Yelling was all she heard. Yelling at her, her brother, mother, sister, it did not matter. She was done, she didn’t care, and she was spent. This life was not for her. The girl was leaving the world, and she was taking naught but her body, mind and soul with her. As she arose to leave her house, she heard the menial complaints of her father, his useless, ignorant words pelting her futilely, the incessant chatter of her mother’s mouth screaming for her to not go, but she was out the door without a second thought.
But she realized she had forgotten her keys. She slammed the front door open once more, and reconsidered taking her siblings with. She decided their fate was their own decision and she would not commit the fault of her parents by controlling the fate of her siblings. She took the keys off the rack, grabbed a wad of cash off the counter she hadn't seen before, and left again.
She was gone.
The car was a rusty, old pickup truck, its life so close to its end, very much so like her own. She started the car and drove, the tears finally hitting her lap and shattering like crystal shards. She went down the road and took a left turn, and turned the radio on, the lyrics to an ever so familiar song playing.
I thought I knew it all,
I've been through the highs, said all my goodbyes,
Learned to run before I learned to crawl,
It's not worth fighting for if one of us is sure,
And one of us is dying, trying to find love's cure.
She thought the song appropriate for the occasion.
The car’s engine began to sputter, and she realized it was at the limit, and that her bad luck had not stayed at home. She instantly purged the word home from her thoughts, home being such a depressing term in her mind. She drove to the next turn, and the car died there. She looked at the keys, and saw nothing she wanted, save for one thing: The picture of her with her brother and sister. Ripping off the picture from the keychain, and leaving everything else, she opened the door and left. The music of the radio played in her head still, its melody resounding in her thoughts.
When we learn how to fly,
We forget to how walk,
When we learn how to sing,
We don't wanna hear each other talk,
When we know what we want,
We forget what we need,
When you find who you are,
You forget about me.
She looked around, unsure of where to go. She looked to her left and noticed a small yet inviting line of trees, and to her right, a glimmering body of water, the moonlight casting its shine upon the surface, the white reflection of the mood ever bright upon it. Opting upon the trees, she turned, walking across the field before it. It was flat and lifeless, and now the moon truly struck her, and she turned to the stars, and realized her place was among them; destiny among the clouds. Her life was not meant for this world, and she was leaving it. Reaching the trees, she entered the forest and all at once the light of the dark sky was gone, and she was finally… alone.
She continued her trudging walk through the trees, and contemplated how she would finish it all. She concluded her planning with the perfect ending; fate demanded it. She saw the end of her journey approaching, an opening within the maze of trees, the moonlight glowing through it, and she walked to the very edge of the tree line. She took one look back, making sure she wasn't being followed, took a final breath, looked down at her shoes, noticedhershoelacewasdislocated, didn’tcare, exhaled, andjumped.
The last words to the song rang out in her head.
Here we are at the finish line, ah.
Here we are at the finish line, ah.
Here we are at the finish line.
She fell, her entire life flashing in her mind’s eye, all her pains and fears now forgotten, her single strength anchoring her to her fate: her will. She hit the ground at such a high speed that, when she arose again, the death of her previous memory and mindset of her hysteric, insane, lunatic life was complete. She took one look back for the last time; the small hill she had jumped from, a minuscule height, the final obstacle. Looking ahead, she saw a city, the lights suddenly diminishing the moonlight. Noel walked forward, and began a new existence.
This may feel like deja vu for some. This is a writing response, in which I had to create a horrible, painful scene, but describe it beautifully, with vivid language and imagery. It's meant to mimic William Golding, the author of Lord of the Flies.
The boy tiredly stood up, the dim light of the room only confusing him further as he struggled to remember where exactly he had slept moments before. The answer came to him in a flash, looking around the hospital room and realizing he was in another world, one far from his ideal. He saw his sleeping mother, so peaceful in a chair, and his father, on the bed, the only signs of life being the slow rise and fall of their torsos. The curtains of the single window of the room remained closed, and the boy ambled over, and with a vast motion opened the curtains, letting the light suddenly blind him, illuminating the room with a golden glow, the darkness of the shadows fading away. As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he looked outside, at the immeasurable garden in the front of the hospital, a sanctuary amidst a Hell. The multiple colors of flowers splashed across the green grass with the paved paths in and throughout the entire area painted an illustration of optimism.
A sudden gasp for air, more akin to a wheeze, ruined the peace and he spun around, the familiar noise suddenly chilling him. He saw his father, his skin now clearly waxy in the gilded light, breaking out into convulsions, the beginnings of seizure taking hold of his mind and body. The boy’s mother shot out of her chair and was out the door to call for help as the boy helplessly held his father in his arm, pleading for aid. Nurses and doctors poured in, pulling him away, the golden light still filling the room, the soft particles of dust clear in the radiance of the space. The boy saw the crowd swallow up his father, the medical team seemingly arching completely over the bed, their now disfigured forms hiding his father from view completely. Turning away from the dark scene, he stared into the garden, hoping that if nothing else, the serenity of it would grant him at least a little peace. What he saw only added to his fear; the garden then turned into a graveyard, and he could see cemetery workers digging a new grave, and the boy already knew. Before it had been beautiful, now a scene of an almost greater horror met him, and as his mind struggled to comprehend it, a hush befell the room.
The boy turned, baffled and petrified, seeing no one but his father. The doctors, nurses, his mother—all gone. His father lay still, his torso no longer moving, and the boy ran to him, ostensibly feeling as though those few feet were dozens of miles, the seconds turning to hours in his mind. He began to shake his father, begging him to wake up. He wanted his father to open his eyes, tell him he was kidding–he knew he wouldn’t—and save him from this nightmare. The golden light no longer brought peace and its beauty now hurt him. He knew his father was gone, he was alone, he was lost, he was suddenly engulfed in the sea of despair known as Pain, and there was naught left in his world. He looked down and saw that his legs were completely gone, invisible or perhaps atomized and to his horror, the void creeping up to his midsection. He looked up, and the entire room was gone, nothingness consumed him, and he distantly saw a single dark outline rushing to him, and it opened its large maw, as though it were grinning, and the Fear overwhelmed him, sucked him in, and he was—
A man sat up in bed, sweating and abruptly lucid, the lurid nightmare finally over.
Okay, in Honors English 10, our teacher, Mrs. Woods, gave us an interesting assignment. We have to create a book cover, with a picture and title with description to match. It should reflect on our lives. Mine is called "The Mind's Ocean". Here is my description (It was only to be a paragraph or so long)
The human mind is like an ocean, but instead of water, thoughts fill our minds. Although everyone has this gargantuan ocean, very few seem to take a swim. A lot of my downtime is spent just thinking, about anything and everything. Even though that sometimes leads to over thinking a lot of simple things—which certainly isn’t a good thing—a lot of self realization has come from it. Instead of having to worry so much about my problems, I only have to calm down and just let myself think, and calmness is always but a few seconds away. Come on, take a swim.
Maybe that gave you some insight into me, hopefully it did. Thanks for reading, and the next blog entry will be much longer, I promise.
Train Car
I'm on a trip, I can't get off,
Can't get over,
I'm falling now, into a train,
Inebriated, I can't stand, can't move.
Too late to turn and leave,
Too late to regret.
Mere minutes from the next stop, each one an hour,
And a second.
The doors to the train car open,
Energy flows into me, and I leave, ready to face destiny.
Sorry for the incredibly long wait and the incredibly low amount of content in each post lately, I have no excuse, I just haven't thought of much to write about lately. I'm thinking about getting a camera and taking it everywhere with me, so that when I find something I want to remember, I can take a picture of it and later use it to find something to write about, and also put that picture as a part of my posts on here. Comment if you think I should/shouldn't! Criticism is also appreciated, in any form, so please, do comment!
Sorry for the long wait, all.
Prairie
Slow calm winds move the ever so timid, yet tall blades of grass,
A rustling noise in the air.
Small wildlife running amok, with naught but one thought in mind: Survive.
Starting to walk through the tall grass, not sure of what lays inside.
The wind picks up, a suspense now resting upon my shoulders, unsure, irresolute about what is beyond.
Each blade of the tall grass bending and twisting around me, and then falling to the ground under my feet
As I get further away from the start, the more it fades, until I forget it all completely,
Until I’ve been walking so long that time isn’t meaningful anymore.
The forest of grass, now dark, soon begins to light up, the circular light growing--
A sudden break into a small patch of short, trimmed grass, a perfect circle.
In the very center of it,
A flower.
Black Hole - Untitled Five
Tear me apart, suck me in,
Oh, black hole.
Destroy everything in your path,
Oh, black hole.
Ravage the land, annihilate worlds,
Oh, black hole.
Vanquish the dark, but take the light with it.
Vanquish love, but take hate with it.
There is nothing left, but Apathy.
Suck me in,
Leave nothing behind, not a drop of soul,
Oh, black, hole.
Since I wrote the poem Lost. It's a surreal feeling, a whole year since I left Asa Clark, a whole year in which I can look back and safely say I've grown for the better. I'm not entirely sure why I'm posting this post--besides that there's some writing. It's kind of cool to know how long I've been writing stuff like this for. It's been well over a year, but this is somewhat of a personal mark for me. Thanks, everyone, for reading. It means a lot.
Go!
It's time to go, c'mon.
Forget your worries, for just a minute.
Just for a little bit.
Drop it all, everything,
Absorb the moment, feel it, drink in the feeling.
Feelings of the ever so elusive,
Happiness.
Just a moment, slip away from,
From the chains,
Don't just waste time away.
It's time to go, c'mon.
Thanks again, everyone. After this, I'm gonna go back to basics, so to speak. You'll see what I mean in the next post.
I haven't posted in a very long time. Lately, quite frankly, I haven't had the time to come on here. I really didn't like it, but with things like exams I didn't have the time to. I'm terribly sorry, if it annoyed you.
From A Single Glance Between Strangers To An Eternal Stare Shared Between Friends
The first thing I see is their Eyes
Each person, so different in their appearance, both physical, and spiritual.
Each face, begging to tell their story, of love, of pain, of hope and of despair.
Experiences shared, tales of a lifetime past, now relived, remembered.
To drink in each memory, their words the cup, and their Eyes the fountain from which this water pours.
One person shares with me their experiences in war, where each minute spent asleep is a safe
heaven, and every second spent awake, a living hell.
Another tells me a love story, when life was so lighthearted, when nothing could ever go wrong,
A small paradise in a turbulent world.
Then I hear of dark times, where each mental wound was as hurtful as a physical cut, where the
feelings Of apathy and depression reigned supreme.
I listen to each story, wishing I had listened to the stories of people past met.
Before I leave, I feel the feeling in their Eyes,
Each pair of Eyes, portals to their soul,
A silent soul, crying to be heard, yet left unheard, until it finds itself, again.
Two of the same soul, slowly being drawn towards each other, in this lonely world, or so it seems.
A single soul, containing two separate stories.
A single soul, inhabiting two bodies, inseparable.
All because of two pairs of Eyes, meeting each other, and a story told.
Inspired by:
“Friendship is one soul shared in two bodies.” - Aristotle
All right, now for the real purpose of this post. I'm confused a little bit about where my writing is going, and if I'm progressively getting better or not. My goal of this writing is to both get better, and maybe for the enjoyment of others. I'm open to suggestions as to what I should start doing more or less of. If there was ever a time for criticism, it's now, so please, lay it on me. Thanks, all.
--Dilpreet R.
So gravely, walks death along our streets.
Our roads, our cities and homes.
Taking what it wants.
Striking the hearts of those,
Already weak.
Already in pain.
Already struggling to continue.
All we can do is keep going.
Don’t remember the times of woe and grief; rather,
What was worth loving.
So keep going, and never stop.
Derrick Lopez, I never knew you. Unfortunately, now, I never will. I know you will be missed.
Derrick Lopez had a heatstroke. Soon after, he went into a coma. He died today, June 2nd, 2010, after not having brain activity for a couple of days. RIP, Derrick Lopez. :(
Death came too soon.
Hey guys, I saw one of Mr J's students' blogs, (Morgan Johnson's, to be exact), realized I could get custom blog layouts, and went and found one. This one fits even better than the last, and I can't help but say I love it. New posts are on the way, I haven't gone on a hiatus.
World of Dreams - Inspired by an essay by Tina Yu
A blank Slate, so pure so,
Unassuming so,
Lifeless.
I want to pour feeling into it, to create
My own world,
Where solitude and isolation give way to great thoughts,
Where I can breathe the reality of Red and Orange,
A blank Canvas, a blank world.
All I will do is start it.
Just let the rest of the colors bleed into themselves, and
Fill in the rest.
I once said a while back I was writing something called Reach for Glory. It was to be based off of the idea that inspired the original blog title -- Reach for Glory. I never finished it, for some reason, I couldn't write anything worthwhile of it. After changing the name to something that means more to me now, I have.
DreamMares
The sudden crack of Silence
Awakes me from one nightmare only to open up into another.
Every single second spent asleep, suffering of
Dreams.
Every dream is of things unseen, unpossessed, but wanted so dearly.
When all is perfect but,
So short.
There is always the road not taken.
The road left alone.
The road left forgotten.
The road of which I am so unwilling to let go in order to try and jump,
Jump to the next road.
The realization of what I can't have.
Does it end, does dream become reality?
To wake up with my dreams in front of me, to be able to see in reality.
Midnight Dreams.
The Race is.. Lost
Forever running, after this one thing.
So hard to just, stop, to let it all end.
Legs so.. tired. But you can't just stop yet. Not until you win.
But you don't realize how nonchalant this is,
When all you need is right in front of your eyes,
Yet Greed and Ignorance fuel you.
As you run, everything melts away, months pass by and you don't realize it was time to stop,
So,
Long ago, that the Race was.. Lost, you can no longer win.
There is no second chance, no simple way for you to make up what you've left behind.
There never will be; there never was.
I think that one is horrible, yet I'm staying true to my promise that I'd put all things on here, good and bad.
Here is my Biopoem for English. What we had to do was take a character, of Romeo and Juliet, and following a layout, write a poem. This is mine, it's not final.
Tybalt
Rash, Angered, Challenging, Hateful
Relative of Ares, God of War
Lover of his sword, his heritage,
And of challenge letters
Who feels the fiery rage of battle, the cold stench of Death's breath,
And the necessity of rivalry.
Who needs to fight, and to lust for revenge,
Never stopping until the deed is done.
Who fears the fall of the house of Capulet, the restrictions of Escalus,
But not Death.
Who gives everything to the fight, and to the reputation of the name of Capulet,
But he does not give in to defeat.
Who would like to see the fall of Montague, the death of Romeo,
And the everlasting reign of Capulet.
Resident of Hatred and Revenge,
Capulet
Broekn
Inevitably, it breaks.
Never seeing color, only gray.
Slowly, losing it all, into pieces, colorless, pieces
A black hole has opened up and
Nothing is left untouched.
Every part is pulled in twisting it, until I can't recognize myself.
Just Ask
I cannot bear to hear it.
The cries of those who are in need,
In need of help.
All I can say is,
"When you need me, I'm here."
Yet all I want to do is reach out,
Fixing what I can.
But I can't.
Limited by such,
Trivial things.
I cannot bear to hear it.
The cries of those who are in need,
In need of help.
Just ask.
Frankly, it kills me when I see anyone in need of help, for someone to just say, "I care". What really kills me is when I can't be there to say that when no one else will. I'll always try to say that; because it's true. I care for each and everyone of my friends and family. If you're reading this.. know that I'm here.
Lately, I've been taking two random colors and writing whatever comes to mind. This is NOT how Red and Orange was written however. That was based off of a picture I once saw. These following two however, are.
Black and White
A Pure, White Dove sits atop
A Small Telephone Wire.
A Jet Black Crow flies by,
Past the Dove, sweeping it up,
Corrupting it, until the Black
Bleeds into the White, darkening it,
Ruining the purity, slowly turning this
Pure, White Dove, into a
Old, Wise, Gray,
Owl.
Green and Brown
The dark enigmatic forst,
So dangerous, so scary so,
Quiet.
Awaiting for every victim to walk in,
Unknowing of its contents,
Only entering to seek knowledge,
Yet finding death, fear, pain,
As well as life, courage, happiness,
That's how the world works.
I really don't like saying this, but read it, think what you will. It might be a little confusing at some points. Ask questions if it is.
Untitled 4
I remember it clear as day, getting off of the plane and suddenly being blasted by the familiar smells, seeing the same roads, hearing the thousands of people living their lives, day to day. I remember walking out of the airport, feeling a small pang of despair inside of me, so small, yet so deadly. I remember reaching the hospital, already sweating from the intense heat. I remember thinking one thing, in the small yet so large place known only as India.
Why did this happen to us?
As I walk up to the room, I remember a flash of memory: My mom calling home, right when I got off of the school bus, concluding another happy day at school. Her panicking voice telling me my father was in the hospital, my complete nonchalant attitude towards her, my innocent mind clearly blocking the reality of the situation. It was only when I reached the room, unworried and still thinking about school that I realized the severity of the situation. When I saw my father, laying on the white hospital bed, I began a three year journey that I will never forget.
What had been wrong with my father had started with his liver. He started drinking at an early age and continued drinking, a lot, through his years. It was only after a combined effort from my whole family that stopped him, and that may have been what stopped him from dying when he first went to the hospital. He had only just stopped before that, too. His liver failed still, and he was diagnosed with liver sclerosis. I thought it would be easy to fix this, because again, hospitals were supposed to make people healthy, right? I have never been more wrong in my life.
My father went through a period of getting out of the hospital, slowly recovering, and once again going back. Through this all, I never really knew why he kept going back. A messed up liver is impossible to fix. The only option my father had was transplant. Unfortunately, there was a waiting list. A literal list, of people waiting for transplant. The estimated time my father would need to wait was at least a year. Problem was he didn’t have that much time. But solutions come in the most coincidental ways, and it was the same for our predicament.
My aunt owns a small store close to Pewaukee. One of her customers knew a guy who had recently gotten a liver transplant in India, after hearing about the waitlist back in the USA. My mother instantly was told about it, and soon enough, a trip was arranged to India. I was to stay behind, as school was still ending. I ended up leaving anyways, as seventh grade is relatively unimportant.
I went to India, and pretty much lived there for two months, during which I lost almost all contact with the outside world. That didn’t matter though, and for two months my day consisted of waking up, going to the hospital two hours away, and sitting with my dad for the day, and then going home. Every second became a minute, every minute an hour, every hour a day, every day an eternity. I lost myself in the sea of confusion and despair that is called Pain.
My dad got his transplant on June 22nd, 2008. He recovered fairly well, and by the time school started up again I was home. But when I came back to Asa, the world was just.. Different. Small things like reputation simply didn’t matter anymore; it was both scary and relieving. I was free of the conventional worries of the average student, and it some ways it was good, others bad. But in some ways I was convinced I never wanted to go back to India, ever again. 8th grade was fairly nice, up until my dad ended up in the hospital again. This time, his liver was okay. It was something else entirely that was wrong with him. There is a small tube that leads up to the liver, and if that tube is non existent the toxins that flow into the liver cannot get out. That tube was blocked, and as such, problems once again arose.
I missed one day of school for my dad’s endoscopy. This was supposed to fix the problem, but ultimately, the only solution was to go to India, once again. However, the urgency wasn’t as large as before, and my dad waited until late September to go. My mother went with him. This time, I was almost completely sure I didn’t want to go and vehemently told my parents I didn’t have the time nor the desire. This surgery was very low risk, something like a tooth pulling could have been more dangerous. But I wouldn’t be mentioning this unless I ended up going, would I?
I remember the exact time the clock had been at. It was exactly 11:10, during English class. We were in the middle of finishing The Once and Future King. The loudspeaker suddenly rang out, and I was asked to go down to the office immediately. The office was just a quick turn to the left, and when I got to the desk, I was asked to come inside. I opened the door, a small uneasiness building up in the very bottom of my stomach. The secretary started to talk about a “trip”. I almost immediately stopped her, and asked her about it. She gave me a look of complete surprise, and asked
“Do you mean to say you don’t know about this?”
I answered, a little shakily, yes.
And so, for the second time, I was told I was going halfway across the world.
I remember it clear as day, getting off of the plane and suddenly being blasted by the familiar smells, seeing the same roads, hearing the thousands of people living their lives, day to day. I remember walking out of the airport, feeling a small pang of despair inside of me, so small, yet so deadly. I remember reaching the hospital, already sweating from the intense heat. I remember thinking one thing, in the small yet so large place known only as India.
Why did this happen to us?
Those two weeks were again an eternity, and I felt like it would never end. It felt like two years rather than two weeks. In the end, I again remembered how unserious things back home were. My dad again had a surgery, and again was safe, and again recovered quickly. I flew home alone, and that in itself was a little unnerving. My parents came shortly after. Some had noticed, others had not. I think someone had thought I died, too. But that's not what I remember most. I remember flying halfway across the world for my family, twice. It brought about a new understanding of my close family to me. It’s only at somebody’s worst that you see who they really are. When my father was lying on that bed for the second time, so close to death yet so calm, collected, I gained a newfound respect for him. It wasn’t us that brought him through India, it was him that brought us through India. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this all, and I hope I don’t have to learn anymore, it’s that even in the worst times, all one can and should need to do is keep on hoping for a better time, because it will come. No matter what, it will be okay in the end. If it isn’t okay it isn’t the end.
Hey all, I think this is the first post I've ever had that didn't have any sort of poetry/stream of consciousness. What I'm typing this for is something regarding the comments. I really do not want really short comments with "This is awesome!" in it. In the end it doesn't really help me, and although the compliments are nice, I really want an additional "this could be done better", or anything like that. Here's an example of something that benefited me, it's a comment that Mr J posted. (Regarding Red and Orange)
"Nice. Take out the word perfect, and paradise to let the reader feel those ideas you already embedded so well in the poem. I was with you. You don't need to state that part. That's how poetry works; you don't tell the reader the conclusion. Instead, let them draw it for themselves."
That's almost exactly what I want to be reading on here. Well, that's all I really have to say. Constructive criticism is a must, and from here on out I won't be accepting the word "perfect" to be in your comments. :D
-Dilpreet
PS. Thanks for reading guys. Just reading it does mean a lot.
Red and Orange
Walking along, when I notice an old, worn gate.
Opening it.
Going through it.
Noticing the beautiful treeline within,
Rows upon rows of nothing but trees,
All along the sides of a single, wide path.
Red and orange leaves, all falling,
Slowly.
Noticing a small bench nearby.
Sitting, one word in mind.
Perfect.
Far off, the sun falls like the leaves.
Slowly.
Creating something close to a paradise.
Quiet, and calm.
Wishing I could never leave.
I get up from the bench, sadly.
Back to the gate.
Going back through it.
Walking on.
Shoes
Tools of movement, so unimportant.
Carrying me along.
A small ":D" on the side. A small stain on the other shoe.
So many memories, on these unimportant, worn
Shoes.
So many places, from one end of the world to the other and back.
Carrying me along.
I don't think I really need to explain this one, but do ask if anything doesn't make sense.
Dreams
Eyes close.
Now I'm walking.
No, running.
No. Flying.
Flying over the world.
Flying with family, with friends.
Happy.
I wake up.
For Dad
You were there.
Always have been.
I took it for granted.
How mistaken I was, thinking for the great to never fall.
How utterly wrong I was.
You fell, to the floor and farther still.
I let you fall.
And then I jumped in after.
I fell even harder.
Losing myself in fear, pain, despair.
You saved me.
You were there.
Always have been.
The following essay is something called a "This I Believe". Basically, it's an essay on a belief of yours. It can range from the color blue, to something as serious as death, wisdom, etc. My honors english class all wrote one. Here's mine.
Life Always Goes On
Everyone always has some sort of problem; some sort of looming issue, in the near or far future, endlessly worrying us. It might be serious or, quite frankly, a joke in retrospect, but we’ll always worry about it, regardless. That worry will just pick away at the worrier and eventually it’ll leave a shell filled with worry, and nothing but. Sometimes that issue will get blown way out of proportion, and then it only gets worse. It might get to the point where the person just gets overexcited, thinking that life will just “stop”. I believe the opposite, and in the words of Robert Frost, “In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”
Many times in my own life I’ve worried incessantly about things, that I later regret worrying so much about. It's always what the consequence will be in that exact second; that exact moment of shame, sadness, whichever. I used to never really realize that there wouldn't be any largely long term consequences of most things, thus, no real reason to be so over-worried about things. Accidentally forgetting a homework assignment gets blown out of proportion by a lot of people, but it's only a point or two off most of the time if it's a day late; so why worry so much? Should you cheat on it? Is it worth getting caught, and not getting anything? Is it really worth losing sleep over? That is only a single example of how bad irrational worrying can be,and it's consequences that can actually affect you over the smaller, more harmless ones that can easily be rectified. . I find that doing all this worrying doesn't really help, at all. I'm not trying to say being worried about things is useless, it's that some issues aren't worth worrying so much about, especially if they can be later fixed, or avoidable.
I first started realizing this awhile ago, when I first learned my dad had a severe liver problem and could possibly even die. When you're 12 years old, this isn't something you want to hear. What ensued after learning this is something else entirely, but in the end of it all, I realized that there's a fairly sizable line between irrational and rational worry. After all, it's not every day you find out someone you love could die, and fairly soon as well. Spending 3 months halfway across the world, in a totally different lifestyle with a completely different mind-set and environment, some things just don't bother me anymore, not at all. I believe that there are things to worry about, and after hearing about my dad, things like homework, what reputation means, and other things similar to that suddenly don't seem as big and looming. I think that many people don't really think about what's really important, and what isn't, and thus, worry about the wrong things at the wrong times. Additionally, I believe that there are some things that are worth and not worth worrying about. To reiterate what I said before, after I've had something so big happen in my life, previous things I've seen suddenly aren't as important.
People move along too fast and never really take a bit of time to look at the larger picture. They forget what's important, and that the world won't end if everything doesn't go perfectly. Life goes on. Nothing short of death can stop that. So why worry about such unimportant things? I believe that there are both things worth and not worth worrying about, and that only the person himself can decide what's worth what.
The End
A large tidal wave; it is moving towards you. Your last moments, captured in slow motion.
You cannot breathe.
You cannot think.
You cannot be
A quick turn.
You run. Escape.
You are safe.
Life returns to normal.
You sleep.
You wake up.
You go outside.
Turn the corner.
The tidal wave is there.
Another turn.
Too late.
You turn back, taking one last look.
It swallows you.
Journal
A small, red covered, worn journal, with blue, green, and pink paper.
It is in the corner of the room.
I walk over, pick it up.
Open it.
Read.
So many memories, all simply
Unwritten
Unremembered
All flooding back, together.
Remembered.
Missed.
And then,
Written.
Some of the people will understand that one from the start, but for those of you that don't, I'll explain it. Last year we used journals in English, but they were really just folders with some paper in them. Still, we called them journals. I only just found mine a bit back, and I read through it all. I had so much stuff in there that I never published, back then, or even now. It brought back memories, one could say. And so I finally thought of something to write about!
This next poem isn't mine. It's Robert Frost's. I really liked it, so I thought I'd just throw it on here.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
So please, comment if you read, spread the word if at all possible, and lastly, thanks for reading.
No, I'm not the only writer from last year using these blogs, there IS another person, who I feel needs more feedback, Abby Davis, if you know her, check it out, if you don't know her, check it out anyways. Here's a link to her blog, http://mybrotherisbrian.blogspot.com
She's just as good as I am(or what some of you make me out to be) if not better, in her own way.
Sleepless
As I lay here,
Sleepless, wondering, thinking, breathing.
Eyes closed.
A futile attempt to lose myself in my own mind,
What's the point.
Eyes open, staying into the black abyss.
Afraid.
Of the upcoming future.
Of the upcoming struggle.
I close my eyes, again.
These fears, shoved back deep down, away,
and I sleep.
At peace.
Abyss Redux
If you look way back into the deep recesses of my blog, you will find a piece titled Abyss. I did this early in the 08-09 school year, so look hard for it. Also, I've made redo's of most of my pieces from that year. Reach for Glory is still upcoming!
Abyss
Holes,
Dark, dank, black.
Falling.
Slowly, tipping over the edge,
Last thoughts thundering throughout your head,
What you did wrong.
What you did right.
And the Abyss claims yet another soul.
Yet, live on in the hearts of others,
Unforgotten,
Immortal, Even In Death.
Leaf Redux
So fast,
But so slow,
The leaf falls.
A journey,
All ended in one fall.
A whole life,
All ended in one day.
The ground, eager to meet this leaf,
Rushes to find this leaf,
Ready to claim in.
Akin to Death.
Still, like a leaf,
As we fall,
somewhere, someone,
is born again.
Lost Redux
Before I even begin to type this redo, I want to first post the original "Lost". It was dedicated to my english class of last year, and to our teacher, Mr. J.
Lost
The end of the day,
it has come, to move us
to the next.
Although we've had so much
experiences
we've all come out
knowing that much more.
Although it is the end,
we are not lost, never lost.
Redux
The morning greets us,
It has come, to find us,
to pick us up, holding us in the sunlight.
Surviving the night.
We've aged,
And changed,
Fell apart.
Still, in times of trial;
Times of anger,
Pain,
Sorrow,
We have found our way,
And we move forward,
Like a breath exhaled from the world's very own oceans, skies, and earth.
Not lost, never lost.
I really dislike the fact most people in our class of last year discontinued the blogs. I felt like it pulled us together, and walking into english didn't feel like walking into english class. Any of us from last year cannot deny that. It's a huge shame only one person from last year actually stay active on the blogs made last year, or at least, there's only one I know of(Besides Mr. J and myself.) Still, thanks everyone who visits for looking at this, and providing feedback. Every single bit helps, and remember: Be harsh, even if you think it was perfect.
Haven't posted in a while.
March on
March, my friends,
March on.
Never give in,
Fight till the end,
And even then, fight more.
Nothing will stop us.
For we march,
March on until the end,
Even beyond that.
Soulless
Color illuminates this world,
Filling it with life.
And Beauty.
Happiness.
But something's wrong.
Holes open,
Sucking,
Vanquishing,
Obliterating,
Killing everything.
Laying waste to all.
And people slow down,
Time slows down,
To a crawl;
The very arms of the clock,
struggling to put another arm forward,
Stop.
Dead.
Lifeless.
And the world is left,
Soulless.
Emotion
Locked away,
In a box, hidden.
Afraid to open the closed door,
To unleash the wave that would,
Flood the world.
With emotion.
A mask, hiding this,
So it stays hidden.
Pull the mask away,
Away.
Nights
The Sun crawls behind the horizon,
Erasing Light throughout the World.
Thinking, breathing.
Could it have been more different?
If only I had more time.
No point in this thinking now.
And I fall asleep.
A Shroud of Darkness
Pull the covers up,
Light the nightlight,
And fear the monsters under your bed.
They're waiting for the slightest mistake,
To grab your hand,
Suck you in,
Make you disappear, forever.
In the Darnkess, forever waiting.
Be careful, little one.
Fate
There are no rules here,
In this world of Fate.
Whatever happens, happens here.
And life goes on.
So please,
Don't worry, or cry.
Don't fear, or hesitate.
Whatever happens, happens here.
So stay here, with me.
In this world,
In this world of Fate.
Now.
Slow down,
Stop the clock,
Don't rush past this one, single, small, moment.
Now.
Don't run through
Flashes of fragments of memories,
Streaking through your mind.
Savor this single moment,
Don't think of anything else,
Live, live here.
Now.
I laughed at this, and I plan on spreading this around a bit, but HIGH FIVE!
http://www.ihighfive.com/
I forgot one entry, whoops.
The Box in which we Are.
Convention.
Periodic.
The Box.
Taught to Be inside of it.
Told to Think outside of it.
And in the end, to Realize.
There is no Box.
There is no empty thing.
There is only one thing.
Innovation, locked awy in the box
Heartbeat
Fleeting, quick.
Gone as fast as it came.
Each beat, one moment.
Lost.
Please,
Don't lose this one heart beat.
Don't waste this one moment.
I don't want it to mean nothing.
It means everything.
And it feels like eternity,
Wrapped in seconds.
If only it'd last
Forever.
And we'd never separate,
Heartbeats,
Beating together.
Fear
Head pounding, he doesn't want to die.
He doesn't want to lose himself.
He doesn't want to lose.
It creeps slowly, searching for his unprotected heart.
It finds him, and
RUSHES, FLIES, ATTACKS!
He screams, his mind broken, his body untouched.
And as it assaults him, it growls, and moans:
"I am here for you, pale HUMAN, FEAR me, for I am the BRINGER of your doom. I am HERE to SUCK away all you hold dear. FEAR me!"
He turns, and closes his eyes in fear.
And he sees home.
Sees his family.
His life flashes.
And he turns, his eyes bright with strength,
And he has the strength to FIGHT.
To LIVE.
When it is only inches from his face,
He bursts out with all the strength he can muster,
knowing the slightest hesitation means death.
And he YELLS:
LEAVE me now, FEAR. LEAVE me and NEVER curse me again with your PRESENCE!
LEAVE me and NEVER return to me! NEVER!
And as his voice rises,
FEAR becomes weaker.
He continues bellowing at FEAR,
It shrinks back,
Until it dies away.
And the current problem aside, he lays, his last thoughts.
Although we can't rid this world of FEAR,
We CAN and we WILL live free of it.
Even after DEATH claims us himself.
Ask for an explanation if you cannot decide on what it means to you, or if you simply wish to see my point of view on this.