Friday, September 26, 2008
Can your words paint my portrait? Can bold entreaties compose sound that stirs the soul? If they can, if enough passion lives within them to bring beauty beyond what lies on the blank canvas, then speak. But if your words come not from desire, pure and voracious, keep a silent tongue. My ears have no time for idle flattery. If you speak too prettily, I may find you no orator, but a charlatan.
I found a fortune on the ground, discarded by one who cared not what it spoke. "Life to you is a dashing and bold adventure." A fortune found, by one who seeks all those things; life, adventure, to be dashing, to be bold. Speak to me of that! Show those ideals in your praise. With them I may find truth in your voice. But do not speak, if passion falls silent and still.
Inflame me. Take the spark of you and touch it to the fuel of my mind. Leave me not in the cold. If you cannot feed my inspiration, how can you expect me to find my own passion in your words? Do you ache? Do you yearn? Do you burn?! Then set my mind ablaze, and ignite the fire in my breast. Find that place, and the rewards may be plentiful.
But if your words are shallow, void of truth and consequence, eat them yourself and explore their taste. And find another, who finds solace in our lip service.
Leave me to the night. Leave me to the quiet, and the search for one with words that will taste sweet on my own tongue.
Am I a fool? Should I believe we have gone too far in the darkness, to see the light's pale gaze? There are people who call me naive, believing we can still find our way out of the abyss we have plunged ourselves into?
Regression is a funny thing. Evolution alone should have brought us more insight, if everyone saw the truth of it. The heart wants what the heart wants. Some hearts want to believe we are made of one who rules and measures us, each in turn, with a big stick. None with such power would micro-manage creation. Systems are at the center of us, the center of all. Why take the time to paint the sky? Instead build the light, strong and powerful, then release it from its cocoon and bring forth the light and live to the darkness beyond it.
The light can bring you such knowledge, if you just open your eyes and give it sway. Life is precious, but even the light cannot tell you when it begins again. It can only show you how it started its infancy, inside its cocoon of fire.
We all must choose; what to see, what to believe. What to turn blind eyes to, what to dismiss with a wave of our soft hand. But we can all see, if we choose.
What would you choose to see? A world in chaos? A world in pain, with nothing ahead but that which has gone before? Would you choose to see the beauty in a kind eye and a gentle voice, calling for truth? I will believe, let them call me a fool. I will choose to see hope. If not for myself, at least for us all.
They call for change, from their soft chair, before a warm fire. They call for change, from a battered couch, in a cold room.
They promise change, from their pulpits made of streamers and balloons. But it is a hollow sound, reverberating through the minds of those who choose to listen. But listen not, if all you hear is empty sound. White noise. Some would say, "How apropos." You may choose to listen, but your sworn duty shall be this. Do more than listen. Watch, take note, and speak. Make them hold true to their lofty oaths. And if they will not, pass their duty to another, and guard new promises too.
Call for the light. Keep the darkness at bay. Speak, think, guard. Above all, choose. If you fail in your duty, how can you expect better of those who will promise you hope?
Give me your hands, if we be friends.
Would you take the hand of a stranger? Would you make a friend of someone on first glance? Would you trust the beat of our heart, gently prodding, promising that theirs beats in kind?
Would you promise a night to one who knows you not? And if you would, would you hold true to your word? Could a chance encounter lead to forever? Could a chance encounter lead to a memory that will last onto forever? Can anyone say what the future could hold, for two strangers who meet as friends?
Could you loan your hand to a stranger?
Could I?
Don't kiss me goodnight. If you do, the night ends, and it may never begin again.
The world is full of uncertainty. Don't let time slip from your grasp. Tomorrow I could meet the man of my dreams; a true fantasy, hard to resist, no matter how your parting kiss lingers on my lips. Tomorrow you could meet the man of your dreams. :) All things are conceivable, in a fertile mind.
Despite the increasing drives of my body, my mind remains the more fertile; coursing with life, humor, desire and philosophy. He said, "With all these, living in philosophy." Perhaps his protégé, his contemporary contemporary, will happen across my path. Perhaps the incarnate of his soul will approach me, seducing me with his song. A trim gallant, full of courtship of state. Would you have me then, before fate will snatch me from your grasp? If you would, drink now, before another asks to taste of my lips.
Don't kiss me goodnight, lest the story end here, with nothing but a gentle kiss, and a promise of what might have been.
© CleverTitania.com 2009
