[old.refrain]
untitiled [2]
this is a very old piece, the first time I discovered the joy of writing without rhyming and rules. i feel a fondness for my younger self, her purity and belief in the world. she was right about a lot.
there's something about that ethereal spark
in the fireworks that celebrate
mistakes and victories alike
something about that sunlit park
where the grown up children find themselves
after their blessings are counted and efforts worthwhile
every possibility my spider web mind had drawn
has turned into the fragile tapestry of today
this poisonous bog is holding back my feet
from reaching the unknown lands
my heart had promised
these blurs of hope are burning out,
that projection of sympathy is coming to a blank screen
and my crawling skin is reminder enough
that i deserve no better than this trap of replaying nightmares and broken reality
but a voice whispers within me
that there's still that something about
dreams conquered and summits reached
and it does not come overnight,
without those staggering tries to climb.