The Stillness Between Beats by Grandal, literature
Literature
The Stillness Between Beats
I walk through the shadows
And the valleys within me.
Through halls of cold stone
Within an unbeating heart.
I walk past room after room.
Rooms filled with memories;
Once the happiest of memories,
Now faded with age and dust.
Rooms filled with dreams;
Dreams abandoned,
Dreams unfulfilled,
Dreams shattered.
Rooms filled with hopes,
Rotting, poisonous hopes,
Bright possible futures,
Long since become impossible.
In silence, in cold, alone,
I walk past my past,
Within myself and myself,
Remembering, hoping, dreaming.
And then one day a sudden spark,
And with it a semblance of heat,
And my heart’s beating returns,
And it all comes rush
We decorate our walls.
Posters and paintings,
Pretty girls and beautiful landscapes,
Funny posters and movie quotes.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselves.
We decorate our bodies.
Jewellery and sleak clothes,
Bright colours and dull fabrics,
Suits and summer dresses.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselves.
We surround ourselves.
Friends and acquaintances,
Laughing and singing together,
Crying and raving at times.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselves.
We surround ourselves with time.
Pasts and Futures,
Beautiful tomorrows and somedays,
Baleful pasts and dreads.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselve
An extended hand,
offering, promise, enquiry.
A sharp rejection
cuts like a knife.
Blood spilling forth,
I retreat, withdraw.
Patches and thread,
I sew myself together.
Cover the scar,
Don't let them see,
Pretend I'm shiny,
Pretend I'm new.
Smiling, I extend my hand,
tentatively, carefully.
I have plenty of patches,
Plenty of thread.
But I'm running out of skin.
They say that opposites attract.
Like protons and electrons,
Or differing magnetic poles;
Pulled together by their forces.
Pulled together by their natures.
What are they pulled towards?
Towards destruction? An ending?
Towards salvation? A new beginning?
I've been down this road before,
and roads and roads very similar.
Each road has ended in pain, in loss.
What of all the days before the hurt?
Are all the days of fun and folly,
Of happiness and togetherness,
Of opposites becoming compliments,
Are these days worth the hurt?
I know not what beauty tomorrow holds,
Or what pitfalls lay on this path,
Or even when or if this path
Flutter Flutter Flutter
The fluttering of her wings.
Flutter Flutter Flutter
The fluttering of my heart.
Oh what fearful symmetry.
Does she flutter and flit,
moving always about,
from fear of standing still?
From fear of past places?
From fearful symmetry?
I wish to hold her close,
to still her beating wings.
But my feet are rock,
my every touch a hammerblow.
I fear the crunch of brittle bones.
So she flit and flutters,
I watch and wait,
And hope and dream
Of a landing tomorrow.
The darkened street stretched onwards
lined by dark houses with lighted windows
closed behind heavy shutters,
heavy curtains.
Each stride took him closer to no where,
further from nothing.
With every step he came closer to a crossroads,
an intersection,
a way off this road that stretches to infinity.
Each crossroads a decision.
To chase the wisps of light,
ignoring the pitfalls ahead?
To carry on down the road,
ignoring the possibility of light?
Hesitation.
It is never an easy decision,
weighing the eventual light,
against the possible fall.
Balancing the emotional cost
against the possible reward.
In that hesitation,
in that moment of d
Lead me on.
Lead me on.
Lead me on,
Till my wax wings melt,
And I fall back down.
Broken,
I will remake my wings.
So, lead me on.
Take me to your home in the heavens.
The Stillness Between Beats by Grandal, literature
Literature
The Stillness Between Beats
I walk through the shadows
And the valleys within me.
Through halls of cold stone
Within an unbeating heart.
I walk past room after room.
Rooms filled with memories;
Once the happiest of memories,
Now faded with age and dust.
Rooms filled with dreams;
Dreams abandoned,
Dreams unfulfilled,
Dreams shattered.
Rooms filled with hopes,
Rotting, poisonous hopes,
Bright possible futures,
Long since become impossible.
In silence, in cold, alone,
I walk past my past,
Within myself and myself,
Remembering, hoping, dreaming.
And then one day a sudden spark,
And with it a semblance of heat,
And my heart’s beating returns,
And it all comes rush
We decorate our walls.
Posters and paintings,
Pretty girls and beautiful landscapes,
Funny posters and movie quotes.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselves.
We decorate our bodies.
Jewellery and sleak clothes,
Bright colours and dull fabrics,
Suits and summer dresses.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselves.
We surround ourselves.
Friends and acquaintances,
Laughing and singing together,
Crying and raving at times.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselves.
We surround ourselves with time.
Pasts and Futures,
Beautiful tomorrows and somedays,
Baleful pasts and dreads.
They are pieces of us,
Patches of ourselve
An extended hand,
offering, promise, enquiry.
A sharp rejection
cuts like a knife.
Blood spilling forth,
I retreat, withdraw.
Patches and thread,
I sew myself together.
Cover the scar,
Don't let them see,
Pretend I'm shiny,
Pretend I'm new.
Smiling, I extend my hand,
tentatively, carefully.
I have plenty of patches,
Plenty of thread.
But I'm running out of skin.
They say that opposites attract.
Like protons and electrons,
Or differing magnetic poles;
Pulled together by their forces.
Pulled together by their natures.
What are they pulled towards?
Towards destruction? An ending?
Towards salvation? A new beginning?
I've been down this road before,
and roads and roads very similar.
Each road has ended in pain, in loss.
What of all the days before the hurt?
Are all the days of fun and folly,
Of happiness and togetherness,
Of opposites becoming compliments,
Are these days worth the hurt?
I know not what beauty tomorrow holds,
Or what pitfalls lay on this path,
Or even when or if this path
Flutter Flutter Flutter
The fluttering of her wings.
Flutter Flutter Flutter
The fluttering of my heart.
Oh what fearful symmetry.
Does she flutter and flit,
moving always about,
from fear of standing still?
From fear of past places?
From fearful symmetry?
I wish to hold her close,
to still her beating wings.
But my feet are rock,
my every touch a hammerblow.
I fear the crunch of brittle bones.
So she flit and flutters,
I watch and wait,
And hope and dream
Of a landing tomorrow.
The darkened street stretched onwards
lined by dark houses with lighted windows
closed behind heavy shutters,
heavy curtains.
Each stride took him closer to no where,
further from nothing.
With every step he came closer to a crossroads,
an intersection,
a way off this road that stretches to infinity.
Each crossroads a decision.
To chase the wisps of light,
ignoring the pitfalls ahead?
To carry on down the road,
ignoring the possibility of light?
Hesitation.
It is never an easy decision,
weighing the eventual light,
against the possible fall.
Balancing the emotional cost
against the possible reward.
In that hesitation,
in that moment of d
Lead me on.
Lead me on.
Lead me on,
Till my wax wings melt,
And I fall back down.
Broken,
I will remake my wings.
So, lead me on.
Take me to your home in the heavens.