We can all be Free...In our minds

I am aware my poetry is not exceptional...  and yet I know from experience when I am dealing with an extreme case of writers block...the best medicine is Music, Art and Poetry.  And so I find myself up after midnight, headphones on listening to "Maybe Not" by Cat Power after hearing it play during some obscure movie.  I've played it twenty or so times...as I sit here in the dark...the only light coming from my laptop screen and the christmas tree still up despite the fact that christmas has come and gone...I am at an odd place in my life; an almost surreal place.  And so, as I begin this journey to free myself of this writer's block, I can only imagine that what comes from my soul and touches the surface of paper...will be equally awkward...but hopefully someone, someday will find some sort of beauty in it...

Admit Time

I really dreamed

When I was new

Shot orange flowers out of bazookas

In yellow sundresses with white trim,

Walking down the beaches of paradise.

Time is a heavy sand, running through fingers

Sifting through toes and hardening the soles

To accommodate these rough paths we pave

And follow.

Dreams are nothing but sand

Running like rivers through the crevices

Of a beautiful yet

Casually Underestimated mind.

Mind…and mine

Is a black and unwanted vision

Of the world.

And so I lived comfortably in my dreams

When I was new

For they were pearly, shiny, sun filled things

Like on the tv with all the smiling golden haired cherubs

Life is never what

They want it to be.

Life is most times

Everything we don’t expect

And yet time plays on; the chords of a  piano

Keeping step, tapping and moaning

An opera of a life…

An opera of a life…

Oh how time has played me…

Oh how life has dimmed…

Oh how my dreams have bled of color into simple things

All black and white, no dialogue, only muted flashes…

And yet time plays on; a song no one wants to hear

And yet…

The wise…so few in number….

Know…the opera of life…

Has no

True

Ending

Everything is perfectly circular

Yes, even this silly

Mess of moments I have collected

In a place I know nothing of

Where I must belong, where I am held captive

For an unknown

time…

By

Haajar Johnson