I would like to begin this entry with a turn a phrase that would pick the pocket of a thief. But my mind is black and maybe the best way to begin is to just. My mind is carrying a weigh and such a weight it is. Tired to the point beyond exhausted, and longing of sleep but sleep does not come only staring into the black. The view seen is that which is seen from under eye lids I get no rest and my mind is wild with relentless dreams of delight and deviation. All in the black while I long for dreams I do no control. I am not physicality tired. I only wish to rest my brain because I can no longer tame he beast I have created within. The Tiger I placed in the closet has grown from a cub into an adult and he is barbarous.
It all starts with the innocent sweet dreams of a child. The view is a painting but only the subject has her back turned. I do not see with my eye but with my emotions. I see love. I see thing with out seeing them. I do not have to because I know and love overflows to the point in which I smile for nothing else but overwhelming felicity. The memory ends and the dream begins. I begin to unravel the innocence and place frustration in its place. I dream a dream that will never be. The dream of a alternate failed possibility that I can not seem to put to rest. I have not the tears to shed for such sorrows. I have taken the risk of life before, I know time will pass and so will these dreams.
The memory of the dream helps me continue the search. I know this treasure map will lead to the real painting. I have to keep going onwards for I believe somewhere the subject is the artist and she is continuing onwards her self.
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