Coming back to Life

"Where were you when I was burned and broken
While the days slipped by from my window watching
And where were you when I was hurt and I was helpless
Because the things you say and the things you do surround me
While you were hanging yourself on someone else's words
Dying to believe in what you heard
I was staring straight into the shining sun

Lost in thought and lost in time
While the seeds of life and the seeds of change were planted
Outside the rain fell dark and slow
While I pondered on this dangerous but irresistible pastime

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the moment had arrived
For killing the past and coming back to life

I took a heavenly ride through our silence
I knew the waiting had begun
And I headed straight...
into the shining sun"

© : Pink Floyd

A twist,
A sudden turn, in a very long, steady, hard-headed walk.
Years gone and lo!, a light finally shines.
Have this.
Uhhh, yeah. (and a moan, and a groan!)
Did I not tell you I was a middle-fond runner,
down deep, to my very core?
Planting the seeds as I ran ahead,
panting,
sweating,
feeling my body hurt.
No stopping it,
relentless going,
unwavering belief in poor
-indeed!-
means.
Seeds, I planted.
Only, seeds of a kind you didn't know of.
Thanks for your lack of belief in the planned (foolishness!) path,
for your defiance of my small self.
It would seem I survived you.
Scarred and somewhat disfigured may be,
but, as yet, untainted.
Uhhh yeah,
it'd seem I survived despite you.

The Drop

It ain't the gusts of wind whipping my face
that bother me.

It ain't the breakneck speed of the fall,
no chute to slow it down,
that occupy my mind.

Nor it is the knowledge there'll be a touchdown,
I am worried about.
It's the sheer cliff I fell from
(or I had been pushed from; or I stepped away from, myself)
I am longing for.

The sense of loss is not tamable,
and can't be fathomed.
The cuts,
deep,
to the very heart of me,
as only who shagged (shared with?) me for year upon year could,
and by -a deaf and blind- god would,
wound me.

The scars, older,
overlooked back then,
keep festering now:
scars?
Bleeding, infected wounds.

Doubts: a long, dark tunnel,
and no assurance of light shining at the end,
uncertainty that keeps tugging at me.

Yanks,
pulls,
pushes
and punches
keep me on my, very own, toes.

And it is I which looked for them:
new, unseen skies to test myself under.

Laying the blame worries me not.
What keeps me awake
is finding an answer,
to explain the sheer drop.


L.