Writing When I Should Be Sleeping
Part 1
A cold and olding bird, singing of soft decay
Winter treads on while his lover is gone, only one tune left to play.
Fight with his life as much as he’d like, but she was joined the very next day.
The stars are aligned, but lonely they find themselves in great, dark distance.
And yet a bright sky, a night sky, with paths intertwined,
Their love held no resistance.
There’s life to be had, regardless of times,
though fun and purpose fleeting.
You’re in my dreams, you’re in my rhymes,
And I suffer ’til our next meeting.
So close you are.
So close, but -so- far.
You run through my veins and cause these clear stains,
Might as well be Stellar.
I sleep well knowing that you mean well,
a slow healing reluctant to start.
You gave me a lifetime just in a nighttime,
though it ended up breaking my heart.
You’re on my shelf and nothing else,
business quite unfinished.
As time went on I sung your song,
its meaning ceasing to diminish.
Nothing left of you but my dreams to reminisce,
and a pillow to dry my lashes.
That hereditary gene ticking like a clock on my wrist,
The code only leaving of you your ashes.
A sting of a last breath,
and a string let go of.
Frail and fragile figure failing to fulfill a future to show of.
Part 2
It is what it is.
What is?
It is only as we perceive it
It is the way that everyone perceives it, and has previously perceived it
No, it is what it -is-
To ourselves, it is what it is, but to others, it is what -they- think it is
So is anything really what we think it is?
Who do we trust to decide what -it- is for everyone else?
Well that implies that we give only one person the power to decide what -it- is
What if we already have?
What if everything that we think -is- only -is- because we were taught someone’s previous perception of what -it- is is what it is?
-
Confused ?
I am.
I guess it is what it is.
