Of Castles And The Sky
Max Salnikov. May 21, 2006.
***
Scream. Run. Turn away.
We build dark castles with our actions, pikes shooting out into the skies of hallucinogenic green. We speak, our words building moats around our castles of despair, moats we say we build to keep the bad out of our personal space. In reality, it's just an excuse not to move. We think, and come up with magical lands of denied possibilities.
Fortress Natasha, the no-love-zone.
Where there is a chance for change, we say "it must be for the worse" and keep sitting in our dark corners of self-imposed limitations, smoking one cigarette after another, while the rest of the world wonders what happened to the men and women we used to be before. Cigarette after cigarette, some of us - forever.
Island Robert, the shores of infinite self-pity.
Where we should learn, we ignore the lessons by collapsing in tears, knocking on imaginary doors someone slammed shut right in our faces. Where we should realize the only doors are the ones we make, where we should realize that there are no locks or walls for the power of true intent, we fail to move. All we do is we light up another smoke. And then, we cry.
Turn away. Run. Scream. Fly.
Skies Everybody: not all wings are broken.
Max Salnikov. May 21, 2006.
***
Scream. Run. Turn away.
We build dark castles with our actions, pikes shooting out into the skies of hallucinogenic green. We speak, our words building moats around our castles of despair, moats we say we build to keep the bad out of our personal space. In reality, it's just an excuse not to move. We think, and come up with magical lands of denied possibilities.
Fortress Natasha, the no-love-zone.
Where there is a chance for change, we say "it must be for the worse" and keep sitting in our dark corners of self-imposed limitations, smoking one cigarette after another, while the rest of the world wonders what happened to the men and women we used to be before. Cigarette after cigarette, some of us - forever.
Island Robert, the shores of infinite self-pity.
Where we should learn, we ignore the lessons by collapsing in tears, knocking on imaginary doors someone slammed shut right in our faces. Where we should realize the only doors are the ones we make, where we should realize that there are no locks or walls for the power of true intent, we fail to move. All we do is we light up another smoke. And then, we cry.
Turn away. Run. Scream. Fly.
Skies Everybody: not all wings are broken.
幻術