Day 324: Perfect Keys

Some will say that the perfect state of being is the state of constant motion, never settling down, never lying down ever for a while. For there is no rest for the weary, he cannot come back home, so he go around in circles even if he is not alone. These obsessions with motion, with the idea of not being stuck to something, not being committed to anything like everything else maybe just a phase. Maybe we have found these to be the perfect keys, as we keep moving and shifting our stage. I have not stolen much from the night, maybe just a little company and maybe warmth in the cold winter tonight. As these perfect keys in the background they play, I pack my bags and simply move away.

Perfect Keys
So they played in the corner of my room
With places; I can hear from but cannot see
The pots and pans they lay quiet somewhere
Playing symphony of my mind in perfect keys

These hours of the night, that I refuse to chase
They won't listen to me or you, in time, they will age
For those who cast a shadow even without being close
I write to them in the quiet and behind the closed doors

The cups of tea mellowed, for now, just milk poured into a glass
Just reminders of the things that don't stay, some that pass
At journey's beginning or journey's end, you ask me of what I feel
I just need to move for now, even if I can't find the perfect key

For some these obsessions into the night, will fade in time too
These closed loops of thoughts, and the things we chase as fools
In the storyteller's cradle, a story quietly sleeps for now
As I look for rhythms I find, I know not why and I know not how

Day 323: Confidant

I keep thinking about the secrets we keep with people and the ones that others keep with us. They are not just secrets, they are sometimes hopes and dreams, they are strengths and weaknesses and sometimes smiles and sadness alike. These confidants we trust, these bearers of trust we become and with whom we entrust this, are special in our lives. They are reminders that we are grounded at least a little in those who share these burdens with us and for some we share the same. I write these to the confidants in our lives, the ones who know more about us in the bits and pieces we do choose to share. I keep hoping we never forget that we are always more than mere parts of a whole, we are the whole at least in versions of ourselves.

Confidant
Such are writings that I cannot write
Things I keep secret and cannot confide
For the world must grow as must I
On a restless day or maybe just a clear night

Such are reminiscences of our strongest hour
They are aftertastes of bitter, sweet & sour
When all that we know of has been said & done
We unwind in these who share with us, even if just one

To the ears, that listen, to those who understand
Who refuse to let go and who sometimes take a stand
I want you to know that I listen back too
Even if you say, you want the company in the quiet we knew

To the secret keepers and to those who share
Who have learned, to be honest, and write but bare
The parts of my mind that knows no one better for now
You are a confidant, a friend among the many that I know

I have not learned how to be different, but just to be kind
To lend an ear when you feel that true feelings are hard to find
I am docked like a boat but not caught by the wind or tide
I know of nothing more than invisible trails that I follow sometimes

Day 322: We Are

Sometimes our grandest inspiration, comes from simply being able to define who we are. Are we something that is split into many parts and we call upon each other as needed? Are we parts of a whole, versions that make us better every single day. Are we happiness trapped with just a little sad, are we the sanity we look for when we feel the world maybe driving us mad? I see wonder in spending just some afternoons at best, thinking about nothing just giving your mind a rest. For a few inspiration will simply come and go, at the best and worst of times you will find yourself and you will know. We are who and whatever we are

We Are
We are the hungry few, caught in the act
Trying to read all we can wherever we are at
Divided by so little united by so much
Held in pure memories as we slowly lose touch

We are the crazy ones, in search of fiction in real life
Wishing the best comes rare but comes when we strive
So we fall in love with the very chances that we take
We learn to be better with every other mistake

We are incomplete & yet kept in a picture frame
In the making of something great or that which remains
Finding insight where there may be none to find
We are building memories as the world loses its mind

We are midday escapes from one place to the next
Restless eyes that are far too awake to take rest
So we mellow in songs but we sound so alive
We are who we are, our versions of our best fights