Forceful awakening of Things to come

My image was sequestered in a second's note of surprise;

Taken into submission by unrepentant claws that dragged me into the darkest of alleyways -

And all that could be seen was the clear of my eyes, contradicted by fear and excitement;

Kicking and reaching for a branch of empty air, unable to scream for help

And scaled by the unsettled gasps of uneven thought.  

It was a dream like none too pleasant - and all too unrealistic to be tamed by uncertain immortality;

Being dragged by suspicion, laying blames by the dark.

It was the day of the night - when dreamers are awake and lovers sleep tight;

Emptying devotion to hopelessness, practising lone walks in the park.

Had not the cold sweats of shock awakened me from this dark reveille, I would have figured out the destiny of my forsaken mistakes.

What Fake teeth you have, Grandma! What Fake eyes you have, Grandma! And what Fake words you have, Grandma!

Sometimes, words have a power to describe the unconscious... And in between their lines lie the falsities of their expression - the unmasking of their true meaning is a pointless journey if not endeavoured.

The letters were composed for my eyes to view, and they devoured each sentence; paraphrasing them, almost immediately, in the back of my head.  And I smiled at their make-up.
Had it been known already that this was bound to be brought up?  Certainly!
And how useless they were to the brief sense of relief for their essay contained nothing more than old tales.

These words have been written and re-written many times...I wonder how long until they behave and come to be proper to their age.  No more lies, no more fairy tales, no more edited notes.  Just truth -- and truth is, these blank statements are a mere echo of future laments to come.

Surely, they may be fulfilled to their extreme; as it is fake and to its necessity, for self-confidence's sake, may they be proven logical over time and not just another narrative to be claimed.

The fruit has yet to blossom.

With the Sun at my disposition, I am lost in a trail of warm thoughts

I can't help but wonder if you've finally matured.

How far has life taken you, and where are the manners that you once had lost?
Surely, you contemplate as much under the Sun as I do under the Moon.

It is possible that time, which stands lost in the abyss of your insecurities, has done nothing but remain still - inept, unavailable, and unfaithful to your wants and needs.  But then, you were never clear about your childish desires; unable to distinguish between reality and hopelessness - rather refusing to make peace with your inner and outer self.  So time never moved more quickly than when you were absent from grace.

By day, you were the aesthetic painting of perfection; so ready to be available, seeking acceptance under the embrace of stranger bodies.  By night, you embodied the wishes of escape; so incapable of loving what was granted, seeking distance under the umbrella of comfort due to inaccessible fears.

You had time to practice the discharge of cold, crocodile tears.  And now I wonder if your honesty has rewarded you, or if your many lies have finally taught you important lessons.

And then again, you could still be the one who seeks the fountain of youth; though your aching body demands immediate attention, (if not affection).