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Isolation
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Isolation |
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Melodious_silence Junior Member
since 2004-01-05
Posts 37 |
Isolation is the depth and the darkness that we hold in the capacity of our own minds. Taken apart and observed, as if in society, there is no other way to be isolated, but with another. Tonight I was alone again. I sat in the middle of the floor with no light except the silver moon drawing across the carpet and the hum of my own thoughts deafening the silence. If I am alone, I will die. I move a trembling arm and gently touch the silver moon sparkling. I wait for him now, with the rest of the world gone and the lack of color. I once remember what it was like among others with the sun on my skin, like God holding my face in His hands. Yet, here I am alone again. The shadows surely will envelope me and I will no longer exist, even as a memory. But foolish me, could i blame them for forgetting me? After all, I was never around to be remembered. Hopeless I am now, I do not care anymore but for another. I trace the pale light on the floor caressing it as if it were his pale face, and I begin to cry. The icy cold against my gray skin chills me horribly, and yet some how I still manage to take no notice. I can no longer feel myself anyway, yet how is it I feel for another? I hold my face in my hands and let out the pain and misery through my cold gray eyes and through my weak silent screams. I call to him, why does he not hear me? Where is he and what must I do to be in his embrace so that he might warm my cold gray skin to color? I sob in streams of lost love and fall to my side. Lying on the ground I stretch my arm out to touch the pallid light. It is all I have of him now. I curl my fingers in the carpet, as though it were his hair, and silently I scream. My organs wretch inside me; there is no comfort in escaping. And this is all I have. A thin light breaking the depthless darkness. Perhaps it is a pleasant memory of him. I know one day he will return, but I've waited so long alone, and can wait no longer. Now that we killed the world, he and I, has he left me to my own seclusion to kill himself? What if I could, what if I drove the stake he's planted in my heart further as he did when he slowly began to kill me? It is my heart he owns and controls. And his absence leaves it to be a time bomb; it ticks and churns. Without him it begins to turn black, like the depth I'm captivated in now, soon it will explode and break the rest of me. I curl up in a ball, my whole body shakes violently without my consent. I feel weak and I know the invisible demons are prodding me, torturing me for their own sadistic sport. It is invisible and I am alone. There is no other to recognize my existence; therefore there is no one there to recognize my absence. Finding new strength, anger, I hurl myself onto my feet and dig my nails into my clammy palms. Who owns me but me? There is no creation that controls me, not even myself! A shell I am, an empty shell. What could be more worthless? What more am I than a bonding of atoms creating nutrients that will decay anyway? "What is it they say?" I ask myself whipping around in search for a blade. "Better now than later," I say aloud. The blade seems to lift itself into my hand and I am fascinated by it. I am fascinated by its smooth texture, it's sensuous argent aura it casts in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon. Diamonds seems to glitter on the mirror image it casts; I am mesmerized and cannot move. I feel so much in power. I see my eyes shining with dejection. Shimmering tears gather onto my lower lid and suddenly, for the first time since my treasure dissoluted me, I see color. I see myself there in my eyes. They are foiling against the lame background, the bright oceanic likeness in them. And now I know. I lower and drop my weapon, my death. Alone the world does cast hues. I peer down at my hands and observe the veins that pulse blue against my terrible white skin. It will be years before I fully understand the concept of misery and aloneness, and why we, like myself, must go through it at some point in our lives. And now I know. Like a life without love (even for yourself), a life that is only a dream, I stroll to the window and look out, like countless hours before. I stand here and watch for him, whomever he may be. In the eyes of death I've come to the key to life: patience to understanding. I grip the sill of the window and I wait. We must first be able to live by ourselves before we live with another. How can we expect them to live with us, if that is more than we, ourselves, as an individual, can do? This is why he hasn't come. I sigh and feel my eyes brimming with watery sadness again. Not even I can live with myself. I concentrate on the drizzle that breaks upon the road, and I think that all that time I spent wallowing in my self-pity, I could have gotten to know ME better. "Know thyself". How are others supposed to judge you by your personality and not your looks if not even you know the depths and puzzles you hold in your mind. Not even I know me. I realize now that I look away from my desire, and the sun begins to break, that I can't jump from one point to the next. I have to take the journey and it is my turn to move forward and use the past experiences for future ones. I stand now; he is in the street waiting for me under the orange street lamp with the clearing rain pelting on his cranium and then on his shoulders. I sould go shield him from his misery. Why should anyone have to endure it alone? He lifts his head and his radiant honey brown eyes beam at me. It is a signal of rebirth. I must go to him now, for it is time we learn the other. Seclusion only for a little while to get to know yourself. Then perhaps isolate yourself with only one other... dolce vita! |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Welcome to Passions in Poetry and specifically to the Prose section! I hope you find this to be the caring, creative forum that it is and enjoy your stay here  Good piece of writing you have here. Quite depressing at the begining with such images of despair and hopelessness. I'm glad at the end their was a conversion, an understand of life that comes through acceptance of the self in all its aspects. This change came about quite quickly. Epiphanies are like that, or so I understand. A good first piece, I see there's already a second and I hope you'll share more! "Knowledge is far superior to Belief, for Belief is the way of the uniformed." - Scott Cunningham |
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