The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation

“Not all those who wander are lost.”
Some things were better lost than found.”
annasasylum

Lost is good, that’s when I find places that appear on the horizon of experience, places that are exciting, painful, and perhaps enlightening. Being lost and alone sounds terrible, but these are exciting lands and through wandering I pass by many old and tattered road signs that point out toward a different way. Beyond addiction’s sign, I see the detritus of the many who travel here strewn about and the bones of those who scarcely made the turn on that road before they died choking on the false hope of that distant city. Violence, that sign bears holes shot through with blame and anger against foes seen and unseen, real and surreal. Down that path I hear echos of private wars, fought more often in that travelers head, then on the road itself. Fame, this sign is hard to see, covered with thick strands of luck and persistence. Looking far down that road I see no one, I only hear crowds gathering and yelling praises at the swollen headed partakers of that way. I love to pass by those exits and the many crisscrossing and circuitous forked roads called psychiatry and religion. Bah, I turn my back on these and wander through my solitary confinement. It’s there I’m comfortable and being lost gives me a reason to go back over my favorite parts. Don’t feel sorry for me as you see my shambled figure shuffling, my face overgrown with disconcerting opinion. I’m happy here, but wait, would you like to share a cup of conversation, speaking without words over my fire? I didn’t think so, you have your eyes set on the exit signs…you’ll be back though, I’ll keep a light on for you.
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Cup of Conversation
 Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Fallen Trees
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Aimless 
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Hounds  
Related Post: The Hermit Chronicles: Unbelonging 

Also published in Broowaha
Also published in Life As A Human
041113
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Different

“…if something happens to show that you are wrong, then it is feeble not to change your mind, Elizabeth. Only the strongest people have the pluck to change their minds…” – Enid Blyton, The Naughtiest Girl in the School

 

trashkat

Different, as lake to rain, that’s how I grow
Different, as rock to sand, that’s how I know
No way to mend the different things
One old one new
Nothing’s gonna change, ’till you change what you do.

Different, as smiles to tears, that’s a truth
Different, as move to stay, that’s a root
You can be a different thing
One tried, one true
Nothing’s gonna change, ’till you change what you do.

Different, as road to rut, that’s how I stand
Different, as belong to reject, that’s how I land
Thinking of doing the different things
Once seen, I do
Nothing’s gonna change, ’till you change what you do.

02062011

Hitchhiker

“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”
Oscar Wilde, The Critic as Artist 

 

 
Pain demands my nurture forcing my mind to comprehend,
worry and pain will come, as hitchhikers on my journey.
 Do I choose to accept these passengers
 harbingers of future discomfort and agony
 or shut the door and speed past the beckoning stare.
 Find your joy in the speed of passing
 not in the bend of examinations after the fact. 
 My head turns upwards, back towards the road
 finding my dreams beyond torturous riders.

 

Rut – Breaking out of habits

“Chains of habit are too light to be felt until they are too heavy to be broken.” 

When they first started, hardly a trail was seen
Many then passed, a road now gleaned
Deeper still, water they bore
Making them dangerous lore
Now I find my wheels caught still
By the ruts of habit, against my will
Pulling out is the hardest task
Harder still not falling back

 Also published in: Lifeasahuman Magazine
 Also Published in: Broowaha


Rut – Breaking out of habits

“Chains of habit are too light to be felt until they are too heavy to be broken.” 

When they first started, hardly a trail was seen
Many then passed, a road now gleaned
Deeper still, water they bore
Making them dangerous lore
Now I find my wheels caught still
By the ruts of habit, against my will
Pulling out is the hardest task
Harder still not falling back

 Also published in: Lifeasahuman Magazine
 Also Published in: Broowaha