Mind meandering.
Sep. 15th, 2005 09:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
angelak"Disappear."
In the quiet hours of morning, we all find solace.
In the sun breaks and the distinguished dark clouds that turn into brilliant rays of energy,
We all feel warmed.
It is in those moments when we no longer care what others think of us,
That we are truly free.
It seems it is, at first, a dark cloud that has potential to block out the light.
It does.
And yet it does not.
And perhaps people may think we’re crazy for not caring about the thoughts of others.
Is it perhaps, because those same people are unable to operate in such a way themselves?
Is it that they are part of the mass of people
That judge us
And place a category on us?
In the quiet hours
Deep in thought
Deep in emotion
If the sun breaks again, maybe one day I will feel warmed again.
Does it matter that there are people out there who don’t think I am sane anymore?
That pain can’t supersede other pain I have felt.
It is just, and only just - their perception on reality.
Not mine.
What is my perception anymore, I ask.
The wind ruffling the leaves, the reflection of movement
In time, and in motion.
Like people, resonating with and clashing against one another.
Sticking beside one another, to be blown away when the stems weaken.
These leaves fall to the ground, with the word play that is fall -
The Autumn time.
When things grow cold.
Like hearts.
We all have our own seasons.
Perhaps the warmth is there, hidden behind the cloud.
So bright it is, that when I stare at the clouds,
I am still blinded.
Meaning in the part of the picture
That is not visible
Blindness
Perception
Lost in the flow
Visions.
Alone.
Silence, to be broken.
A wild place, this world.
Passing in time, and to step away
Means that no one will look
While you’re away
Instead, fabrication
Excuses and justification.
I stare at the clouds, to be blinded.
So the vision fades.
Purity, of impurities.
The ways of this world.
I would that I disappear.
-Angela
In the quiet hours of morning, we all find solace.
In the sun breaks and the distinguished dark clouds that turn into brilliant rays of energy,
We all feel warmed.
It is in those moments when we no longer care what others think of us,
That we are truly free.
It seems it is, at first, a dark cloud that has potential to block out the light.
It does.
And yet it does not.
And perhaps people may think we’re crazy for not caring about the thoughts of others.
Is it perhaps, because those same people are unable to operate in such a way themselves?
Is it that they are part of the mass of people
That judge us
And place a category on us?
In the quiet hours
Deep in thought
Deep in emotion
If the sun breaks again, maybe one day I will feel warmed again.
Does it matter that there are people out there who don’t think I am sane anymore?
That pain can’t supersede other pain I have felt.
It is just, and only just - their perception on reality.
Not mine.
What is my perception anymore, I ask.
The wind ruffling the leaves, the reflection of movement
In time, and in motion.
Like people, resonating with and clashing against one another.
Sticking beside one another, to be blown away when the stems weaken.
These leaves fall to the ground, with the word play that is fall -
The Autumn time.
When things grow cold.
Like hearts.
We all have our own seasons.
Perhaps the warmth is there, hidden behind the cloud.
So bright it is, that when I stare at the clouds,
I am still blinded.
Meaning in the part of the picture
That is not visible
Blindness
Perception
Lost in the flow
Visions.
Alone.
Silence, to be broken.
A wild place, this world.
Passing in time, and to step away
Means that no one will look
While you’re away
Instead, fabrication
Excuses and justification.
I stare at the clouds, to be blinded.
So the vision fades.
Purity, of impurities.
The ways of this world.
I would that I disappear.
-Angela
