My-Virtual-Me

In a hot summer night, I saw a truth about something dark. Put so clearly into words, it was too much for my heart to cope And I wept for our poor destinies.

I wanted the train to get out of its way Start running where there are no rails As I watched through the windows - a miracle To show me, and carry me on, my own way Not back to that house, again and again, But home.

  We live in a story – not a reality, a mirror of it; Narrated by our minds, Plotted by chance, written with choices and memories; Each with its own world and atmosphere, Characters, meaning, feeling and sceneries. There, there are great escapes, deceptions and insanity; Little illusions for the sake of sleep at night, Daydreams and fantasies, distorting reflections, And blindfolds to avoid seeing; Or highlights and lines of narrative Explaining and merging with everything. But clear and real as it may be, Still a mirror… a story, part-fiction? Remember it.

Rise me above pain, above doubt, Lift me above mist, turmoil and confusion – I want free-flight, Riding the currents of hurricanes.

Those old days… I hear stories about them. Days when fairy tales were easy to happen, And innocence was easily lost… Today real fairy tales are hard, and we are born without innocence.

Oh, really? Does it trouble you to feel the mystery, To see the uncertainty of things…? You chose the wrong role, maybe, Maybe shouldn’t be a questioner.

The sun declines now, the afternoon ends In long shadows and bright, pure rays of light; And I find my heart broken, not hurt or harmed, But struck and shattered by this beauty, Aching with wanting, and with the unanswered; More than unanswered, the unknown, This ocean of such lovely blue, and waters so deep, Where our little boats travel and struggle, And, sometimes, where they sink.

The air touching my face is cold Here, at the end of the pier, At the end of Summer.

A soft breeze, piece of relief, Blowing with the scent of water and of green, Caressing my half-asleep face, Slipping thoughts into my head. Thinking, a flow like the breeze, Soft, nice, fresh and often unperceived, Still half-asleep, like me; Just waiting a few more moments, For full consciousness to surface.

Don't run away, stay, Hold your ground. Stay, despite any Fear or doubt. Answers come, Bravery comes Not if you give up and escape. Stay. Can't run from your own mind.