They whisper softly of sadness
It’s something more than that
That can’t be felt
By unbroken souls.
When no one’s home,
With no one to hear you silent pleas,
Your tears fall,
Without any hope.
Your dreams are but simply that, dreams.
How don’t they see,
How can they not know how you suffer?
But you smile,
It doesn’t really exist,
But no one knows really cares.
No one sees this part of me,
This broken, shattered destiny,
And no one even wants to see,
My tears, or what’s left of me.
None dare to glance into my soul,
None would dare to be that bold,
And no one even tries to look,
Towards that writing hand that shook.
Blind to all my troubled endeavors,
Or broken hearts from those that severed,
My pretty dreams are all that remain,
They are all that keeps me sane.
But darkness does dwell here,
In this pitiful soul so dear,
To so many that do not know,
Who I am or where I’ll go.
Maybe I’ll just disappear,
To finally get away from here,
Someday, maybe, you will see,
Finally, finally, you’ll see me.
I wondered, staring up at the moon like this, if my life would ever be as full as that shining rock in the sky. It’s light cast pale shadows over my backyard, and I stared out at the scene in front of me. I came out here a lot; whenever I felt sad, or lonely, or misunderstood. I had just had an argument with my mother and lost, and my mind seemed to be racing away from me. Though it was quite late, the full moon brightened the dark, weary sky and made it look to be about seven o’clock. I sighed, and shifted, when I heard someone in the room behind me. No one knew that I came out here, and I preferred to keep it that way. For me it was a place to escape to, where nothing else existed but me. I guess it’s kind of selfish of me to think like that, but it always made me feel better. I think I just need the fresh air. I gulped some of it in, then, breathing in the scent of night. Night smells teasingly of a new day about to start, but is not quite there yet. They say that night is for the madmen, and the poets. Maybe I am both? I am not sure. Sometimes I feel a little mad. I hear voices in my head teasing me, but I know that those voices are just mine, encouraging me, egging me on. I sat there, unsure, for ten minutes, twenty, until I finally fell asleep to night’s sweet lullaby.
I ran through the fields of flowers, a streak of joy flowing through me. The smell of fresh flowers penetrated my nostrils. They smelt like summer. I loved summer. The days were always longer, so you could always seem to fit everything into daytime. The day was bright and sunny, and drops of perspiration trickled down my cheek from the intensity of the heat. I am not completely carefree though. I question my every thought, every move. I couldn’t seem to feel as calm and collected as others thought I was. Inside I was screaming. I was confused, angry even. I hated that part of myself, that part that was always asking questions. I stopped running and lay down in a bed of flowers with a particularly strong, sweet aroma. I closed my eyes and drifted. In my thoughts I drifted to my special place, a small white room I could no longer go to. My study. I saw the beautiful, intricate white desk, with a chair to match. There wasn’t much else in the room. The figure of me in my mind placed a pale hand onto the desk longingly. The long white dress ‘I’ was wearing was in tatters. I loved this little room, my sanctuary. Whenever things didn’t go right anywhere else, I would escape up here, where I would write until my hands ached and cramps gathered in my legs from lack of exercise. Sadly, I could no longer come here. I watched through sad eyes as friends and family members came up here and said, “Her presence still lingers here. It’s almost like she’s watching us from above like an angel.” Every single person who came here said that, and it made me very lonely and sad to be referred to as a mere presence. I was glad that they were moving on, though. I was also glad that I no longer live there, in that world. This world I now live in, is full of love and warmth. Every night at dusk, I would hear angels sing. It was beautiful. But I was lonely in this new life. I had no one to talk to, to confide in. To quell my loneliness, I would visit my study and watch all of those people stroll through there daily, to mourn me. Everyone knew that my death was inevitable but I was well missed. I miss my friends too. Now, I dream of a time and a place, where I can be with my friends and family again, where they can see me and not just sense my presence. When I entered, I was greeted by bright light and choirs of angels. This is what heaven feels like.
This is to all those who live in Brisbane, Australia. Meanjin Writers’ Camp is accepting submissions, so if you’re an aspiring writer, why not give it a try? Here’s a link to the site: http://www.meanjin.edu.au/
Thank-you, and good luck!
I’ve finally finished the story I’ve been working on! I’ll make sure to post it on here. I’ll also be posting the second one, Fire-Dancer (coming soon!) Enjoy!