pessimystical

I decided not to do Christmas this year in favor of saving up the cash for starting a business. Now christmas is hunting me down. All of my friends and family are still sending me gifts and begging me to come to their gift exchange events. I wish the magnanamous and compulsive nature of this holiday could somehow be muted, briefly, for those whose needs exceed the tradional impulses of affirmation seeking kith and kin. But, enough of my complaints... here's more poetic drivvel

"For We"

All the things that you wished for....
all the dreams that we reached for...
I can not be
I am not... for we
are not the "we" we've searched for.

In the days of truth
we knew, we knew then, but
there is now and all we
have is now, and now is harder,
now is much more than before.

I am not the things you dreamed
You are not the things you seemed
and the truth tears the heart right out of me.

I could build upon these ashes
make the world a light that flashes
draw the darkness from the sashes
and sing your name although it clashes
with the truth
I'd swear and bare and share my
senses with the ruthlessness of youth
and be reborn unto the truth
yet there is no proof
I must remove my need for truth
and trust in you
if there is to be we
I do.

But what shadows do you see
what curse takes you from me?
You color all of me one shade
and make your rule upon that grade.
You judge me for my faults,
my thoughts, my dreams in somersaults
and make me sorrowed for the
salt's within my wounds.

You brandish irons of spite
wrong or right, and light the
torturous night with cold gray
beams, nightmares take flight
in the glare of one pair of dark
eyes with the sight to compare
and lay bare what was once
in me right, but now, in this now,
so much more, far from shore
and the tide so much colder
to skin so much older
and a heart to weary to shoulder
the burden once more.

Out there on the horizon
the sun sets upon a memory
the time when "we" was just me
the fool and his dream of colors
so clean in the brightest of lights
the sight of those eyes reflecting
truth and the night was a playground
whose sounds were the song of
the right in "we".

Look now and you'll see
where are we?
Out there on that memory
and I can no longer be
the one who alone wishes
for we.

Kriston Preston