Bonus Blog #1
A long poem on feeling lost : Little Daydream
Have you ever felt lost and lunatic? Here is a dreamy, hazy poem on feeling lost in life. 51 long I hope it captures that confusing emptiness.
Over the horizon,
There stands a ghost.
Nor alive, nor dead,
Oh, this beautiful partial existence.
Going ‘round and around over
What it knows?
Lost in some sort of frosty breeze,
It flies in the skies, like it’s all a little daydream.
Some sort of lullaby forever keeping it asleep
For the body it once had refused to follow
For once it left, just before
it could be ripped by tomorrow.
Now it lives in some sort of empty grassland.
Out of control, it wanders from one place to next,
yet it stays right there, for it’s never moving,
just floating in its own beginning.
So it counts, one, two, three,
what do people believe?
Four, five, six all the way to 12,
Nights turn into days and the cycle repeats.
This clock runs free yet never moves,
just three hands determining the entire world we see.
So what if we remove those three,
Then what time becomes?
Nothing but what we believe.
An eternity, trapped in a world perfectly empty.
Morning 7:30, it’s all as it seemed.
One day, one next,
and so it goes, always.
The ghost of the horizon turns to look
Back or front, it no longer knows.
But this life goes on and on
no clue to where but
there’s this endless circle we call time,
in a twisted labyrinth we call life.
And the circle never ends.
For where it ends, it begins again
and the beginning we madly adore,
is nothing but a beautifully cut end.
So the ghost of the horizon reminds me again,
I turn a year older today,
But what changes apart from the calender’s date?
I ask and it sways
Singing
the same lullaby that kept it asleep
And there we go, from one phase to next,
All ghosts of the same grasslands.
All adrift in some never-ending chase.
Thinking it would get us anywhere,
other than where we began,
pretty lies we tell,
life truly is a wondrous labyrinth.
– S.
Over the horizon,
There stands a ghost.
Nor alive, nor dead,
Oh, this beautiful partial existence.
Going ‘round and around over
What it knows?
Lost in some sort of frosty breeze,
It flies in the skies, like it’s all a little daydream.
Some sort of lullaby forever keeping it asleep
For the body it once had refused to follow
For once it left, just before
it could be ripped by tomorrow.
Now it lives in some sort of empty grassland.
Out of control, it wanders from one place to next,
yet it stays right there, for it’s never moving,
just floating in its own beginning.
So it counts, one, two, three,
what do people believe?
Four, five, six all the way to 12,
Nights turn into days and the cycle repeats.
This clock runs free yet never moves,
just three hands determining the entire world we see.
So what if we remove those three,
Then what time becomes?
Nothing but what we believe.
An eternity, trapped in a world perfectly empty.
Morning 7:30, it’s all as it seemed.
One day, one next,
and so it goes, always.
The ghost of the horizon turns to look
Back or front, it no longer knows.
But this life goes on and on
no clue to where but
there’s this endless circle we call time,
in a twisted labyrinth we call life.
And the circle never ends.
For where it ends, it begins again
and the beginning we madly adore,
is nothing but a beautifully cut end.
So the ghost of the horizon reminds me again,
I turn a year older today,
But what changes apart from the calender’s date?
I ask and it sways
Singing
the same lullaby that kept it asleep
And there we go, from one phase to next,
All ghosts of the same grasslands.
All adrift in some never-ending chase.
Thinking it would get us anywhere,
other than where we began,
pretty lies we tell,
life truly is a wondrous labyrinth.
– S.
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