Create Journals
Update Journals

Journals
Find Users
Random

Read
Search
Create New

Communities
Latest News
How to Use

Support
Privacy
T.O.S.

Legal
Username:
Password:

a smile in her eyes and a sunflower in her hair.* (retro_chica) wrote in emolyricss,
@ 2008-08-09 22:11:00
Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Add to Topic Directory  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry

    A Silent Endeavour
    the symbols and timpanies took a soft and gentle rest
    beating their rhapsody no longer to the frequent terror that oft came with clouds clashing,
    the heavens were preaching o'er head.

    down beneath, the mossy green forested a tender niche for those who picked wildflowers,
    and those who sought refuge twixt branches tangled to harvest a protective roof,
    a leaf fell here and there,
    dusted with sun or drowned in sorrow,
    the moods were just as omnipresent as the stars above.

    and who is to say the daffodil climbs fairer than the pussy willow?
    or the speckled trout demeans the frothy fungus?
    each and everyone was picked,
    each had a purpose.
    the naval coat swam with the fishes,
    and the peasant skirts caressed the fields.

    a boy jumbled his way through the nearby shores,
    unaware of life to come,
    unaware of how he was to be harvested and cropped and tenderized into what he was to become,
    his eyes spoke with winds,
    with careful curiosity.

    the shores were young with stones of every shape and size
    and he taught them all he knew.
    the gulls would perch for supper on the boulders,
    and the smooth and supple ones would be sent into the ocean to be eroded into sand.

    how did one know, learn, categorize all these things?

    ---

    in a brazen, tattered and stylishly sleek orange jumpsuit,
    a female bounced towards a jaggered beat,
    up, two, three, four
    down, two, three four.

    she stares at the mirror of the rest of her class
    and sees only her pupils
    her sweating, exhausted, angry students
    who would rather lick ice cream straight off the cone.

    the lady cannot see her reflection covered by her class.
    the rocks are hidden by each other.
    the flowers are mixed in with weeds.
    the fish swim out to sea.

    and all the while,
    though we have no sight or ourselves,
    no assurance of who we are,
    we are destined somewhere,
    to fill a slot.

    and the four estranged crew met together, here today,
    in a lush, reed filled meadow,
    to seek beyond what they had come to pay.
    a short, stubbed seedling of long grass tilted its neck from the sun to the waves.

    "you've glittered here before,
    who so glum on this occassion?"

    and all it took was curiosity and care,
    when a professor's life is to sculpt and mend the future for the better,
    how does one decide who to invest in, and who to shun,
    when the saplings and the buds are just as covered, scared and torn as the florists themselves?

    the lightning ignites us once more,
    such a folly that rain does not fray far from indecision.
    perhaps what we cannot see in ourselves, one needs to see in someone else,
    to help the person grow not only into their best flower
    but into our own.

    thank you so kindly,
    for keeping your eye on me,
    if only for a moment,
    to grace my stem, and replant me in the sun,
    to walk away to a far away land,
    and me, to develop strength in a field so crowded and confused as my mind.

    i cannot repay to you what you have done to me,
    i only hope,
    i shall find a pebble, or a whale
    that i could let see daylight as crisp and golden
    and tangible and delicious
    as that mere blink you made me feel.

    life is to be loved.
    happiness is to be shared.
    intelligence perservered,
    hope never to be lost.


(Read comments)

Post a comment in response:

From:
 
Username:  Password: 
Subject:
No HTML allowed in subject
 

No Image
 

 Don't auto-format:
Message:
Enter the security code below.



Allowed HTML: <a> <abbr> <acronym> <address> <area> <b> <bdo> <big> <blockquote> <br> <caption> <center> <cite> <code> <col> <colgroup> <dd> <dd> <del> <dfn> <div> <dl> <dt> <dt> <em> <font> <h1> <h2> <h3> <h4> <h5> <h6> <hr> <i> <img> <ins> <kbd> <li> <li> <map> <marquee> <ol> <p> <pre> <q> <s> <samp> <small> <span> <strike> <strong> <sub> <sup> <table> <tbody> <td> <tfoot> <th> <thead> <tr> <tt> <u> <ul> <var> <xmp>
© 2002-2008. Blurty Journal. All rights reserved.