two of my favourite poems (or snatches from) its as hard to decide as between songs, or books, or moods. Lev Pasternek, Dr Zhivago:
"and yet the order of acts is schemed and planned. and nothing can avert the final curtains fall. i stand alone, all else is swamped by pharisim. to live life to the end is not a childish task"
such few words, yet they say so much! they seem to me to pack a whole lifetimes result into that one line. how would i write what he wrote in those few last words? why do things go wrong? why do we make mistakes? why do i always make careless errors? again and again and again. 'silly mistakes'. dyslexia. autism. add. what was i thinking? i wasnt! It just 'happened'. I didnt know how to say no so i kept shut. i didnt know how to deal with it so i did nothing. how could i? and how will i live with this now? everyday something happens. everytime i steady myself, off it goes again. why cant we forgive ourselves? accept ourselves. why do we want to be better than we are? why do we expect we might get somewhere if we try hard enough? why do we feel humiliated when we fail? why cant we accept ourselves as we are? im so tired. im tired of fighting with my monsters. im tired of fighting the monsters that are me. im tired of trying to control myself, mould myself, discipline myself. im tired of trying to be a good person. better person. im tired, most of all of the constant battle s in my head between all the people that i am that i am.im tired of being alone. i want a friend. someone to talk to. someone you dont have to talk down too. pretend with. spare. fear. love. just be. someone i can like. or just bear. thats a tall order. im tired of bearing things. im tired of pain and burying pain and ignoring pain. im tired of planting smiles on top. tired of guilt. tired of the mirror. tired of hating the reflection. tired of waiting. thrity down. how many more to go? i dont know.we read, again and again, the words of the artists we love most, cheris them, caress them, nourish them with our love till in our mind they come to life, become 'the living' and live and grow in our emptied hearts like phantom ballerinas in a ballet of life. thus, what we love most is what is most real for us. it is the love that brings them to life ... what the b*£%%&% f*^"£ am i saying? its really late and I better leave the office. and get down to some STUDYING!
Another of my most loved lines. (These are maybe 2 of the only 3 lines of verse I can write / say from memory)
"Could I embody and unbosom now
That which is most within me! Could I wreak
My thoughts upon expression, and thus throw
Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings (strong and weak),
All that I would have sought and all I seek,
Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe into
one word,And that one word were lightning, I would speak!
But as it is, I live and die unheard
With a most voiceless
thought, sheathing it as a sword."
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