Fight The Dawn
An Abstract Legacy

Archive: Jan 2019

Acting

Reposed Requiem

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Coursing the winding roads of this path I have embarked, I often find myself at an impasse. Not for lack of opportunities, as it is usually upon a juncture of new paths that divert across this rolling landscape that I find myself halting. Rather it is because I am struck by mine own reflection.

I often avoid my reflection, bypassing; streams and lakes, mirrors and windows, and even the light emanating from the souls of those I come across. Not wanting to see myself reflected back in all it’s truth and darkness. The hardest test is facing myself.

But it is in these moments of seeming repose that I am forced to look myself directly in the eye and behold all that I have tried to run from. The paths laid out beside me wait in quiet stillness; blocked off unnaturally by the cascading confrontation I am locked in. I cannot look away and I cannot continue until I have dealt with what is before me.

I want to strike out and break this unblinking mirror…but I cannot. I want to tear my eyes away and run far away from this land…but I cannot. I want to destroy everything that I am to dispel the illusion that is before me…but I cannot. I must regard, acknowledge, and attest to everything that I am. I must learn to accept and forgive.

This is not the first time, nor will it be the last. This is part of the journey I have chosen to embark on. Some instances have passed in mere moments, others days, and some have prolonged for months. And while I find myself stuck here today I know that some day tomorrow I will continue forward. As well that even though my feet are motionless in this current melee I am progressing still.

For on the other side I find more humility, greater love, and a deeper connection to the growing world I encounter throughout my travels.

For the present my eyes are locked inwards to my soul and I stare down to the full depths within.

Acting, Dreams, Ramblings, Truth

Life Was Simpler

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I started out with a quiet dream of flying, sailing the winds as the sun warmed me to my conflagrant core. Coursing through these precipitous clouds, feeling the damp dew drift along the edges of my face; outlining the fractal details in an iridescent display of colour. Alone amid the barrier between space and earth, not beholden to one or the other.

I wasn’t a horse in the running. I could slip by unnoticed; no mention of my name. My thoughts weren’t overladen with process or prospects. I could write freely in a flow that formed effortlessly on the blank canvas of my mind. Before it was blotted, torn, and smeared by these dyspeptic years.

Even then the red brick loomed over me but it wasn’t a wall to fight against. It was a place to rest beneath. A friend to block out the harsh sun; a shadow to give respite not an enemy out of spite.

Now my mind is too full while my soul feels the earth’s pull. I stare up at the sky, closing my eyes, and all I can do now is try and remember what it was like to fly. The bright iridescent colours have dulled to gray as my thoughts begin to fray. I used to pretend that all the world was a stage. Now I am locked hopelessly away in knowledge’s cage.

Sonnets

Poem for a Painter

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The all encroaching black has finally won
With only red spilled out amidst the floor:
To be the Stain, the Mark, of all passion,
Which we who view, want after, only more.

From Light to Dark we see the growing storm;
Torrential floods which plague the Artist’s mind.
What we all face from our first breath when born;
A reason to live we can’t seem to find.

O! Yes, the dark ink has taken you home
And now we only see you through your works,
But they have inspired works of my own
And countless more which hidden inside lurk.

And without you they would never see Light
But your inspired Courage gives them flight!

Sonnets

I Hate Poetry

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Underneath all the tears that I do shed
I will always find my way back to you.
For deep down dark inside of this bowed head
Grow machinations to subvert rescue.

For the entirety of my lost life
I have wanted to be a memory.
Cold calloused collateral of calm strife;
An accident of mental history.

But now I am hanging on by a thread
Pushed firmly to the brink of extinction.
The thought that circles round inside instead;
Could I have lived a life of distinction?

Of all the lies that I have said I lived
The current path will be the most abridged.