Unsettling Straits.

A fortnight now, perhaps the least of expected steps he's ever taken; means a ton to him. A reset.

He'd watch the skies for a sign, he saw the sparrows skim beneath the hot summer breeze; unrelenting heat waves bearing down on forlorn pieces shattered by man and time.

Today is that day he decided to take stock; not of the time, but of the weight that it imbues. His shoulders set straight, a vast sea of unknowns lies before him, it's a familiar but far off feeling.. Everything is working like a cog, familiar feels. Takes the mind of the edge.

He has a permanent recollection of what the past has done to him; he's learned that, acceptance comes from within.. the bit where one is left on their own, to fend for themselves albeit with a watchful eye hovering above every step he makes.

He believes, he yawns... Time's not been kind.

Unsettled but definitely at peace. What was spoken in ages gone by, so be it. Acceptance.

Finding joy, finding peace, gaining perspective and mostly rising from the ashes.

A reset. He won't forget. You swooped in at the crack of dawn, and stole an ancient blessing. Then backed out. It will hit home: One day at a time.

In his mind, Michael Holloway Belts a piece called The Forlorn Heart

Alone in the company of myself

How the walls seem ghostly quiet

Thoughts drift to a romance broken

The girl that never was or could not be

Stay my tongue lest I speak ill of love

The words of a broken heart are fierce

And sharp as any blade ever known

Cutting into the depths of the soul

The silence of the night haunting

And I alone mourn my own heart

What love, what girl I shall not name

For it pains to speak such words

And these walls, empty as they are

Have become my tomb, farewell love

Alone with a broken heart I yield

That which I was never to know

Were I a greater man than I

How would my own company stand

Would I know it alone at all

Would I know these ghostly walls

As I know too well my heart

My loves sad quiet demise

The forlorn heart exists

Where there is only myself and I

A subscript of an equation that is not collectively exhaustive. Time tells many Tells.

Memoirs #1 of Peszt.

Comments

Learning the ropes.

A reset is something that hits you when you least expect it. Just like sickness, it knocks at your door at odd hours, bringing with it a period of great adjustments and shifts. A bit of a background story, a couple of weeks ago, I was reading an anecdote by Norman Vincent Peale (the father of positive thinking) where the author posits that one should change their thoughts if they wish to change the world. This got me thinking; all those instances where I have seen people on the streets or in restaurants in seemingly boisterous conversations and showing broad smiles unassumingly made me think that they might be living life happier than mine. I assumed that they were happier than me or even smarter than me. Instances are rife where we sit in our little apartments imagining what it would be like to be someone else. That feeling that we often behold that everyone around you seems to be doing better than you, or the one where we feel that piles upon piles of decks are stack...

He Remembers.

He’d write you this letter, but he knows, the good ol’ days are gone. blame the vagaries of life. The bits that used to make your heart fluster; the butterflies in your stomach? This are words, poured into this piece, to remember a graceful person, to honor a time that made his world a place to relish. Truth be said, weathering this time is daunting and he got no idea how it is going to be. He’s held onto hope; he knows too well of it’s tingling taste in his mouth. He’s beheld countless nights of little to no sleep and unsettled sighs and heaves, oh the world that was! The song titled For You by John Denver bellows through the dark headphones tightly holding his sanity together, He can’t help but feel every second and minute pass by so slowly. That is a song he would be singing in the shower with an upbeat mood, relishing the gifts of life. It’s a heavy one this bit, He doesn’t know if his shoulders can hold onto the weight really. He is scared, not that the world’s turned colder...

The Psychology Of Color.

I came across this collection of colors and its psychological meaning and found great references that I can relate with. " Mere color, unspoiled by meaning, and unallied with definite form, can speak to the soul in a thousand different ways. - Oscar Wilde . " Picture Courtesy of inspirationalfeed.com Have a wonderful weekend up ahead! Gerry

Random Stirrings of The Mind.

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