Frolic in the deep green sea

Sometimes, inspiration just doesnt hit you. You try to dig for it, but it gives you nothing in return, a futile archeaologist searching for the bones that never existed. You tolled on the mud, digging through the skeletons in the closet, flitering the sand that might just yield gold. But all you get are bloodied hands, a single chance encounter with nature's own immune system, one that protects her age old secrets, and would never want your prying hands to touch it.

Today is one of those days, a single anger combined with the bitterness of failure, yet filled with sweetness of joy that comes from a fantasy in a contained bottle of the angel's face. I awoke today with the smile of a child, grinning from face to face like a chesire cat, enjoying the illusion that the dream had given me. I had taste the honey that flowed from heaven's door, and i grew addicted to it, but as the disillusion settled in, the honey metamorphosis into bitter ashes that sprung from Hell's sucubus. I guess it will never happen, and it seems very unlikely, given the circumstances that God's has given us. But one does hope and pray.

As the feelings fade, it gives away to freedom of thought, the single hope that something will happen and make me happy once more. I wish for one more conversation like the last time, i wish for one more outing like the long last time, i wish for one more single chance meeting like the first time, i wish for nothing more than that.

Innocent poetry, words that have two meanings. What you interpret is what you believe. I have never said anything direct, nor indirectly wanted it to happen. What i say is what my heart has spoken to my hands, the speed of the words that appear on the screen as created by the slow punching of the keys as commanded by the single feeling i have in my hollow heart now.

I look at the picture, and i am reminded of the days of youth, where people could frolic in the deep green sea, and feel the slow swing of the light blue land, with its fluffy trees, and watery plants. It is something that has escaped from me ever since i was borned into this world.

I have done many wrongs in my life, made many decisions that i regret, and cried over the improbablity of everything good. I never sang a song to you. I never gotten to know you better, i wish i were there, but i did the wrong thing, and it made things worse. They are things i wished i had said, but it remained unspoken.

Like children of youth, i stare into the silent sea, and watch the wind ripple waves in the grass beneath them.

Like children of youth, i close my mouth, my eyes and ears.

Slept.

And dreamt.