Quotes: Invited by GuyorBloke
Day One. I have been here before.
All change demands energy. To recharge, we need to step away and consider the future.
“Why this way?” i repeatedly asked out loud. Of course, as life has proven, no voice replies when needed the most. Alone in that empty room, I silently posed. I traced the cracks and read the signs. Do not cry. You lived. Now walk away. Rest assured, I move forward, knowing, the walls will never speak.
i am not good at goodbyes
as i drag my feet
reluctantly wave the past behind
I may not be here, at Borderline Crossing, much longer. I have a new endeavor that requires more of my time and what time will be left over, I may find using to rest in an Adirondack chair, atop our hill, watching the sun set over Mount Wachusett. This, and a glass of wine, will suit me fine.
I have started a new blog. I am not revealing any thing other than that I am excited about this new chapter in my writing. I have yet to consider what to do with what I have blogged here. A few ideas are floating in my mind… but I am disorganized and nothing may ever come of my efforts.
To those who have ridden this wave as long as I, it has been quite a journey. For those new here, I may pop in on occasion, if my mind floats back toward the borderline. I have tried to say goodbye, countless times before and have always returned. It remains to be seen if I keep my word and truly move on. For now, i have taken advice to heart, to cut the ties that bind.
And so, I tarry on in dreams, with tears in my eyes. J
Wait! already i revert to my old ways. I have Day Two and Day Three quotes to fulfill for Rory at GuyorBloke. Not to mention a backlogged drafts folder. What do i do with all these crowded words and empty space? Can i save me, after all? Time tells. 😍😘❤️
resist lonely woods
our silence consumes her sleep
dreams mushroom from deep
Lots of thoughts in my head today and I need to get them out.
Times are changing
this is true
we call it progress
a lot to chew
we disband tradition
for the sake of growth
but trees grow regardless
of their neighbor’s choke
so why are we screaming
in the streets
we didn’t care in the quiet
they staring in a corner
life pulled from under them
it wasn’t a gun
he held her captive
the only one
you live your life
silence doesn’t matter
it means nothing
your incessant chatter
kids are bullied
daily no one notices
until blood streams
and taints the soil
is this what it takes
to make your life care free
demand then be satisfied
while he chops down another tree
For such a quiet person, I write a lot.
This simple sentence is me in a nutshell. Although i don a cracked exterior, which has let in too much world. Now i exist as warped. A walking, wounded soldier, who has witnessed too much pain. In turn, i turned crass. I am working on that aspect of me, but in reality, reality has sunken in from the first funeral i attended as a child, unable to look at the lifeless figure of a person i adored, until the moment i snuck a letter into my brother’s cold hand.
He clenched that letter as if his life depended on it. I believe he did one last loving thing for me. There was no removing those words i sent him off with. They now reside in each breath i take. Forever dust in the wind. And each snowflake, a kaleidoscope of memories shared.
I don’t recall what i wrote in my anguish. That letter held a lifetime of our experiences in less than 50 words. Writing it set me free from my heart. At least for the moment.
Today, reading a blurb on infp personality, i realized how little my brother and i talked, yet we understood each other so well. Often our eyes would connect and both of us would burst with laughter. Mostly at my dad’s expense which he never took to, too kindly. I recall one such incident in a restaurant in Madison WI, on our way to visit his parents. We both considered ourselves safe, being in public, amongst watching eyes, but boy were we wrong. He kicked us both under the table.
Silence can be a relationship killer. So is violence. My dad treated us both with that kind of discipline, which was learned from his father. Which was learned somewhere else, along the generational lines. Then a few days later it would be a trip to the soda station where they bottled his favorite drink, since he gave up beer from his Army days. It was always confusing to consider my father. What exactly was he expecting of us?
It killed my dad to know my brother committed suicide. It never dawned on him to consider why. It broke him but never encouraged him to change. He died set in his ways. I never left my dad a letter. Nor did I cry. I had nothing to give him. And only one tear was shed for my mother.
It is just the way life was growing up and it never changed for as long as our family was together. We were together but never aware of each other. It certainly made it easy to say goodbye.