Don't know what thought spawned it, but here is something that just spewed out; My own trap, my trap. It's something I've seen all my life and have come to terms with, my trap. I sit atop a seat of broken glass and daggers. It keeps me alert, not knowing day to day, instead of looking at the bigger picture. A picture that shows one of traveling the land and learning to overcome some internal struggle. \tNo my trap is much grander in design. Complacent in harsh tones whispered within earshot. To build walls. Then let the mind build upon this little whisper theories, my trap is thinking and never shutting off. The silent slave of the social aspect. Holding chains of debt to never let go. The life I was taught, holds me in my trap. A door I can't unlocked. \tSo in this trap there is a window. A window that shows me stars, and in these stars I see dreams. Some stars are held out of reach. Out of hope I still hold out one arm, dreaming to touch one. This holds me from day to day. \tOthers are not so lucky, some days are lost. Held back by harsh realist view points implanted like seeds. Nurtured to become a trees. They formed a canopy stealing light the saplings striving to achieve. But achieve what, it is there? I can't see it now. The sapling doesn't see or feel what the old oaks do. \tSo this sapling does what does best. It takes from its elders, it gathers resources from others of like position around. It takes until it has to give. Now having to take and give life, it wilts under acceptance and pressure. Then develops new strategies to not only get on top, but build what hasn't been thought out or planned before, and do it beautifully.
I feel replenished and renewed like a desert meeting rain. Ambitions and dreams sparked once again by the creative influences of drugs. Wake up, morning? what time? does it matter? can i really achieve what i dream? The things i create in writing reminds me of the people i am in contact with every day. Ramshackle trains carrying ships with no anchors, free spirits lost amidst the urban sprawl. Crumbs in his beard he eyes me with suspicion and fear, he is crouched down submissively, like a stranger you pass on that street, not wanting to make conversation. But his hand is clutching an unseen instrument of death, a defensive tool brought on by the fear and distrust of his fellow man. I see people in animals and animals in people. I had a dream once, that i was in a single story home i have never seen. One of the rooms had a wall made of glass, and behind it was a polar bear on its hind legs, its massive paws pressed up against the single pane. We let our fear and misconceptions control us, my sister and I rushed out with blades and stuck it again, and again. It did nothing but lie down slowly with a look of pure anguish and disappointment. It was the first time i felt ashamed for something i did in a dream
While reaching for the stars and trying to grasp another dream my shoulder begins ache. Stretching between dreams and light, the grind begin to take its toll. Heat without water begins to stunt the saplings growth. The cold makes the bright winter null, nothing to be gained from a cold and callous environment. As anything should be gained, I begin to see it's through work. Through work, the sapling attempts to gather water, and stretch for light. first it's outer skin is toughened from harsh winds and heavy rainfall to hold it's posture. Then the mind begins to expand the thoughts being presented to it. The possibilities of worlds within worlds. How to accept others into its natural ecosystem, of irrational thought and sought for dreams. I turn from the sky to an object in my trap. A small object. One that has over time become dull, and no longer the attention getter it once was. Something from youth. Youth seems to be a vigor to grow out ward and explore something unknown for the sake of doing it. The evolution of mannerisms, and ones own self. Youth becomes no special until age. The sapling is innocent and reckless, taking chances the elders laugh at. The trees is old and jaded. It knows it's bounds and lives within it's means.
Upon waking I realize this isnt where i was. Shutting my eyes i try to force myself back into the dream, but the more i try the more it slips away. The bus holds the familiar smell of leather and old gum. Walking down the aisle to the back i purposely make eye contact with everyone i pass. Some stare, some deliberately look away. I feel as if there should be more interaction. Too long have a walked through the halls, seeing strangers that dont see me. I guess the floor is so much more interesting to stare at then another human being. It reminds me of a tree or a plant ripped out of the ground with the roots intact. It should be in the ground, connected, alive. I see them walking with heads down, either encumbered by gadgets or mentally analyzing in that usual self absorbed way. Steadily and steadily it becomes more of a "ME, and I" instead of a "WE and US." How many of them are like me? how many of them just want to yell and scream "IM ALIVE" and shake loose the cobwebs of an introverted lifestyle? They dont even understand that the stranger next to you, could have been your best friend if things worked out differently. That stranger, could have been your lover, your soulmate, and yet we continue to act impulsively, judging and analyzing. People are out there hurting other people in the most horrible of ways, and every time they had the capability of loving eachother.
Simple winds are no match for me. I won't let them overcome my growth. Thinking tall in stature and grand among gods. It's my fate that overcomes me, only once in the grace of good will, leaving my pondering ill conceived. Still never to give in, my youth will hold trust over my years. I won't let go. The toll is great, the drought once ignored, now prisoner to a higher authority. The will to proceeds to lack then in favor of survival. So the dream sucumbs to reality, and mother natures laws, amidst harsh tones. Favorites won't be played with this environment. The weak will feed the strongest in the forest.