life’s changes

Tortured souls have nothing but time to reminisce;
One moves about, affected
Where is the spark that used to be?
Deep, dark
A void it was, deep inside, has left but a hole.
You try to claw at it, and it grows bigger,
You shout, but nothing echoes out.
Pain, deep residual pain that lasts and lasts
Never goes away, but molds with time.
The bellow only a dull roar in the ear,Heard only when it can not stand being unheard.
Dreams completely shattered, but still alive-barely.
Love has no meaning anymore,
Lies of happiness are masked well with a smile.One has changed, been altered.
One is no longer the old, one is the new.
There are moments, moments of memory.
Memory serves no purpose, yet we are nothing but.
Thought to thought,
We are but accumulations of thought.
Sometimes however memories are good.
They can bring both hope and pain.
Without them, we would not exist.

The bellow unleashed a storm,
It ripped its way through their arms,
Leaving but shattered glass on the floor.
Moving from place to place,
Not knowing where to go next.
Feelings of being so alone,
But free.
Free from the bellow,
With their inconsiderate rudeness.
Never again shall ones legs pass through that door.
The door welcoming them back.

In the darkness, there are always guides.
Some to bring you places,
Some to show you what must be seen,
And still others to tell,
To tell of their own stories.
It is in our stories that we find eachother.
They told of things that opened ones eyes,
To the world that was real, that was for once tangible.
One of the guides showed how to forget
The words of the bellow,
And to finally live a life,
That is owed to every person born.
Life was realized.
These guides continued to help one,
Their words and hearts comforting.
It was just us,
The three lost souls, together,
Breaking through the boundaries.
But one must at some point leave on its own.

Being alone on a path,
Is nothing but a pool of emotion.
Every one is within that pool, swirling.
The sun shines and one feels a joy,
But remembers.
Remembers that one is still alone.
The walls of ones heart can be stubborn,
And are quick to be remembered themselves.
With the memory of possibility,
Comes the memory of pain.

Fear, fear of the pain.
To be hurt again is too imaginable.
These moments have strengthened one,
And hardened up, turned to stone;
To never let anyone in again.
They ask to greet one, and does.
But never once lets them in.
The will is too strong for that.
It is easy to let them close,
But never again to allow them too close.
Walls were built for protection,
It is only true to do so for the heart.
The heart becomes heightened, altered.
After too many times being damaged.
No tears.

Questions of reasons.
Reasons of questionable actions.
Why put others far from the heart.
One asks, how can one not?
Body cold to the touch of warmth.
When one can feel that there is no passion.
Others question still, offer findings of a true love.
One abstains,
For how does one love when,
One does not know what love is?
Love can be set aside,
Forgotten in its own nature.
One must first discover why we exist at all.

Feelings of self discovering,
Something important comes this way.
Signs being thrown every which way in ones path.
The universe quakes, demands to be heard.
But one can only ask, what could one do?
One does not know ones purpose,
It is there, but is unseen
One is thirsty for something,
One can practically taste the universe’s cries.
Feeling the magick in the air
Watching the sunlight hit the floor,
Open your eyes to the signs.