Memories screech in circles, Memories lived, memories not lived. For memories not lived I see a beauty of what could be, I behold a promise not made. Memories lived and felt remain Deep in the heart with outpourings of affection. These affections offer a promise not made Of memories not lived. As the downpour ensues I hold onto both memories. As the billows intensify I hold on tightly with all my strength.
As I yonder through life and construct meaning and experience daily, this continuously proves to be a key avenue of self-expression for me, as I am able to make sense of often pressing thoughts, explore vivid imaginations and construct tales of my own, which are beneficial to me firstly, then others; maybe/hopefully. Everyone is welcome to partake of my world!
Auto-walking. Layers concealed, hidden within. A walk embarked, control lost in-between. Auto-running. Stomps to ground, impact unfelt. The chest tightens, climactic finale, panting ensues. Auto-flying. Back on cushion, breath set loose. A moment of rest, grips let loose, sensitivity heightens.
I look to you. I look to you. I look to you. My words rise and fall, pressured by weights too heavy. When words fail I look to you. Let your word carry what I can't. Your word pierces soul and spirit, judging thoughts of the heart. My words rise and fall. Let your word carry what I can't. Your word is alive and active, turning darkness to light. Your word is alive and active, creating things not yet seen.
O wandering heart of mine, I trace your tracks up this hill but I do not see where you go. Day and night you wander, paying little heed to burnout. Across all entrances and exits you dash simultaneously, drifting unreservedly. I trace your movements but only find traces of questions you leave behind. I cannot understand your tracks, they are unimaginably complex. I cannot number your steers, they are infinite in number. You disperse in prideful splendour to flounder in collective shatter. Your pride-filled ways mislead, moving but going nowhere precise. Your words are multi-minded, yet you push to enforce your will. You wail with outbursts of desire, yet, en route your solo dash, you desire nothing ultimately meaningful.
Eternal New Day
To turn my hurt to life.
I sit and contemplate.
Could it be, a reason for every hurt,
every mixed conflict,
moment of pain,
sorrow and disillusionment,
is eternal glory?
Eternal glory that outweighs hurt
and transforms to life?
I pause and contemplate.
I try to fix my eyes on what is eternal
be a banner over me
and take me to the place you want me.
Like a leaf that falls and dillydallies mid-air,
I too dream to land on gentle waters,
that purify the soul
and unravel a renewed horizon
of hope unto a new day.
Why did this happen? This happens, that happened. I don't understand why that happened. I would be fooling myself, speaking out of utter arrogance if I claimed to understand why it did. If my choice was mildly out of place, I would be in a different place now. A different place may produce a different outcome, a different outcome may produce a different life. What if I made a different choice? In my pursuit of truth, I stumble upon a realisation of human finitude. I don't get to make all choices so I don't get to see all things. I don't get to see all things so I don't get to know all things. I feel humbled as I return where I started. I'll no longer ask why it happened, I'll simply acknowledge that it did.
I wonder what it is about desire that swivels within layers of layers. I unfold and unfold but I find more layers. I contemplate upon these layers but I find unfolding questions. Were I to put into words what I see, I would remain stuck in a standstill. Yet desire ravages on the inside, yearning to be expressed. I lay me down in silence and stillness of thought. I hold onto what I do not see. I say to myself, I will wait for you.
The ‘what if’ factor
Powerful moment in history, is now. The 'what if' factor is the lifesaver I wish to write on, in a humble attempt to express its power and influence in everyday affairs. Powerful moment in history, is now, as I step out to interact with those I attempt to avoid but cannot do without. What if, I was wrong to avoid them in the first place? I now contemplate as I am shown something too magnificent to express in words, by those I attempted to avoid. By Emmanuel Johnson
The nature of days
These days, I see things take a turn here and another there. The straight path which once was creates ever-forming interlinks I now try to make sense of. I am conflicted. My observation of its nature keeps me perplexed, as I see same and others hide beneath the same mask. In the final analysis, I realise a dedication to get to the root of this, and prevailing situations, which obstruct my search, as I continually seek meaning. By Emmanuel Johnson
The path of the just
Faithful and trustworthy saying, resounded in me, speeding past the tunnels of time to find me right where I am. Faithful and trustworthy saying, ingrained in me, with all majestic hope and expectation from the ones who love me dearly, with all their heart and might, that one day, maybe just maybe, it shall turn out to be my saving grace. How faithful, how trustworthy, is the path of the shining light, ever true, that shines brighter and brighter, unto the perfect day. Abide by it, my child. By Emmanuel Johnson