Post 50- Almost a year of blogging!

Although not nonstop. My bad on that one.

I have three things for you today: 2 poems, and a short story/creative essay. I hope you folks enjoy these pieces from last semester ^^

The Greatest Song Ever Written

Would have to reel you in, slowly at first, with rhythms that touch your heart, making it palpitate, bumping into the mind, leaving your skin crawling. It would be personally catered to you, telling a tale of a girl or a boy that remind you of the one that got away, before drifting into guitar and drum solos that touch at the very soul of youth. Certainly, the lack of any and all details in the song would brighten the very foundation of its subject, and all its intricacies, to a point that you forget the tragedies of your past. The singer would be simple in words but complex in reason, with an ensemble from your youth that takes you back in time to a simpler, childlike place filled with nothing but pure happiness and simplicity before the world robbed you of innocence in a way you could never forget. Indeed, it wouldn't be a song so much as a tale or every right, every wrong you had ever done composed into musical notation. It might feature copious amounts of lute play, synthesizer, black metal and bass, but at its root it will always be about YOU. It would never be played on the radio, and you would be the only person that knows about how wonderful it sounds, because it was written by that girl or guy that got away just for you, and as you listen tears might well up in your eyes. Without knowing it, you will be driven to action, to contact them, to ask them if this time it will work, or to forget them and carry on oblivious to the world, a bastion of indignation and a soloist exemplifying the very nature of the music to which you are currently listening. No one will like it as you do, no one will understand it in the same way, and you will be quite alright with that as you walk to class, drive to work, or continue living in the world forever lied to, a child told of all the great things they could have become, and you will contemplate your choices in the same way an old man cries, sad, and alone, for the song isn't a happy one; it is a tragedy of youth and of love, of original hopes and dreams lost but new ones made up, and its beauty will lie in its personal tragedy, tailored, again, to you, the most important audience of all. It will include no pity, no remorse, as it lays down with epic waves of sound-scapes that life will go on, that you will be alright, and that it isn't so much what you have done but what you will do that in the end, will satisfy your tastes, and you'll start up the track again, titled after some obscure thing that you love, and it will again get you beating, living, walking, thinking your way into the world's early morning as the sun crosses the horizon and the dew smiles happily at the dawn. 

Fear

Isn't just a word but a feeling of remorse

Or apprehension as something wicked this way

Comes and you can't quite place a feeling like that,

Real fear,

Because when you try you only remember images or things

That caused you real fear.

It's funny, that generally speaking,

We don't feel it when we know something is coming,

But startle, or surprise us and more often than not we'll exclaim

'Oh you scared me' while you stand there in your scream mask and laugh

At taking advantage of our primal emotions.

And isn't it the scariest when there's a fear you can't escape

And are forced to ride through,

Like a bad dream or a nightmare where the cold dead hands of an ex wife

Come to pry you away from your peaceful life even if you never had one,

Or a shadowy figure asks you for change when you have none,

And sometimes even your pet dog souffle chases you through a maze and you have to run,

Have to,

Because he's frothing at the mouth and rabid from disease.

Or maybe just happy to see you.

And it's this unknown sense of what will happen interspersed with

The moment to moment present terror

In nightmares that really scares me,

Because that can happen at any time and you can't run,

Can't fight,

Can only hope to wake up and realize you shouldn't eat pizza before bed

Or let yourself think dark thoughts like that,

And instead just sit down and write a poem about

The thing that scares you long after breakfast.

Yea, just write a poem about it.

Poles of the Brain

It's a geometric piece I had commissioned

By a local artist so I could show

How sophisticated I am.

She called it 'Poles of the Brain'

And asked me questions beforehand,

So I can only imagine that the curious title

Means I have very opposite Personalities,

Or Thoughts, or Types.

But looking at the Black and White

Triangles on a sea of Blue, under a

Purple and Red sunset with no sun

I feel it is more at peace with me

Than I thought at first.

She really is a good artist,

I think.