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The world stops for nobody, they say.... always passing us by. Nothing stays for long... the only constant is change. So too, is this reflection on one dear friends trials in life. This one is for you, Solt. ( 
solt )
There is something serene about nature, when everything is stripped away.... taking the time to get away from the city, the bustle of life, to slow yourself down. But even nature does not truly stop- the river that runs through the canyon slowly erodes it away even as it seems to be a permanent part of the earth.... the earth shifts, and mountains are formed, or taken away...
Every now and then, we have visitors looking for the splendor of nature that is so abundant in our very back yard. One such buck had come out to the field behind the house, and was sitting there, gazing up through the trees into a brilliant blue sky, fluffy white clouds passing every now and again. Something had been on his mind, but it was not my place to ask, and so I let him be.
Solt sighed quietly in the breeze, ears flicking a bit in the cool zephyr as he sat on a large stone rock, hands idly playing with the grasses nearby. It had been years, now... and yet, so difficult to move on. So many days he spent by her side, loving her, hating her... the words echoed in his mind.
"You can't leave me while I'm in the hospital." She said to him... "I won't hun, I love you." He replied quietly."I love you too. I'm tired now. I have to rest" And she rested.... 2 months later, the buck having never left her side, she passed on from this plane, never having opened her eyes again from the coma she slipped into that day.
A tear came to the bucks eyes as the memory floated around in his head, causing him to look down at his hooves, where there was a single white flower he hadn't noticed before, bending over to pick it up.
It was a delicate flower with many petals.... so beautiful in its simplicity, and yet, like all things, it was fated to pass. Everything he had done..... everything -they- had done, together... it all lead up to this one moment, as he tried to grasp for what had already happened. Holding the flower close to his heart, he turned his gaze to the skies above once more, another tear rolling off his cheek.
"Why...?" He asked the heavens, wondering if she might hear him...it became clear to him then, that everything he had done had brought him here, to this one moment, and that there would be more to come, everything in passing, a momentary transient nature to the world. Love would come and go, just as life does, and that she would not want him to be unhappy... she would always be in his thoughts, but such thoughts should never bring pain.
The white flower smelled sweet in the bucks hands, a small reminder that precious, beautiful things are created, then pass away only to be reborn later, sometimes in different forms...
Solt spent the rest of the day in the circled clearing, watching the sun go down, and remembering her... the good days and the bad days, all the while holding that one single white flower, a different kind of rain falling down upon its petals now and again....
There is great strength in sorrow and grief.... even the things we want to last forever are not immune to change in all its varied forms. Love is eternal, but the people who love and are loved in turn are not.... we must learn to grieve them, to celebrate them, and to move on until the day the world no longer turns, the sun no longer rises, until the day we ourselves pass from this earth.
Thank you Solt, for sharing this with me. I'll always be here for you. You have my word, dear buck. May this music help you along your way in life. *he bows quietly*
solt ) There is something serene about nature, when everything is stripped away.... taking the time to get away from the city, the bustle of life, to slow yourself down. But even nature does not truly stop- the river that runs through the canyon slowly erodes it away even as it seems to be a permanent part of the earth.... the earth shifts, and mountains are formed, or taken away...
Every now and then, we have visitors looking for the splendor of nature that is so abundant in our very back yard. One such buck had come out to the field behind the house, and was sitting there, gazing up through the trees into a brilliant blue sky, fluffy white clouds passing every now and again. Something had been on his mind, but it was not my place to ask, and so I let him be.
Solt sighed quietly in the breeze, ears flicking a bit in the cool zephyr as he sat on a large stone rock, hands idly playing with the grasses nearby. It had been years, now... and yet, so difficult to move on. So many days he spent by her side, loving her, hating her... the words echoed in his mind.
"You can't leave me while I'm in the hospital." She said to him... "I won't hun, I love you." He replied quietly."I love you too. I'm tired now. I have to rest" And she rested.... 2 months later, the buck having never left her side, she passed on from this plane, never having opened her eyes again from the coma she slipped into that day.
A tear came to the bucks eyes as the memory floated around in his head, causing him to look down at his hooves, where there was a single white flower he hadn't noticed before, bending over to pick it up.
It was a delicate flower with many petals.... so beautiful in its simplicity, and yet, like all things, it was fated to pass. Everything he had done..... everything -they- had done, together... it all lead up to this one moment, as he tried to grasp for what had already happened. Holding the flower close to his heart, he turned his gaze to the skies above once more, another tear rolling off his cheek.
"Why...?" He asked the heavens, wondering if she might hear him...it became clear to him then, that everything he had done had brought him here, to this one moment, and that there would be more to come, everything in passing, a momentary transient nature to the world. Love would come and go, just as life does, and that she would not want him to be unhappy... she would always be in his thoughts, but such thoughts should never bring pain.
The white flower smelled sweet in the bucks hands, a small reminder that precious, beautiful things are created, then pass away only to be reborn later, sometimes in different forms...
Solt spent the rest of the day in the circled clearing, watching the sun go down, and remembering her... the good days and the bad days, all the while holding that one single white flower, a different kind of rain falling down upon its petals now and again....
There is great strength in sorrow and grief.... even the things we want to last forever are not immune to change in all its varied forms. Love is eternal, but the people who love and are loved in turn are not.... we must learn to grieve them, to celebrate them, and to move on until the day the world no longer turns, the sun no longer rises, until the day we ourselves pass from this earth.
Thank you Solt, for sharing this with me. I'll always be here for you. You have my word, dear buck. May this music help you along your way in life. *he bows quietly*
Category Music / All
Species Horse
Size 120 x 119px
File Size 5.3 MB
Expressing one's own emotions with one's skill is a talent. Being able to express and empathize with someone else's emotions with that talent, is a gift. It's also one of those gifts, which was made for the giving. When we are given talents, we are given those gifts, so that we can give to others in turn. That giving, in itself, I think, is part of its own reward, and what gives back to us. As we do live life, and we give of ourselves to each other out of honest love, I think that forges more than memories. I believe it forms something which goes beyond the mere transient nature of this world. Bodies may pass, maybe even be forgotten. I do not believe, however, that the soul does. Perhaps that makes me old-fashioned.
I considered not commenting, but not out of dislike for the song.
It's beautiful, but the more i hear it the more I feel compelled to lament. I miss her like the devil misses heaven.
We both knew she was not going to live a long life and talked about it from time to time, but I always reassured hr that she was going to bug me to death first. We wasted quite a bit of time in our early years constantly loving and then hating one another. In 2004 I wrote about this dance.
Pirouette
My existence is weak and dances with oblivion, such pointless partnerships that spin and dip clinging to their existence. Tired feet are suffered and a sore neck burns through the snaps of what use to be our fluid movements. We are the statues of ash, the extension of burned cigarettes, and the slightest breath could end us. The slightest breath could send us on our way and where we end up depends on how we have lived. And I have read that a poet can have no higher purpose then to tell the truth about the human condition, but I won't condense our tragic language into a practiced way of living. We have perfected the stepping on of toes and repeated it's patterns as anthem of our union. Imperfection glistens in the ballroom decorated with destruction where once hung our beautiful love.
Inflected movements from exhaustion ring out to silence with the cynic pair. Silence that spanned sentences until we had managed to protest again. Pirouetting together in relative motions of our differences, we spin our comedy. Curvatures of spines grinding away painfully to write each others endings. A Shakespearean tragedy where no one lives and all is lost. We were the single pawns in our own conspiracy and secretly loved beneath the sheets of our bickering. Always contrasting, smiling in the face of violence and laughing to one anther's tears.
I went on to write many ore poems that revolved around us foolishly doing the things that we did to one another, But always held a sense that we were so madly in love. And I stress the term mad. We were always brittle egg shells. You can find reoccurred elements in prose and poetry.
Times Aren't Bad
"There was a girl from Florida
She was one of my first loves
She made me feel emotion
But I still hurt more then I should
Back when we had a chance
I was all for when times were good
But I left her in the hospital
I would call her now if I could."
Holding Slip to Sign a Plan
"So I’m going to sing a song alone then
Return to a house that’s not a home,
Crawl into my bed and dream of dreams
Where I’m dead and gone or
holding you, that keeps me holding on."
Closed Hands
"But you are right, I feel too much, This emotion is in my blood.
Yes It hurts, I wrote this once, they contradict, so much for love.
But I love still, I love still, I can't be dead, I still feel.
So I must be the only one who appreciates how great that feeling is.
No, impossible, it's just distance, in between me and them."
It was usually during out moments of 'hate' that were no more then stubbornness or petty pride keeping us from working things out. We truly perfected stepping on each others toes, and it would be years before I found myself able to do what she did with so much... humble grace. She would always come back with a declaration of peace, all fingers crossed and eyelash wishes. And I miss her for it.
Eventually we grew up and realized the more important things in life. Each other. She always carried a quote of mine from one of our arguments. It was a turning point for us. I said it blind in my frustrations but it's existence changed the world between us... or started to.
"We stare at the cracks in the sidewalk while the buildings collapse at our feet."
http://runihura.deviantart.com/art/.....racks-15873684
And then, after a life time of arguments, there was only love left on the battle field.
"Less Than Three (A happy song)"
Less Then Three (a happy song)
"I use to sing about a girl on the Gulf
Now all I do is scream of a woman I want.
I swear I'd take those hospital bills.
I'd take her prescription for pills.
I'll take all those painful nights.
Trying to sleep under hospital lights.
I'll trade her broken strings.
I'll make her laugh all the same.
And in the end.
There will be no regret.
I've made up my bed.
With two pillows - well hell
Why not six.
There will be comfort had
couch, grass, bed, or sand.
What ever stretch of land.
I'm god damned happy
we're stuck together in the end. "
For those confused by the two lines about pillows. A single man is likely to have only two pillows. A married man will possibly have six pillows for decoration. That's just the way it goes some times.
And finally
Language of Lovers
"Lovers speak to lovers
in the language of whispers
where lips and tongue
and language sung
heart to heart
and part my breath
of secrets that aren't secret
like ''I love you''s and "I mean it's"
And we take our insecurity
tear them up and then make peace
with lips to lips and cheek to cheek
this blush consumed by body heat.
in a dance meant for just two to see.
that make separate days slowly creep
with a sad feeling of so lonely
and I'm not alone it's us you see
that share the weight of time that waits
like our only want ends together but
starts with stay.
And I've written so much sad poetry
bad poems that ruin all good things
but I'm stable now with steady hands
a softer heart with all to give
so now when I smile and cup my hands
I hope you see the difference.
There's nothing there, I am free.
And in the end before we sleep
when you body presses back to me
and my arm finds it's resting place
and lips meet neck and slowly stick
with a kiss then follows a hot wet breath
and confesses love through the glow that's left
with promises that deny time exists
there will be truth in spoken words
of the language sung
of secrets that aren't secrets
In our "Love you"s and out "Mean it"s"
I love you, and I mean it Terra.
So now she is free of her pains and all of the constant hospital visits.
I am free of this beast that buried itself in my chest so long ago. I know how to love.
And I can say that I've loved someone to the end of their life. You have no idea how much that feeling swells inside me. It wasn't long, but I loved her all the way to the end.
It's beautiful, but the more i hear it the more I feel compelled to lament. I miss her like the devil misses heaven.
We both knew she was not going to live a long life and talked about it from time to time, but I always reassured hr that she was going to bug me to death first. We wasted quite a bit of time in our early years constantly loving and then hating one another. In 2004 I wrote about this dance.
Pirouette
My existence is weak and dances with oblivion, such pointless partnerships that spin and dip clinging to their existence. Tired feet are suffered and a sore neck burns through the snaps of what use to be our fluid movements. We are the statues of ash, the extension of burned cigarettes, and the slightest breath could end us. The slightest breath could send us on our way and where we end up depends on how we have lived. And I have read that a poet can have no higher purpose then to tell the truth about the human condition, but I won't condense our tragic language into a practiced way of living. We have perfected the stepping on of toes and repeated it's patterns as anthem of our union. Imperfection glistens in the ballroom decorated with destruction where once hung our beautiful love.
Inflected movements from exhaustion ring out to silence with the cynic pair. Silence that spanned sentences until we had managed to protest again. Pirouetting together in relative motions of our differences, we spin our comedy. Curvatures of spines grinding away painfully to write each others endings. A Shakespearean tragedy where no one lives and all is lost. We were the single pawns in our own conspiracy and secretly loved beneath the sheets of our bickering. Always contrasting, smiling in the face of violence and laughing to one anther's tears.
I went on to write many ore poems that revolved around us foolishly doing the things that we did to one another, But always held a sense that we were so madly in love. And I stress the term mad. We were always brittle egg shells. You can find reoccurred elements in prose and poetry.
Times Aren't Bad
"There was a girl from Florida
She was one of my first loves
She made me feel emotion
But I still hurt more then I should
Back when we had a chance
I was all for when times were good
But I left her in the hospital
I would call her now if I could."
Holding Slip to Sign a Plan
"So I’m going to sing a song alone then
Return to a house that’s not a home,
Crawl into my bed and dream of dreams
Where I’m dead and gone or
holding you, that keeps me holding on."
Closed Hands
"But you are right, I feel too much, This emotion is in my blood.
Yes It hurts, I wrote this once, they contradict, so much for love.
But I love still, I love still, I can't be dead, I still feel.
So I must be the only one who appreciates how great that feeling is.
No, impossible, it's just distance, in between me and them."
It was usually during out moments of 'hate' that were no more then stubbornness or petty pride keeping us from working things out. We truly perfected stepping on each others toes, and it would be years before I found myself able to do what she did with so much... humble grace. She would always come back with a declaration of peace, all fingers crossed and eyelash wishes. And I miss her for it.
Eventually we grew up and realized the more important things in life. Each other. She always carried a quote of mine from one of our arguments. It was a turning point for us. I said it blind in my frustrations but it's existence changed the world between us... or started to.
"We stare at the cracks in the sidewalk while the buildings collapse at our feet."
http://runihura.deviantart.com/art/.....racks-15873684
And then, after a life time of arguments, there was only love left on the battle field.
"Less Than Three (A happy song)"
Less Then Three (a happy song)
"I use to sing about a girl on the Gulf
Now all I do is scream of a woman I want.
I swear I'd take those hospital bills.
I'd take her prescription for pills.
I'll take all those painful nights.
Trying to sleep under hospital lights.
I'll trade her broken strings.
I'll make her laugh all the same.
And in the end.
There will be no regret.
I've made up my bed.
With two pillows - well hell
Why not six.
There will be comfort had
couch, grass, bed, or sand.
What ever stretch of land.
I'm god damned happy
we're stuck together in the end. "
For those confused by the two lines about pillows. A single man is likely to have only two pillows. A married man will possibly have six pillows for decoration. That's just the way it goes some times.
And finally
Language of Lovers
"Lovers speak to lovers
in the language of whispers
where lips and tongue
and language sung
heart to heart
and part my breath
of secrets that aren't secret
like ''I love you''s and "I mean it's"
And we take our insecurity
tear them up and then make peace
with lips to lips and cheek to cheek
this blush consumed by body heat.
in a dance meant for just two to see.
that make separate days slowly creep
with a sad feeling of so lonely
and I'm not alone it's us you see
that share the weight of time that waits
like our only want ends together but
starts with stay.
And I've written so much sad poetry
bad poems that ruin all good things
but I'm stable now with steady hands
a softer heart with all to give
so now when I smile and cup my hands
I hope you see the difference.
There's nothing there, I am free.
And in the end before we sleep
when you body presses back to me
and my arm finds it's resting place
and lips meet neck and slowly stick
with a kiss then follows a hot wet breath
and confesses love through the glow that's left
with promises that deny time exists
there will be truth in spoken words
of the language sung
of secrets that aren't secrets
In our "Love you"s and out "Mean it"s"
I love you, and I mean it Terra.
So now she is free of her pains and all of the constant hospital visits.
I am free of this beast that buried itself in my chest so long ago. I know how to love.
And I can say that I've loved someone to the end of their life. You have no idea how much that feeling swells inside me. It wasn't long, but I loved her all the way to the end.
I have no words to explain the song, nor the reaction I had to it.
Solt. . . . . you have my condolences. I am sure this is very hard for you. I only hope that there are those who are around to help you through this time in your life.
I am sorry if I am out of line in anything I have said.
Solt. . . . . you have my condolences. I am sure this is very hard for you. I only hope that there are those who are around to help you through this time in your life.
I am sorry if I am out of line in anything I have said.
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