The romantic poet, artist and architect
lover of words and the art of conversation, which seems to be fading due to internet world; so a piece of me and my inner thoughts:
In his darkness he had lost that he never had, lost feelings of closeness and touch, lost the warmth of a heart.
Yet in his dreams she still remained, hidden within his shadows that her words create. Words that beckoned him to the walk the path of shadows, to cross from light into dark, to follow her, stalk her by the night, yet she remained beyond his touch.
He heard her whispers within his head, the call of her song daring him to do so "if you knew me, you know me, then you must know where I hide, find me, take me to the light that is still dark, there you and I can be".
But his dreams end with the birth of day and her song of promise of the freedom of darkness fades. Her words fragment becoming shadows of memories of a now broken path. The path he so desired to tread, for beyond his first step she waited, waited for his chase.
For she knew once she had drawn him towards the darkness there their words could run free, their words would entangle, light and dark, where one word existed because of the other.
But how could he, one that so wished to answer her call, get one shadow to meet the next? All he could do was wait for night to fall to start his dream yet again and again so all nights that had gone before.
And within his twisted dreams his life was so straight, yet in life his world remained buckled and tormented, for he had lost that he never had. He saw this truth, his world within their faces, false faces that smiled when he passed, other dreamers, other citizens, other shadows.
Yet in their eyes he could see beyond their twisted smiles to their hidden screams, he could see within their small minds, touch their thoughts, caress their deepest emotions. He knew all their beautiful dreams must someday die, that they would end up like him, the forgotten dream.
For his words lay within the shadows, and as the sun died the shadows grew and his words became longer, twisted and disfigured. Shadow and words merged, became so entangled they were one. He the 'dead poet' could see all this from the very glimpse of the citizens that he past. It was written within their eyes, each eye that held a universe of their own, a place that once shone of a life of its own, eyes that once saw the world as the child, everything a new, bright and amazing. But now with each universe he saw, he saw beyond their fake smiles into the very depths of their shadows that grew.
He could even see the seeds of shadows within passing children of the citizens, though their eyes still shone; but he knew with age the world changes, that we no longer become immortal, our fear of life and death grows, to fear lost love, lost meaning; loose the ability to question, 'why is that so' ?
All this he could see in one simple moment and he saw it time and time again in each crowd of false smiles. He could blur all their shadows in to one, read their fear as one book, one novel, read their hidden pain, pain that was written for all and that all would fear. And the title of this book, 'Our immortality whilst dying without care'. Care, love or friendship, any such word would do, the story was the same, the words within just told of the words that masked their screams with smiles.
Yet when he closed his eyes theirs were gone.
He could remember his lost dreams, still see the world through a child's eyes, marvel at why all things fought to live and did not just choose to die. He still dreamt of the chase, of her song, her words, the touch of a breath, her life, her dreams.
With closed eyes his eyes still shone. They shone brighter than theirs, a place where light is still dark. Where he the 'citizen of shadows' was no longer a slave to the chase, but running free, free with words that created to her and her words created him. Words that existed because one word created the other.
Because now he knew her and had known of her for all of his time, he knew where she hid, knew where to find her, knew where light is still dark.
She was hidden within his dreams as he, the dead poet, was hidden within hers and there their words could touch
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I am seeking someone genuine so tired of fakers there seems to be a hell of lot of them on boths sides here I am hoping to find someone genuine
I am not interested in cybering or playing games with people that are not real.
