Widsith's blog

I don't like the boy who swaggers
In his too big jeans and knee length shirts,
Whose hair falls in his eyes,
Who wears the cold sneer of "social superiority".
I'd rather the boy with the goofy smile,
Crew cut hair and mischeivious eyes,
With that catching laugh and
The easy manners of one who
Doesn't care.

Shooting my mouth off again
How was I supposed to know
He was listening?

When will she give him up?
Doesn't she see?
She's dragging us in too.
We're not in love with him
She is.

I used to hate that song
With its choppy melody
Until I heard you sing it.
You were just goofing off,
Did you know how good it sounded?

Populated hallways feel like
Prison, empty hallways feel like
A huge second house
Not quite a home.

Maybe I love you
Maybe I don't.
Maybe I hate you
I don't think so.
You could do anything
You'd never be any less perfect.

Often I wish to go back to
Before I met you
When life was simple and
Nothing hurt but
It's too late for that.

The skyline grows closer
Until it vanishes
Now I know how it feels
To be swallowed by a city.

Sometimes it feels like
Giant thumbs trying to
Press the tears
From my eyes
But tears are stubborn
They will not come.

Iron locks
The blood in my veins
What now?

The wooded highway landscape seems
Incongruous to the
Tall buildings and
Bright lights in
My imagination.

Whatever it is that I’ve forgotten
It does not matter anymore.
Things long gone are best left
Lying on the cosmic floor.
And if you chance to ask
What that thing should be
I’ll tell you to look closely
And maybe you shall see.

The last lie I told
I told to myself
Alone in the quiet, the empty, the cold.
My words they echoed back in my head
And when they faded
I heard what they said.
They told me that some things are just gotten through
If I search long enough
I’ll know what to do.
But I find only questions
No solid answers
Merest hints of suggestion
No single direction.
I learned the hard way
There is no perfection
Just almosts, and maybes, and endless distraction.
If we leap from the cliff,
We surely shall fall
If we stay safely planted
We gain nothing at all.

On the eve of the funeral
My black dress was pressed
And the black car stood
Waiting in the drive.
On the eve of the funeral
The casket was opened
And on the morning of
The body was gone.

Somebody's playing the piano
While rain slides down the
Hardwood hall.
The open sides can't
Block the wind and
Water falls in curtains
From the tiled roof.
She imagines nobody
Can see her
Crying
There in her white dress
And flowers.
She imagines she is
Safe behind her
Waterfall
Where the gleam of her
Discarded ring
Does not show.
She imagines no one can see
Her surrender.
She imagines the rain is
The tears of the angels
Crying with her.
And she slowly stands
Dancing alone in her
Watery world as
Somebody's playing the piano.

The sun hung low in the sky. On the little residential street, families sat down to dinner. The beat-up white truck had been circling the block continuously for a while now. The young woman sat in the passenger seat, stared out the window with stunning focus. Her fingers beat out the jerky rhythm in her head. The sunlight came filtered through the still green leaves. A Christmas tree, the first on the block, twinkled behind a frosted window. Warm air flooded in through the window as she rolled it down. She carefully let her hand drop down the side, fingers dangling in the breeze. The truck began to slow down. The man driving beside her cleared his throat.

He didn’t know what she’d been thinking, what she’d felt or said the last time she walked out of that door he held open to her now. How could he know? He wasn’t there. He hadn’t even known she was gone until he found the not on the table, a few minutes before dawn. He remembered wondering what it was. He still could recite the words written in her black script and frank honesty.
By the time you read this, I’ll be long gone. And I won’t be alone. I don’t know when I’ll be back, or even if I will. Right now, I think not. I know you don’t want me to do this but I’m going to. I have to. Regardless of what you think of me now, how you feel about me, know that I’ll always love you more.

The words had barely fallen from her lips when she saw the one face she never thought she’d see again outside of a frozen moment on a mantle. Her mind flipped back to the day her husband found the note.
She’d woken to him silently crying beside her, holding a folded white paper. She’d known before he handed it to her what it would say. She’d known this was coming the first time that boy had taken her daughter to the movies. She knew she had no right to be angry, after all hadn’t she done the same thing once, so many years ago? She hadn’t known then how much it must have hurt her own parents. She felt the anger build, no matter how hard she fought it.

The last time he’d seen this house it was late at night. He’d been standing under the maple at the edge of the drive. He’d waited for her since she’d called to say she was almost ready. She’d been late, but he’d waited. She’d carefully closed the front door behind her. They’d run to the truck at the end of the street. She’d looked back once, just before she climbed in. Since then she’d said not one word about her family or her home. If he brought it up she’s only tap her ring and say, “You’re my family now.” Cliché as it sounded to him, he knew she meant it. She’d stalled coming home for three years. He’d let her because he knew she was too stubborn to have her mind changed by anything less than a major catastrophe.

Heaven tastes like
Milk chocolate Heath bars
Sounds liks
Sugarland
Feels like being
Already Gone
Like knowing I can
Let It Go in the
Cold, gray, wet skies of
Pre-rain autumn afternoon

Words are like
Chains, binding in their
Stark simplicity
Like snowflakes
Fragile and temporary
Like the ocean
Deep, strong, dangerous
Like a labyrinth
Convoluted, confusing
Like a mirror
Reflective
Like an ancient tunnel
With many hidden meanings, secrets

On the other side of
Her words is the
Request of a promise
I cannot make.
On the other side of
His eyes is the
Hint of a person
Not his own.
On the other side of
The wind and rain
There is sun.
On the other side of
The moon there are
Stars.
On the other side of
Heaven there are
Angel's tears.
How much more we
Could see if we
Looked on
The other side of
Life, the universe, everything.

Calling your name
My voice dries up
Words like
Slackening rain.
The sudden silence
In my head
Gives me pause.
It is empty.
For once I am
Completely alone.
But not lonely.
It is peaceful here
With the sound of
Your name
Echoing distantly
Against the cliffs of
My dozing mind.
Pretty soon I'll be
Asleep
(Or will I be awake?)
And you'll just be
One more
Dream.

Her fingers wander over the fretboard switching strings as she goes. Her ring makes a gentle tinging against a string and a misplucked chord buzzes. She claps her hand down on the strings to make it stop, then tries again. THis time ths chord is sweet, clear, high. Now she can begin her song. She gazes around at the open field, the little brook, the colorful flowers, the rabbit at the edge of the trees. She stops thinking and starts playing. What begins as the melody of her favorite song rapidly morphs into her own design changing as teh clouds move, the rabbit hops closer, a raindrop falls from the sky and plinks into the brook. As it begins to trickle, then pour her song speeds up then abruptly stops. It changes again, the somber march of a steady rain instead of the franctic clash of a summer squall.

Gloppy little
Piles of white
First snowfall

The earl did like genteel Janet
He thought her the best thing on the planet
He admired her ever so fine clothes
But did not take stock of her hose.
When he asked if she was lost she said Yes
So very flustered when he complimented her dress.
She thought he sounded a bit like a moose
A that that turned her face chartroose.
And in the shiny floor marble newly quarried
She found that she saw reflected his forehead.
It's gross proportions did give her ire
She wished fervently she could retire.
They were too much, these grave events
Of smelling salts she craved the scent
To wake her from this terribly crummy
Dream that made her sick in her tummy.
She did not like this awful show
She did not hesitate to say so.
She wished the earl would go away
She need to adjust her lonjeray
But of charm he thought she was a fountess
Offered to make her a countess.
And so in asking for the little girl's room
She ended up with an earl for a groom.

Thin metal pressing into
My already cracking
Finger tips
Thumb moving rythmically
Automatically adjusting to
These familiar chords
Twined into an
Unfamiliar song
They emerge slowly
Wrapping me in the
Beauty of new knowledge, of
John Lennon's simple melody,
Perfect in its sweet simplicity.

If I told you the truth
Would you listen?
Probably not
It'd be too much
Information for you
You'd choke
You'd sputter
Maybe even faint.
If I told you the truth...
Well, I won't.
You'll thank me later
When you don't know
The truth.

Circling the edge
Staring at her own
Wild reflection
Diving in.

The melody appears in
My head, erupts from
My moth in a string of
Perfection
I know it by heart as
I dream, promising myself that
This time
I will remember it.
But I awake without a song,
And I am left
Staring at the empty paper
I long to fill with
The words of the song
I have never written.