"I believe you know me well. I react like you're ringing a bell. Are you sorry that you treat me unkind? Never you mind"---Semisonic, "Never You Mind"
#254 by Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all
And sweetest. in the Gale. is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of Me.
The Man in Black plucks a darker pain. Falling, one after another, the energy gives birth to feelings of hurt and trancendence. He hurts himself to see if he still feels. The hopes of the forefathers blows in the wind. The pain maybe the only reality. Flesh is torn by metal. Promises of youth push us foward in the wind. But the further you run, the more do the ghosts of the past return to haunt you. Memories survive their own murder. A kingdom of dirt for a horse. A price too high to bear. A weight to heavy to carry. Unforeseen change denies the balance of good and replaces it with evil. It is easier to remember forgotten sins when you use simple labels to guide your misguided path. But the fruits of nature are abundant and ripe for those who wish to carry with them, the root of the forbidden fruit. The temptation made us mortal, and condemmed us to humanity. But we make beauty from the threads of misery that bind us. A public home is closed to the public when it's doors should remain open in times of crisis. I am a million miles away. The sun shines across a warm body of water. Walking among the elysian fields, the farmer admires his crop. Rough paper hands fade, fade away. The sick become the criminal. Tied up, held down and sedated, he knows not what he sees and cannot speak his mind, for it is broken. Not feeling lonely when abandoned is a worse feeling than pain. It is by using your illusions that you stay alive. Sitting in a liar's chair, angry walls fill the air. When the time is tarnished, the emotions vanish. You have become another, I remain insane. What has become of me? In the great flood, nobody stays to keep you from drowning. Blood is spilt at a last supper. Thoughts that are broken can not be repaired alone. What has become of me, my dear, dear friend?
Anybody I recognize ignores me in the end. And I will not make you rise. I will dissapoint your dreams. I will degenerate your faith. I am a million miles away.
Crow Sickened by Ted Hughes
His illness was something could not vomit him up.
Unwinding the world like a ball of wool
Found the last end tied round his own finger.
Decided to get death, but whatever
Walked into his ambush
Was always his own body.
Where is this somebody who has me under?
He dived, he journeyed, challenging, he climbed and with a glare
Of hair on end finally met fear.
His eyes sealed up with shock, refusing to see.
With all his strength he struck. He felt the blow.
Horrified, he fell.
Emptiness fills the vacumm and creates unrest. A body in motion stays in motion. A body at rest stays at rest. Momentum is achieved when one of these rules are broken. It is not an easy task challenging the laws of the newtonion universe, but it can be done.
