Voices of Yesterday

Yesterday, we were angry.

Yesterday, we cried for a future we couldn’t see.

Yesterday, we were dreaming,

About a golden apple

Sitting in the palm of our hand

Glimmeringly bright

Blindingly so

With patches here and there,

Of the world.

Yesterday, we were thinking of taking a bite.

Yesterday, we were tall with pride.

Yesterday we were smiling,

About the happiness we hold,

That can hardly be contained

By our small hands

Escaping

Bit by bit…

Yesterday we had a dream so big.

Yesterday we were unafraid of chasing it.

Yesterday we were loving—loved.

But today is another day

To trudge along

Through the daily grind

Thinking about yesterday…

And all the things

We had nearly done

If the world hadn’t conspired

To be forgivably cruel.

Tomorrow, we will do as always.

Tomorrow, we will feel that spark again.

Tomorrow, we will dream once more,

Of the voices of yesterday,

And we will find what we have lost,

In the time that takes us by

Without us knowing

As we see more clearly

And less of the rose

That protected our childhood innocence…

Yesterday gave us today,

Today is just a day,

Tomorrow let us look

Once more

For those voices of yesterday.

Age

Age is no reason

To say ‘life sucks’.

Age is no reason

To say ‘it’s too late’.

Age is a dream

That so many want.

Age is a line

That needs is constantly out of reach.

Age is tomorrow

And tomorrow,

And tomorrow.

Age is defined

By experience.

Age is an opening

For the future.

Age is not just

The lines on your face

The smoothness of your skin

The coarseness of your hands.

Age is a glass

Half empty

Half full

Filled

Waiting to be filled,

With the liquid of life.

Age is no reason

To say ‘life sucks’.

Age is no reason

To say ‘it’s too late’.

Age is undefined

By lines

By shadows

By experience.

Age is the gift of life,

Keep dreaming,

Keep living.

[N.B] I was inspired to write this because I just so happened to be watching The Internship again with Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn.   Even time I watch that movie, I get this warm happy feeling in me, and I feel uplifted.  Happy.  My favourite part of the movie is the fact that despite age, the two main characters work hard in the face of what seems like the impossible in the current employment climate to get out of the blender.  I also like how they give hope to the young people, and teach them to dream.   Being relatively young myself and finding myself in a similar position to those kids in the movie–a literal fear of being unemployed, of not being able to get a job when you finish undergrad–I really relate to this movie, and I really love how in many ways, it tells you to dream, to try, to give it your all.  I’m always dreaming, and of course, still being realistic.  I believe, if you have a dream, you work at it, because along the way, all those other worries you have–not having a job, of being independent, they’ll solve themselves along the way if you stay true to yourself, to who you want to be, and not stray from that path.  Of course I’m being a hopeless optimist here, and maybe in a few years life might make me more cynical, but I hope, so long as I’m doing what I love, and that I still love it in the future, I will still be a dreamer.  And I should that those who have the experience and age, don’t stop dreaming.  Because even though life seems like it’s long gone, it doesn’t mean you can’t fulfil a long desired dream!  I know of someone who is finally going to fulfil her life’s wish even though she’s mature and constantly thinking ‘I’m too old now’.

I hope out there, whatever your age, I hope you guys are still dreaming too.  

We Are Worlds Apart.

We are worlds apart,

Living in a different dream,

Searching for that special other something.

 

We dance to lyrics unknown to us,

Unafraid of the eyes upon us,

We dance living forever in the moment.

 

We believe in yesterday,

And look towards the days forward,

With fingers crossed, and hope abound.

 

We sing to tunes from the star world,

Unafraid of the alien song that comes,

As though we have known it for all our lives.

 

We hope in silence,

Counting the seconds, wishing on the stars,

Believing like we have never believed before.

 

We read the words of foreignness,

Embracing in the exoticness,

Reciting poetry that we would not have before.

 

We know we are,

Somewhere safe in our fears,

Ready to face what comes right after.

 

We are worlds apart,

Dying with the same belief,

That we have lived as the ones before,

Facing our fears,

Overcoming obstacles,

Until we can say,

We are:

Satisfied, happy and,

Brimming with life.

The Constellations of Tomorrow.

We like to dream of the impossible,

Search for the wilderness that we know exists,

Find our deepest regrets buried at the bottom,

And bury them in a grave of life at its best.

I see the future written in the stars,

In the constellations of tomorrow,

That remain for a lifetime,

Unchanged,

Even though,

They are a million light years away,

Changing before our eyes,

Even though we can’t yet see,

The future that it brings.

I look for tomorrow,

In a pool of water,

In the middle of a forest,

I’ve never been before,

Like a princess,

Waiting for a prince,

Making a wish,

For something better

Than what I have.

But there’s something beautiful,

In the present day,

And present life,

Moving forward and looking ahead,

Exchanging promises and vows,

And gifts for the future.

I see the past set in stone,

And ponder on the darkness in my heart.

It sets like mud,

Sludge, thick and inescapable.

It clings to me,

Hauntingly,

A reminder of what I have done,

And lost.

But the constellations in the sky,

Of Orion,

Of the Pot,

Of the Southern Cross.

They burn brightly,

Shining hotly,

In the midnight white darkness,

Giving us a light,

Accompanying the moon,

And all her glory,

I see my future,

Maybe not brightly,

But the hope is there,

In the Constellations of Tomorrow.

Quote #72

 

 

From John Lennon…

“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?”

The Dark Days.

 

I hate the nights,

That are lonely.

I hate the light,

That pours through my curtain.

It dazzles me,

Sparkling and beautiful,

I don’t deserve it,

I almost don’t want it.

But it holds me,

Embraces me,

Slices my heart to pieces,

Tearing for that one bit,

Where I hide my darkest thoughts.

“Wake up,”

A voice whispers,

Somewhere,

Above?

Below?

In my head?

I wake,

My lips are dry,

My throat is parched.

I can’t breathe.

The air is not there,

Not in there,

Not anywhere.

Where am I?

I wake.

There’s water around me.

Bubbling,

Forming,

Creating a space,

Where I can’t breathe.

I wake,

I’m crying.

My hands are clawing

For a person I don’t know.

Save me!

“Wake up.”

My heart pounds just a bit,

The light is receding.

Somehow,

It doesn’t burn anymore.

“Wake up”

I hear.

It’s just a voice,

Low,

Male,

Warm.

I wake again.

My head is clear.

My eyes aren’t flimy,

Aren’t blurry,

Aren’t afraid.

They’re open,

To the bright light,

To the world,

To the eyes of the guy,

Looking right at me.

It’s a straight, defiant

Gaze.

He saved me,

From the darkness

I was sinking in.

Somehow I’m not scared anymore.

Somehow, I passed through the darkness.

“How are you feeling?”

He said.

And I look at him,

He seems so normal

In this room.

It’s like his face doesn’t match his voice.

“Better.”

“Better?  That’s an improvement”

“An Improvement?”

He nods, makes a mark on his board.

“Congratulations.”

I see the sign on the wall,

It’s a scribble in my writing.

I know,

I remember now.

I’d called that feeling of sinking,

The dark days.

The Summer Days.

One day passes after the other, hot and sweltering, yet the sparkling highlight.  Summer, drowsy, hot and humid, the beach, the waves.  They crash against me.   I wrap my arms around my boyfriend.  ‘I love you.’  I remember why we’re together.  He’s the only one who makes me smile and laugh in the summer heat.

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Eighteen.

The final chapter…is called ‘Coming Home’

 

PART EIGHTEEN>

COMING HOME

…The day of my home coming was hot, just like the day we left.  It was seasonably hot but, I think, it was much hotter.  And like with 80% of most home comings I could feel the final anticipation of the journey.  My eyes were tired, not just from travelling, but from the after effect of travelling.  It was like a project that was coming to an end.  My heart was racing and my fingers were sweating lightly.  This anticipation, it was like I’m waiting for that one moment, the final moment the car pulled up into the drive, and I can say “I’m home.”

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Seventeen.

And the end is slowly coming!

PART SEVENTEEN>

…There’s something strangely beautiful about an Australian countryside.  Especially in the Victorian South East, the Gippsland area, where within the mass of outstretched forestry, there are farmlands.  It’s these that quench my eyes.  It’s these that I find beautiful.  They hold my attention, spreading for acres on end, green and gold, horizontal and vertical.  Cut in various shapes, but bare, all the same.  It’s like a picturesque landscape by some artist.  It’s still and bare of life, yet thriving in absolute wonder.  I see all this from high above and my thirst for beauty is quenched.  It’s so beautiful that I can’t even explain it…

 

A Quaint dream: Words and thoughts, passages of prose, like a faint passing dream from my recent trip. Part Sixteen.

I guess I must have seen another rock filled valley or maybe it was the same one, because I wrote this.

 

PART SIXTEEN>

…I stand in a bed of rocks, grey and flat, barely a trickle of water slipping past.  I can feel the rushing water washing my ankles clean.  I can feel the dirt disappear and the current tugs me down.  This used to be a river.  It is no more… 

 

Quote #17; Quote #18; Quote #19; Quote #20.

“Are You Living Your Dream?”

“Follow Your Dreams”

“Why Did You Stop Dreaming When You Woke Up?”

“If You Never Chase Down Your Dreams You’ll Never Catch Them”

“Believe In The Beauty Of Your Dreams”

The Dream Weaver.

It came to my attention this morning when I was looking through my Word document where I keep all my 55 fiction, that I had not posted this particular story yet.  Haha I was certainly surprised, but nonetheless, here it is for you!

Now, I have to make note several things first.  This image I’ve attached to it, is one I drew a while back.  This same image is on my deviantart page (click here to view).  What’s more, I also made use of a poem by Edgar Allan Poe (since he’s just awesome :p), but it probably isn’t viewable – depending on how big the image turns out, sooooo I have another link (click here to view the full poem, Dreams by Edgar Allen Poe)

The Dream Weaver (She who creates the colours and weaves of dreams)

She who creates the colours and weaves of dreams

The girl rolled about in her sleep.  Her dream tormenting her fragile soul.  A shadow descends over her, the figure’s hands wrapped in string.  She wove.  Light poured out from her hands and a thread snaked through the air to touch the girl.  The girl sighed and rolled once to cuddle her blanket.

“Dream well.”