Some times the chaos seems friendly.
Some times it seems to be a foe ready to plunge its rusted sharpness through your petrifying soul.
I just gave it all up when I couldn't take it anymore.
The old man in front of me could not see where he wanted to go.
In the past he probably knew, but now he was lost somehow
in this modern show.
He spoke to me and asked me for directions.
His questions did not make any sense
while I wondered how he was thinking.
What was he thinking?
The light from the afternoon sun hit the glasses on his partially blind eyes.
He moved on to a different moment completely oblivious of his being...
... lost.
Its times like these that the blips of fluctuating feelings rest for a second that is unusually longer than that typical one on that symbolic clock.
The bus moved on and in the mirror the old person faded - just like he was fading in real life.
REAL LIFE?
What could that be?
Surely the old man had some day been as young as I.
And perhaps I may become someday just as old as him?
But certainly thats not the answer.
What is the question?
What is really important then - for both of us - in this mercurial frame of reference?
Is it the directions that we keep asking for - like speechless children drooling over endless bowls of cereal - or empty old minds waiting for the funeral?
His image disappeared from the rear-view mirror,
being replaced by the relentless claim -
R.E.A.L. L.I.F.E.
I was more confused than ever.
Some words fell into my lap
and I began to read my book
I could not look beyond this gap
that stood under me -
so un understood.
Some times it seems to be a foe ready to plunge its rusted sharpness through your petrifying soul.
I just gave it all up when I couldn't take it anymore.
The old man in front of me could not see where he wanted to go.
In the past he probably knew, but now he was lost somehow
in this modern show.
He spoke to me and asked me for directions.
His questions did not make any sense
while I wondered how he was thinking.
What was he thinking?
The light from the afternoon sun hit the glasses on his partially blind eyes.
He moved on to a different moment completely oblivious of his being...
... lost.
Its times like these that the blips of fluctuating feelings rest for a second that is unusually longer than that typical one on that symbolic clock.
The bus moved on and in the mirror the old person faded - just like he was fading in real life.
REAL LIFE?
What could that be?
Surely the old man had some day been as young as I.
And perhaps I may become someday just as old as him?
But certainly thats not the answer.
What is the question?
What is really important then - for both of us - in this mercurial frame of reference?
Is it the directions that we keep asking for - like speechless children drooling over endless bowls of cereal - or empty old minds waiting for the funeral?
His image disappeared from the rear-view mirror,
being replaced by the relentless claim -
R.E.A.L. L.I.F.E.
I was more confused than ever.
Some words fell into my lap
and I began to read my book
I could not look beyond this gap
that stood under me -
so un understood.
2 comments:
I know (hope) what this is.
Imagine having terrible cold, deep in, chilling your bones,
You will hate biking, skiing, or air hitting you face for any where.
Next week you are fit as horse and you go for biking, you will love the air hitting your face.
In both events you are the same person and air is the same, it’s the TIME and CIRCUMSTANCES that has changed, and this decides what you think or will think
And this is REAL.
Post a Comment