Elysium

We are sailors swept by the deep currents. We are sailors approaching the endless shore. We are drifters from another time, hoping to find solid ground. We are owners of treasures, we have pride in abundance. We roam armed with all we know, carrying such delight, darkness that no moon could alight. The wind sets our sails, the frantic compass tries to catch the direction, but we sail to east from west, from south to north. The poles pull us closer, push us further from where we hoped we would be. Our ship skips the surface of these waves, soon we may catch a glimpse of the land we might moor in tonight.  

As I watched you saunter through the thick sand of the changing tide, the sun only shined on you. It was the morning, almost an unnoticed start to the one of many summer days. The distance echoed your words of longing, played mischievously on the surface of the water in colours indescribable. There were bright whites and even brighter yellows. The sun bothered your eyes so you looked far out at sea to try to find the source, those missing boats. Sharp whistling and you turned, away from the water, towards the day. You then shook the excess. Filled with joy for another chance to watch the sun slowly rise and magnificently set. Barefoot you ran after the others, ran to catch the reluctant waves as they licked your toes, feet then ankles. The cold water made you jump and with almost child-like laughter you ran with all your might, away from the tide. It made you remember. It made you remember the days you thought you had already forgot. The lakes and pretty fishes, the breath of summer morning, the coffee on the porch steaming. Stretch out your arms and breathe this moment in. Fill your lungs with the memory of the ocean sweat, the salty mist, the velvet grass of your childhood standing barefoot at the water’s edge. I wish I had known you then.  

The rooftops told stories of friendship, stories of human hearts meeting to never break the bond. We taught each other the gift of laughter and forgiveness. We offered ourselves, entirely. I could see in their eyes, the pride. I could see how they have learnt to never bend, straight and just, unblemished souls, unafraid of the vastness of the ocean. I know they will never bend. I know they would only bend for you. Our secret words flew high above the buildings, chased each other down the streets, were caught by the deep darkness of the silent ocean. In all we shared there was no flaw, there was nothing to want, the moment filled every hope, all expectations. We dreamed of endless days, sunlight to kiss our golden locks. We dreamed of great winds to blow our sails, anchors to keep us grounded, afloat in one place, moving only seemingly. We dreamed of circles, paths that would always lead us back to each other.  

I am often lost, often find doubt, often wish for a shore all to myself. I often burn from the want, often hide to shelter my most secret parts. I fall each time I try to move through unknown lands. How about you? The mighty sea draws me close, wraps its balmy self around me. Safe in its hands I float on the surface of this board. Waiting then falling. Waiting then flying. Tossed underwater to gasp for air, for a hand to hold. Then lifted high above the impenetrable matter, sailing outwards, hurrying towards the shore. I often am lost, find myself fallen to the ground. The kind sand holds my feet warm, the restless ocean waits until I am safely on the shore.  

We meet on those shores. We meet after our battles with the majestic waves. You hold us together, help our weary bodies find their way back home. I have never felt so safe. Then you tell us in pictures, recount the individual battles. Some lost, some miraculously won. You collect our souls and steer them towards warmth and hope. 

I am a broken thing

Through these visible cracks, these holes that cannot keep the warmth, cannot stop the love from leaving, through these openings, vents of my cracked spirit, through these invisible blemishes, I slowly seep. How I slowly seep and quietly disappear. Without much sound I am gone. The birds chirping, the winds moving the lifeless leaves on sleeping trees but I am no longer here. The damp autumn soil cannot hold me, I rest on the cold moss, soft enough to cradle me, hard enough to swallow me whole. My eyes have become vacant, tired of the search, seeking the comfort of the setting sun, the reds and violets never the harsh yellows or burning whites. These eyes are no longer of use to me, they cannot show what is real. They never have. These eyes long to catch a glimpse of those better days left behind and the hope of some better ones to greet me. In all their efforts they will never be able to see what my soul knows already, my spirit tasted momentarily, these useless eyes can never see where my mind has wondered endlessly. This, my little Elysium, is where I am headed. In this borrowed world, in this peaceful end, this unseemly manner by which I choose to leave, there is a place for heaven. Place for a great fire. We will burn the mistakes of yesterday, we will dance to forget those thorns which were placed into our souls. One day it will be clean, all memory erased, all love given for the sake of giving. Then you will know great love, you will fill the emptiness with meaning. In time.

Hurry forward and you will fall, through time, fall through the shallow façade of all you have believed to be true. There is only one king in this kingdom, you must not be fooled by all the crowns that cross your path. My burning soul will not always be enough to guide you, give light in the dark. The worry keeps me from sleep, turns my dark hair to snow-white. The time to tell is shrinking, vastly disappearing whilst my soul still has pages and pages to shout. This, all of this, how are you to know alone? How am I to stop you from getting lost? I have long ceased to warn you for the real threat can only come from within you. I cannot alert you against your own mistakes, against the terrible injustices you inflict on yourself. These I must learn to watch in silence. I can no longer take the fight, I am too weary, I rest my eyes. The soft linen holds me, just the shell, my heart and spirit soar as I sink more deeply into this bed. I only wish to know, but I never will.

I offer my all to you. Take the broken pieces and treasure them. Hide my face from the morning, the sunlight might do great damage. Watch me as I fall, hold my withered hands and whisper that I have shown you enough. That you know. That you are who I wanted you to be and can walk alone. Tell me that you remember, that you will from now know exactly who to be. Tell me that I see in you the spark, that you will keep it safe until the great fire starts. Tell me that you know how to love, that I have taught you to know, to give full heartedly. Tell me you know yourself, that you are sure. Tell me you will forgive. Me and all others, but mostly yourself. Tell me that you never wanted to let go but know that now we must. Tell me that you will hold together your broken spirit with the words I try to sing to you.

Then let me fall.

Then let me fall through the ground.

Then let me fall through the ground, back to you.

Nothing Less Than Beautiful

Maybe I am to blame. Maybe soon I will have the courage to accept that the blame lies solely with me. Maybe with time I can start to comprehend that it is not blame at all that I must place. That blame yields to scars for another, but scars there were none. Scars cover my all, but none of me made scars for some desperate other. Scars there were none, but my soul lost its colour, lost its will to shine. The blame cannot sooth, cannot cover the gaping wounds that show veins throbbing, uncover the flesh unblemished. Blame is a substitute hardly able, crippled by misgivings. Maybe it is easiest demanding to be named culprit. For my scars I want myself blamed – is what I whispered. So far from you, not even the echoes of these words could ever reach. Yet you have changed me, shaped me. Unbeknownst to you, I have moulded my mistakes, I have twisted the blame to fit exactly what you have made. What I suspect you have made.

I do not bend, but I would bend for you.

You are everything. Every forgotten word, every melody unable to fly, every unwritten poem, every sunshine covered by clouds. You have made me a ghost, how I haunt. These empty streets, the barren lands of my present and bleak glimpses of the times ahead. I move amongst you, there are signs that I may be, there are times of laughter, there are times of tears, there are times of anger and seldom forgiveness. There are appearances that are kept, there are instances that burn, but there is void in each lightly taken step. The void is you, the ghost haunting is me. Dearest. Dove of these grey days. Light amongst the black vastness of the universe. Tender troubadour that guides the lost souls across the sea. This is what I call you. In adoration and hope, in gratitude and faithful reminiscence, this is what you are to me. Love, you are the world to me. Love, how you have changed me, you have moved me. One moment you saw me dancing in the light, then quietly crouching in the corner.

I do not sway, but I would change for you.

Lost is the hope, all the hope. Until I find it again just as easily as it has slipped from my hands. Lost are my ways, lost I am in fullness to you. The feet do the walking, choose the direction as they please. The night turns into day, the rain into sunshine. Winter brings the majestic snow and ice. Without much notice these disappear but the feet keep shuffling forward. Dryness follows the damp mornings, short days run before their longer nights. All this time I never forget, but I would erase all memory for you. I cannot force you to find me, so I stand out into the wind, hoping to bear the beacon of my ready heart. You fool me, trick me, evade the meeting, watch as I soak in the torrential rain. The tickling sunlight dries my cheeks of the rain, maybe of the tears. In this I will not move, like a pole firmly cast into the shallow, muddy soil, I resist the curious wind, do not bow to its efforts of temptation. I will not move lest I should miss the meeting of our souls. Please try to find me, I am at these dubious crossroads. I am invisible and unwilling, but in an instance become a star, all the Northern Lights. I doubt what I see, what I hear. I need persuasion to believe the rain really will drench my dry soul. I need convincing that moving does not mean I will no longer be loyal. I need encouraging keeping up the fight. I need calming to stay steady, earnest in the want. I am beaten too many times. I am left too many times. I am ridiculed then dismissed. I am avoided, unnoticed, humiliated then slowly forsaken. Hope leaves me, over much time spent waiting. I lose the want, narrowly lose the hope. This is how I want you to find me, when I am ready. In time, when you are ready.

I do not know patience, but I will learn to love the wait.

Not unlike a miracle

The tallest fence you have ever encountered: magnificent in its enormity, astonishing in its might to separate this side from that. Where you are to where you want to be. The blocks that stand to build the divide seem impenetrable. Voices seep through, faint echoes of laughter, conversations that sound familiar, owners of words that remind you of yourself. The foot of this fence is filled with green green grass, with flowers that are in full bloom almost all year around. The foot is where you are, close to the puddle that reflects the clear sky and the blinding sun. Suddenly you feel blind sighted, suddenly ripped of the past you so strongly held onto. You are alone, nobody sees you trying to stand on your toes, trying to take a peek at what could be waiting. Looking for a crack. The heart is heavy, the memories burden the airy walk of these unresponsive muscles. The spirit devastated, with every second tries to build back its courage, tries to smile, wave, tries to find a tree to climb and jump over to where the journey must begin. But these boots are filled with lead, moving the unmovable is beyond any human bundle of fibre, sinew or force. The mind may wonder, yours does, leaves the useless body. Through the fields that hold your secrets, through the walls that keep your faith. Through the trees that hold you captive, the notes that tie you to the sun. Through the bricks that stand to hold you together, the air that involuntarily fills your lungs, the blood that rushes through your veins, your feet that shuffle your crippled body forward. Inch by inch. This is how you have let go. This is how you wait for someone to show you how to truly wave at the sun.

If only you were a sailor. If only you knew these bearings, understood the north and south. If only the water was a field and the boat rocked slightly less. If only these men of nautical knowledge, these slaves of powerful currents and waves could guide you better. Show you exactly where you can cross. The direction forward is no longer useful, the disappearance of everyone who accompanied you until now seems to make the situation even more desolate. Alone you dare not tread the waters that were a minute ago so unpredictable. But go you must, find a way to cross, find a soul to take you over. Lying on the petals of velvet flowers, waiting for the warm earth to offer a solution cannot continue. This you know as well, this you have suspected already from when you arrived. You bendable soul, you weak creature of comfort! With your dreamy thoughts, with your golden ideas, those threads that fly far and wide, those words that you have made and the ones you have borrowed to tell the story of how you broke then mended, blended in and bravely stood out, how you fell apart and watched your heart die, with these friends of yours that are fickle like morning dew but sturdy like an ancient tree, with these you find the first step to the ladder that stands to the height of the fence. Your hands are still shaky, your legs more hopeful than any other part of you, quickly you lift yourself up to no longer hold the ground but embark, thrust your moth-eaten soul off the ground. This may be the beginning you have been travelling through planets to find. The winds in the sails of boats you sat on, cried on, wished on are lifting your feet, placing one after the other, aiming higher, going forward without ever looking back. In these fragments you no longer see the black, the shades clear: but remember that all this is only temporary.

Some say to hold on with both hands, some say run up the ladder and jump off at the end. Some held the top, some held the bottom. Some saw the steps, some only assumed them. Some took weeks to arrive, some merely seconds. Some never looked down, some cried for the ones they left behind. Some slipped and fell, some turned around, some lost their memories, some became unable to love. Some arrived, some never made it to the other side. Some saw snow, some saw the sun. Some let go, but you must find your own way. This, after all, is your journey through past and future. Oh how the pearls of water arrive at your mouth. Resist the inevitable and you may never comprehend the reasons for this magical voyage. Understand that you are different now. Better at listening, better at feeling, capable of unconditional love, capable of swimming through past and present distinguishing between what is real and what is not. You have become the compass you relied on to get here. The floating slaves of the water drift aimless, you cannot control the direction but have the power to sway from this to that, from what was to what is to come. Many will turn to you, more will seek to unlawfully take what cannot be taken with force. The treasures of the mind are yours until you cease to be. Now look up or look down, you decide. Charge forward or call out the names of the nymphs that have betrayed you, halt mid-way or surrender to the pull of the journey, risk losing your heart or risk gaining your soul, these are at stake. But your eyes glisten and you know exactly, clear as daylight, white as winter snow: know that all the sorcery of the world, all potions of the scheming underworld cannot hold you back, cannot force you to stay where you are, cannot take your spirit or heart – you are the soldier of your own past, the hero of your future. You are what you have surrendered, what you are about to find. These pieces that define you, these fragments build your ladder step by step. Moving forward must be, even if leaving momentarily cripples the soul.

Once the fog clears you finally see. See it all. See it all in nothing. There in complete stillness, frozen from the cold, covered in snow, white ice and the ever present blistering sun, there firmly standing in the middle of the biggest ice plate the barren landscape welcomes you. A thousand shades of white, a million different blues. The sound of your heart beating cracks glaciers to tumble to the sea. You have arrived in the moment. The moment holds this everlasting winter, it is the haven of stillness and the kingdom of change. Never have you been so cold. Never have you felt so at home. Your feet never want to move, your hands reach out and try to touch the endless that surrounds you. This is where everything begins. This is where water turns from salty to sweet. This is where secrets from the mouth drop into black holes as rain jets to melt the ice. This is where the weary soul can rest, the tired mind can stop, the beading foreheads dry, the eyes water involuntarily. You look around. Never have you seen anything this beautiful. These endless flatlands like bed sheets for screens display the images of your past. The vision like a miracle. Your heart decides to stay. Never leave. With much courage you stump your feet and with a roaring thunder shout to the bergs and floating plates of ice: I am home. I have arrived. The echo welcomes you, the remnants of your words bounce in every direction, some find you still standing there. If this is the moment you choose, then this moment shall be. If this is where you have found your miracle, then it is likely to pin your navel to your soul. Be still now, these miracles come and go in an instant. I will leave you to enjoy for as long as it lasts. This is your world now, this is you now. What you have found is not unlike a miracle. Not unlike at all.