A Dreamer Caught Adrift Inside The Boundries of Collective Conscience

By this low-light in the early evening reflection I sit upon my soul found pouring over inifinite wonders driven towards the destiny of my breaching age. I come upon repeated sectors of my heart long suffering since birth because of being born. I come upon a timeless presence in the everythings of anything reminiscent of conscious exhibit. From waters high to waters low; from banks of rivers to banks of tellers, telling me, all of them,(every last one of them) how secrets fly swifter on the shoulders of sisters holding hands and walking fast to help their mother. Secrets, shy, but eloquently calling to their keepers for a freeing; sweeter still is the whisper of such blessed wonders, left untold for all these years now, since it all began. How I wonder so the secrets of soft lips long since told and long since held, and held they were fast, from the rest of us for all the time the lungs allowed. Time would tell the tale of childhood long, and in the skies of recollection we are seen as tiny, dancing shadows on the hill away from the laps of mothers, free and laughing high above the murmur of earths low lull. Hymns and fables, all the while, told us what it is when childhood flees and fly's above to leave us feeling abandoned, somehow abandoned, and we are ever suffering henceforth for it.
How are we, glints in our fathers' eyes at one time, locked and interlocked and bade to unchain our worldly bonds for other fictions and forests of an Almightly remnance? I am but one sufferer among you, and yet I alone still struggle in subtle silence beneath these sprinkling slivers of light in space to try and explain my pilgrimage in a world long since dead of pilgrims. For they have left us, and leaving still, everyday that we disobey their proper principles and ways of life's little secrets. We are here and now forever. We are never in the echos of our fathers' pasts; never in the silent grace of our before, our once alive and beautiful histories. My man, fellow and fondly thought of, accepts my struggles with his own, and we live in parallels within this chaotic arrangement of misshapen madness seen on streets and televised productions. I say, too, that all of this monstrousity found on the glowing screens of every window is produced to keep us down; keep us off, and leave us emptier than before. There is no world that cannot be found inside the box. There is no honor that can't be exhumed through a little careful dialogue; and we suffer. Suffering souls can measure, if given time, the potent energies of hatred, loss, and lifelessness around them, but we must wake them up and let them speak to us. If you cannot hear at first, give time the chance to make a listener of you with its patience. If you do not hear it it is because you are not trying to incite the vision of your inside eyes. There are no pardons left to leave on the doorstep of our generation. No more apologies to execute that will forgive the lifeless mood so sweeping the minds of children sired in the time of our youth. Must you always turn yourselves away from this? This blessed thing, one simple thing that feels and feeds from good intentions, the riteous, and the honest?Let leave the chains of triviality and boredom for the fresh and wholesome measures of your fellow man.

By the sweet indispensible sounds of the morning you will wake and wonder. You will hold high your head this morning and see for the first time in so very long why the sunrise is so talked about, or how it at least once was. You will walk down your stairs slowly, feeling every bump and groove your feet can feel, and you will feel heavy from a burden without a name. Guilt will harbor your heart and soul but you won't let it. You change by the moment, and find again how moments are the difference in every solemn thing you do. Every moment being born makes way for revelation. So you take to your existence with a new light and a new measure. Your children will relenquish all that which you so choose to give them. So give them well, and give them much, and much of the stuff of ages; much of the goodness in your heart and in your mind. The things that promised you their secrets, and in turn that you promised never to tell. You may whisper them soon, and you will know when soon has come. You are generationally driven to reflect the coming of your time. You are one who has an idea stuck inside you. Let it leave and produce a seed of which you can accomplish a lifetime of happiness. Whatever venture you acquire, it makes no difference. Only that which you desire will ever be longed for with all your measure. Place yourself before the alter of fate and begin the means to an end.