Joni cries to me through screen and speaker. How the world has changed. That with the push of a button I can here the bellowing voice of musicians long dead and buried. The modern world is something that I am in constant awe of. Then again I am in similar awe of the past. Its strength that seems to have slacked off as the years grew. The simplicity, the courage of it. How things were taken in stride and with absolution. Gods were feared and the earth cherished for the never-ending gifts it brought forth. As my years have grown to 21 I have seen God sell more books than Vonnegut. I have seen parents crumbled under the disrespect of children, and men and women both stamp out the moral understanding between each other. I have seen marriage become a clumsy and outdated tradition of the past. Conception being a standard ritual of age 15.
But there has been good in all of this peril. Land has become something to enjoy instead of conquer. People live in a mesh of color, thought, standard, and wealth. We live closely and intimately with our brothers. People are heard, and praised for their opinion and new ideals. Music has burst into the heart of every youth, exploding with untold emotion and soul. We all feel now, we are one in that precious aspect. Buildings soar to the star, and bridges stretch across overbearing seas. Overall it can be a bit unsettling to be thrown out with no schedule or instruction. Yet I cannot deny the liberation it brings once baby bird begins to fly. I do believe I am quite proud of myself for that. That I have built my own tiny life. Though it is not exactly complete it is mine, and I must say I live it! I breathe it each morning and feel it graze my feet at each step I hike up mountain over field or into asphalt cages.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Little Pig
I love to hear the train thundering outside my window. Howling down tracks to places I've never been. Listening to Ray with only a Pig at my side. I've decided I need nothing more. Cheap smokes , soulful music, and a little brown dog. I am more like my mother than I ever thought I'd be.
Rain falls suddenly against the glass, it has come down this way all day. Like a child playing with the bathroom spicket. On off, on off. I do love the sound of rain, the smell of it. I used to play for hours in the puddles left over from summer storms. Thinking of a life beyond West Virginia hills. Beyond the pines and years of unsettled fear. I wish for a day that I am suddenly content with everything around me. Sometimes I get the feeling I am there. That I am complete in this world. Others, I find myself lost.I think there should always be someone who understands you, better than yourself, better than your mother, or sister. Though I think a clumsy harmonica and strumming guitar have it down. I think a sullen voice all bluesy in the dark seeks my soul like I can't explain. If only the voice had a body laying warm next to me in this too often shared bed. Just one. A body with eyes that say smile. With hands that say exhale. With arms that hold you safe from any uncertainty. I wish I had a heart to share these nights with. I think that is where my pain derives. Where my tears spring from. The thought of always sitting up on these late nights, these quiet early mornings wishing to have someone here. I crave the unconditional attention and confused love.
Love.. what a word. A phrase that has been said with the greatest ease, and with full-hearted honesty. Has been shared between a mother and child and the most passionate youths. A simple word that turns friends into lovers, that has crushed the thrones of kings and put a burn in the chest of every man. A fire never to leave or stay as you would like. Pig persists. Placing her head on my itching hands. She hates for me to love anything but her, though I doubt she fully understands my love for her or anything else for that matter. Being a dog limits you to the knowledge of men. I am sure she is regularly set in a state of awe and bewilderment to see us strange creatures at our usual. We must seem odd to her simplistic mind. We seem odd to us too Little Pig, we seem odd to us too.
Rain falls suddenly against the glass, it has come down this way all day. Like a child playing with the bathroom spicket. On off, on off. I do love the sound of rain, the smell of it. I used to play for hours in the puddles left over from summer storms. Thinking of a life beyond West Virginia hills. Beyond the pines and years of unsettled fear. I wish for a day that I am suddenly content with everything around me. Sometimes I get the feeling I am there. That I am complete in this world. Others, I find myself lost.I think there should always be someone who understands you, better than yourself, better than your mother, or sister. Though I think a clumsy harmonica and strumming guitar have it down. I think a sullen voice all bluesy in the dark seeks my soul like I can't explain. If only the voice had a body laying warm next to me in this too often shared bed. Just one. A body with eyes that say smile. With hands that say exhale. With arms that hold you safe from any uncertainty. I wish I had a heart to share these nights with. I think that is where my pain derives. Where my tears spring from. The thought of always sitting up on these late nights, these quiet early mornings wishing to have someone here. I crave the unconditional attention and confused love.
Love.. what a word. A phrase that has been said with the greatest ease, and with full-hearted honesty. Has been shared between a mother and child and the most passionate youths. A simple word that turns friends into lovers, that has crushed the thrones of kings and put a burn in the chest of every man. A fire never to leave or stay as you would like. Pig persists. Placing her head on my itching hands. She hates for me to love anything but her, though I doubt she fully understands my love for her or anything else for that matter. Being a dog limits you to the knowledge of men. I am sure she is regularly set in a state of awe and bewilderment to see us strange creatures at our usual. We must seem odd to her simplistic mind. We seem odd to us too Little Pig, we seem odd to us too.
Nostalgia
its a different world, a mind crippling addiction
taped with our past and high with our memories
its easy to forget to manage while your ruthless
so why not make all the noise in the world?
when night falls, its all ours.
taped with our past and high with our memories
its easy to forget to manage while your ruthless
so why not make all the noise in the world?
when night falls, its all ours.
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