magique8
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joined: Oct 01, 06
posts: 2 |
| subject: the silver-glinted edges of an incomplete life |
posted: Oct 01, 06 3:21 pm  |
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[to clarify, this is self-directed, altho the pronoun "you" is used. i don't mean to judge or preach. pls let me kno if you agree wiht any portion of it, so far nobody's really understood the search im tlking abt.. and if uve found tht magical weight, let me kno wht it is, will ya? thanks...]
The silver-glinted edges of an incomplete life
It’s like holding a canvas, with a semi-completed masterpiece
Only you can see the completeness of the vision, the wholeness of the vision
But to the world it’s just another mixture of paint and colour and brushstrokes
The devotion, the time, the love and care, the vision
Will never be known
My life’s like that
It feels like I’m holding something incomplete
The completeness is for God to see, I guess
I just offer whispered prayers
That I may see a reflection of this divine-human completeness
From a mirror that He holds
A glinting flash from the heavens
That blinds me
One moment of blinding reflection of my life from the mirrors of heaven
Is all I seek
All I search for
There’s this hollowness
I search and search and search
For words, for people, for laughter, for magic
But they’re hollow themselves
The search is intrinsically hollow
I can’t keep chasing this hollow magic
I can’t keep still waiting for it to come sit on the perch of my balcony either
Like a pretty little hummingbird
What are the chances of that?
What are the chances of this weighted magic to come rest
On the perch of my life?
Why would it? When the rest of the world is searching for the same thing?
Some turn to heroin, some to Buddha, some to each other, some to “love’
To a passion, a hobby, a purpose, a destiny, a job
Just something
To anchor yourself in, to anchor yourself with
To give yourself and your life that special magical weight
So that the gales of passing generations, the swinging of the never-still pendulum of time,
Won’t blow us away,
Us and our nothingness
Into a hurricane of weightless, magic-less souls
With nothing
Those hollow souls
That we scoff at, thinking we’re a cut above
Bullet-proof and meaningful
Those hollow souls
With nothing
But the multi-stranded rope of eternal, indestructible insignificance
To cling onto
That glinting, woven rope
That every single blind hollow soul on this planet
Grabs a hold of,
Extending groping hands
Touching its silver-glinting strands
As if expecting to find
divine scripture
etched onto it in Braille
for their blind souls to drink in
that self-same silver-glinted rope
that ropes off others’ incomplete masterpieces
blurring other souls’ colours and brushstrokes
just roping off the fields of their incomplete masterpieces
and roping in the path of your life
that you will neatly, blindly
follow
believing
deceiving your hollow souls into believing
that the rope’s silver glint
that blinds you
is the divine reflection of your life
from the mirrors in heaven
that you have been searching for
for ever.
the magic was never even real. |
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