Sitting on my window-sill...
.
.
.
Hearing the sound of revelry
coming from the village, where there’s a fair going on...
I see people...
gladly walking to the village,
ligthened under a street lamp...
.
.
.
I wonder…
Why are they there in a festive mood,
while I am here in grief?
What is it, that divides ME
from them?...
.
.
.
I walk to my mirror...
I see myself in a tight top which I borrowed from my sis,
with a big V-neck which exhibits a little more than I am used to.
I didn’t expected myself to look beautifull in it,
but it wasn’t really that bad.
But what’s the value of dressing up,
if there isn’t a single man who cares?
The sens in it, is hard to find.
Mournfully I walk to my window,
A moulding…
framing
the scenery
imprisoned
in my
visual field
Again, I install myself on my window-sill, looking out on the streets.
I see a group of young people, with a pint of beer brought to their lips,
A couple hand in hand.
They there
I here.
I dream about how life could possibly be,
if I would just have the nerve to step into it.
I look up and I can see the stars like little dots of light.
Shivery I lie my hand upon the window-glass and I try to grasp the dots,
but the window-glass doesn’t give me permission to touch them.
They there.
I here.
The thought of “maybe I should go to this fair anyway”
looms up in my head for a few seconds.
The fair...
where there’s joy,
where there’s laughter,
where there’s life.
Hesitantly I look at the inside of my hands.
I wonder if the strength really lies in there..
I get the feeling as if I’m stil wearing my shoes.
The question whether or not
I will keep them on,
wanders through my entangled head.
What is it, dear world…what is it that seperates us?
If it isn’t my appearance,
and it sure isn’t this window-glass,
what is it, then?
An unpleasant word enters my mind
and pushes everything else aside.
While it’s moving to the foreground,
it lights up and it shows: my insecurity.
The starlight in my eyes fades away.
Can I overcome this feeling and still go to this festivity?
Do I leave my shoes on
or do I take ‘em of?
On/
of?
On/
of?
A last time, I gaze through my window, at the mystical stars...
As I Linger I slowly shove my shoe of my heel,
while a trifling tear rolls down my cheek.
villette: | Donderdag, september 15, 2005 08:11 |
One of the best poems I’ve read in a while. Very beautiful written! Liefs, Villette |
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Fading Away: | Woensdag, september 07, 2005 17:22 |
* I know I said THAT times before | |
Fading Away: | Woensdag, september 07, 2005 17:21 |
I love your vocabulary, I know I said times before, but it still counts. On and on, you make me want to turn this page so badly. I still keep on praying you never stop writing. | |
Mythmaker: | Zaterdag, september 03, 2005 18:54 |
What is it, dear world…what is it that seperates us? Hetgene wat ons verschilt, is hetgene dat ieder van ons kenmerkt, en wat voorkomt dat niet iedereen een lege cloon is van iemand anders... keep this work up! it's really good! *bow* kus&knufl |
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Gothicangel: | Vrijdag, september 02, 2005 21:49 |
Your beauty lies within your heart. Prachtig geschreven, ik vind dit een van de mooiere. Echt goed gedaan. Liefs |
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milamber: | Vrijdag, september 02, 2005 17:33 |
heavy thoughts. To gaze at the world like you do at the stars. Beauty hides in the unreachable like tears in eyes that never cried. Shed the darkness that binds you the to the silence behind the window, and the space that seperates longing from desire. Act upon the fear that strikes like lightning, to overcome hesitation and doubt is the faceless side of freedom. It is the fight that can't be won , but has to be fought. Every day, and every second. Breath not lightly the time |
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Auteur: The unreachable | ||
Gecontroleerd door: benji | ||
Gepubliceerd op: 02 september 2005 | ||
Thema's: |