I posted this (so far) incomplete poem In March of 2012 and I never looked at it again. I wonder if I will ever complete it. I post it here again unedited and needing and end.
I started to write this about 2 months ago while in a weird state, It needs to be finished…
A new day and new opportunities arrive with the risen sun. Many questions about the day and the realization of mysteries it will bring are made evident by the clarity of the light shining through the dormer-window. The light appears to the boy who greets it with a smile, to have been turned on just for him. He’s happy, and wonders how anyone could be otherwise when sharing this gift of warmth and comfort. A comfort, which like the embrace of a dear, faithful friend reminds him that he is loved and cared for, that he is not alone – that any challenges the day might bring can be triumphed over.
Love is the only feeling in his heart, joy is his only expectation, and his only wish is to share both with the world he knows.
A leap, a bound, a happy hurdle over the small space of floor separating a fantasist from the waking dreams just past the door frame; a portal to an infinite space of possibilities. Possibilities, which like any boy, born of another human, he sees as simple, common occurrences of life. It is in this simplicity that he contemplates the complexities of our universe, giving them a chance to be understood again in time and with effort. A boy, just a boy in all his innocent perfection – full of curiosity yet fearful of the unknown, he knows just how far from home to meander, but takes that extra daily step challenging of all that makes him fearful.
Fear, he knows as that which prevents him from going too far, from staying too long or saying too much; it is a contradiction of his need to dig deeper, to stare longer and to say more – it is logic.
He knows of life, and being alive – the feeling of his hands in the dirt while exploring the depth of his earth, and when held by those whom have given him life and chance. He knows of laughter and tears, of pleasure and pain, which come and go like the same sun that makes him smile when it rises to deliver the gentle morning kiss; and waves goodnight as it lingers on the horizon before their slumber. He knows of heroes he will become, damsels he will rescue and seduce, and of magic and monsters he must encounter with every step he ventures farther from his safe quarters.
He lives and he understands without knowing, and is complacent in the idea of not understanding for he knows he will in time; though time itself seems mysterious. He grows, as that same time limiting his experience brings about new lessons. He learns and as he does his innocence begins to die and he inevitably discovers the true essence of his fears. To loose, to die and to be lost – to be separate and distant, devoid of the feeling of discovery and love his hands so perfectly understood a short time ago. To know that the heroes of yesterday are hollow figurines of his limited perception, who shatter under the pressure of his own scrutiny. To feel that his damsels may only look to him for rescuing if his armor may not shine as much as required. He knows that magic cannot be, though monsters abound; and that every extra step he takes can only move him farther from home.
He is a boy, but not just a boy, for in the funeral of his sincerity and innocence, he became a man with different expectations…
— Peyton Dracco
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Yes, I understand the title seems deliberately provocative; why would I claim to return to the underworld when I’ve never been there? But the writing for pleasure part is honest. This title should not imply that I have not enjoyed the work of the last year. No, Invert City is one of my most gratifying projects yet.…
A brief version of Kolt Curry’s history in the financial world.
Your language determines your thinking and by extension your access to reality. Why does Google want you to stop using it?