Ah, time to breathe again and the notes flow into my ear canal while the synapses light up again and remember and forget. All else dims now and only my light shines. I close my eyes and think. I think and feel. I listen. Time passes and waits for not even 1 second.
Recollection and forgetfulness mingle in a relationship of mutual benefit while the soul struggles to reach the surface again for another breath. Not so lost as to where to go but rather when and why. A mirror reflects but only what we see and not the deep. The deep remains hidden, dark and quiet. No light allowed there. I wade often, in the dark with no hand to hold. I pretend to make time stand to still and imagine 1 second is a lifetime for me. I can do anything, be anyone and rise to the height of utter insanity and madness in a realm of disbelief – but it is only for a second.
I only know what I know and will never know what I don’t know. In a world where anything is possible, what would the impossible be? If the impossible was possible, then it would not be impossible. So is anything impossible? Or is everything impossible?
Mists of romance elicit a most strange reunion of who I was and who I am, clashing with the me who wanted a different future me. Time, my friend and enemy. Time, my healer and pain-giver. Time, my nemesis and side-kick. Time, my medicine and my poison. You hurt me while you love me. You love me while I hate you and I love you while you hate me. Oh, the irony. Dreams are, just, dreams. Ideas are only thoughts. The mind controls all and the body follows. The heart is the slave and the mind is the master. When the master is sick, the slave suffers too as the battle for control begins in the strangest of ways. And the body endures the battle as best it can without showing the scars, the bruises and marks. A long-enduring suffering of reality versus ideology.
My Creator is silent. Creation makes the loudest noise but I don’t hear Him. Sadness. I turn around in the rain with only the mud showing my footprints of where I once walked. Washed away in a second. A pity, I suspect. Such a pity.
And, now, the chemicals run around inside my head in the hope of maintaining a sane man who once was sane. Dependent on man for man’s sake, a slave and devout follower of the normal. A prisoner with no cage you can see is still a prisoner and a man is only as free as he believes. Bind him with a string and tell him they are chains and he might believe it.
Oh God, you had so many chances. You took none.
© The Drummer Poet