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June 2nd, 2009
10:33 pm - Imagine
I am a storm and I blast you away. Just because it has always been about power. You know what gives me that, what gives me what I long most. Not only the need to be admired. There is sunshine in your smile, my storm kills it, my earthquake brakes it. It brakes you. Into many little peaces. Only bad weather, darkness, all of that is inside, and I am leting it out. It is necessary to loose control. From time to time, I live from time to time. A whirpool of angry thoughts, tornado of fears and doubts. I unleash my wrath upon you, because you are my world. I owe you nothing.
Then the last string will loose its precious voice, it will become a very useless siren indeed. I still hear a sound, no, a ghost of a sound, just you all, people, are just ghosts. You do not exist, because I don't want to believe in you - you lost your faith in me, I lost my self-control. And I so need to be admired, still. By the mess I cause, by the wrongs I set free. By all that I am seen and feared. Is that not incredibly close to what I seek? Is your point of infinity set already, too? I crash the foreign ghostly melody, because it hurts to see. My voice screams havoc into existance.
So what, in fact, changed and when? How come you are the first to smile and laugh while they set fire below my feet. How come you stay to watch me burn and then you celebrate? The smell of burning red hair, burning skin and bones. Does not bother, does not hurt, do not care. It has become all you know to do - not care, ignore. Your own blessing of the century of apathy. Next century is katatonic, there will be no way back. And I shall not save it, just for the sake of it. I shall watch it burn and smile. Still, I am all alone in what I do, in what I feel.
My dreams died with your indifference, it became worse than death. Keep the dream alive and burning? Trust me, dear, you can never do both. You set fire to something and anger is born. Then, I take the fire within you, I am the rage. Now all of you know how it feels when it controls you.
I am the storm of the century, and I will blast away this miserable, unworthy world, because my world is already gone. Oh may it go to hell!
Current Music: Katatonia
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Comments:
If I may call to the same Muse, and say in advance that I am sorry for any mischief that may come from this tale.
A long time ago in a place long forgotten, there was a field. By the field there was a forest, not green like heavens and not black as the night, but diverse and in all ways unseen. Paths ran through the forest, though no one ever walked them, except for the fauns in their daily walks.
By the forest on the field there was a house, and in the house, there was a family.
One day the children grew up, all so sudden, and they made no home there any longer. One by one they left, but not by the paths, because no one ever walked them, and so it had to remain. They left by their own ways. And when at last they were two in the house, they had to leave as well, for it was the fall and the field was dying for the first time in their short lived lives.
They went on and on, until they met a crossroads of their own ways. They knew one of their siblings had gone onwards.
"How far can you go into a forest?" one of them asked.
But none of them knew, for the forest was in all ways unseen.
But they had to know, because there are things one has to know, but the day was coming short, so they took separate paths, West and East they went on the same road, and both found their direction to be good.
And they walked onwards, but there was no end to the forest unseen, and night fell upon them. When they woke up, there was no sign of the way they had come by, and no way to go back.
See the crossroads was broken, for by the moonlight many things break and are made anew. And they went onwards for there was only onwards, no backwards.
But where there had been the crossroads, although none of the children could ever find the place again, a star fell, and there came out of nothing a fireplace, and a phoenix took its living there, forever burning, forever alive.
![[User Picture]](http://klab.lv/userpic/150316/7460) | | From: | ![[info]](http://klab.lv/img/userinfo.gif) simri |
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| Date: | June 3rd, 2009 - 12:19 am |
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Phoenix is a higher meaning. It is the absolute something to reach to. Dreams are more possible. Dreams are alive, a phoenix isn't really.
I guess I understand it a bit differently. To me, the dream is the fire itself, and for as long as it burns, it is alive.
But it might very well be that I'm just bending my reality to fit my favourite metaphors. I don't know anymore. |
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