 

 

 

No longer scarred memories, trapped in these walls,

Freed from my conscience, their messages remain with resolve

 

 

Filling me with knowledge, endowing my will to grow tall

Past demons slain, no more danger can befall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~A spoken word is a moment. A written word is eternal~

 

 

 

 

 

Moe R.

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