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Conflicting Conversation.

Author: EpsilonpsiiChi
ASL Info:    20 years old/ There.
Elite Ratio:    5.33 - 24 /12 /10
Words: 764
Class/Type: Misc /Gothic
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Written October 16, 2008.

Conflicting Conversation.

This is what I felt, thought (and thought up) throughout the day, therefore it was written during the course of the day on the metro and random locations; but mainly Union Station (so typical of me). Ts.

Day. 10-16-08.

It's been weeks (around two to be exact) since I've actually been out in the sunlight, instead of glancing as it sets through the window.
It's also been a long time, very long, since I felt disorientated because of strange sensations in my heart.
-It's hot, I have not slept- eyes are stinging, and with a book in hand.
On the opening page it reads:

From childhoo's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not see
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring -
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow - I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone -
Then - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery that binds me still -
From the torrent, or the fountain -
From the red cliff of the mountain -
From the sun that round me roll'ed
In its autumn tint of gold -
From the lighting of the sky
As it pass'd me flying by -
From the thunder, and the storm -
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Funny how even though I've read the book several times it can still make my heart beat so.
Is it one of several? Or one alone.
I've had books before trigger in me that sensation, but ever like this?
It's a conflicting conversation:
"Pace yourself, it's just a story."
"But the story could very well be about you."
~ Dare I to continue?

My eyes are dark from the pain.
A natural ability to adapt.

~Where have you been all this time?

I am tresspassing into dark waters again.
Toimnaya, mutnaya voda.
The kind I was never to return to.

"So help me God. Praise; let my will be"
Quiet, whole-hearted laughing.
"You dare to laught at me? After all this time?"
Head tiltled down to the side, hiding another laugh.
"You are cruel."
He looks up ( a bit unnerved?)
I look - Saddened (hopeful?); still questioning.
"I do not laugh." (At you?)
"You laugh then because of the over-used term "society inflicted" It could all be dilusional..these..this."
"Who am I to say it is not."
A moment passed in silence. One which explains more than can be comprehanded.
"Am I to succumb; say this- that I am foolish? I cannot. For whatever reason- I cannot let it be."
" Perhaps fear of dying (but not..). Who am I to say this is NOT foolish?"
I grew lost. I grew..
("So help me God and the Virgin Mary. Pray- save my rotting self before this beast, whom looms over me..takes it's toll.")
"Pray." It echoes my thoughts.
"But I cannot, SHALL not. I have no use for praying. Nor believing."
"Let my life go, Foolish as is, into the oblivion we've fallen into."
"Let me be. The fool that I am."
The fool that I've turned into?
Priest, I have sinned.
To such a degree- that was never suppose to come over me.
Let me pray, to end this nightmarish fairytale, that has my heart beating as for two.
This pain it takes, this pain it causes.
A mere prisinor I am of my own mind.
- But as I pray, it still beats.
Priest, I have read a book, several times now, and each time I am drawn back.
My life has been unshattered for so long now, with mundane thoughts.
It could well be I have created this. And even with that said I cannot rid myself of saying the word "could".
Each sentence leads to millions more questions, but never an answer.
I am trying to reason with a mad man.
~I am trying to reason with myself.


I leave you with a song.
One that was playing on my way down from the cafes, for the last of all this writing. It sang, so sadly
"I am waiting, I am waiting...for youu.."

Submitted on 2009-01-05 02:16:30     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  your style is intriguing: a mix of full prose-narrative, confessionalism, interspersed with dickenson-like punctuation in your 'proper' poem as such... the way you use dashes to show how it flows is what i mean when i compare you to her.

i caught about five typos in here; there may be more but a quick spellcheck run will solve these minor problems.

is this a conversation or more like a monologue with yourself? i often have these. i often think it makes me crazy, but hey, we're allowed to dream and go on tangents.

after "~Where have you been all this time?" it seems to segue into a completely different angle, one of an inner struggle with spirituality and religion. would perhaps highlighting this in some way like you did with "Alone" earlier make this seem smoother? just a thought.

this is terribly sad, yet revelatory; both for you and for the reader.
| Posted on 2009-01-11 00:00:00 | by meoww | [ Reply to This ]

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