Sailing Sinking Ships

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We live in constant fear, tired and paranoid eyes scanning the gray seas for any signs of their ships. They wish to hunt us down like the supposed criminals we are. Criminals? We are, but mere, dreamers. We do not believe in their petty Gods of selfish goals and pretty furniture. And for that, we are watched and hunted and live under the constant threat of exile.

Exile! But if there were only a place to run away to! Oh well, the world is round and we've been sailing for years. If we knew where this world ended, there would be no need to wander the seas for, what could only be, eternity.

There are many among us who believe that the right boat will come along to pick us up, even though it means doing little more than waiting forever. These men live in the inner cabins of the ship, which they've decorated to look like ordinary homes, barely aware of the journey itself. Many fall asleep holding on to memories that stopped being valuable a hundred thousand years ago.

There are a few who leave us, on small boats, convinced that there is no point in this journey. Often, they return once they realize that the night is a thousand times darker when you are alone. Sometimes, we never see them again.

There are those who believe that the shore will appear on the horizon if we just keep sailing. But we've been sailing for an eternity. The World is round. But I do not have the heart to remind them.

There are some who sit on the wooden deck under moonlit skies and talk in hushed voices. I join them, sometimes, if only to see the stars reflecting in their otherwise tired eyes; faces suddenly years younger than they appear to be under the glaring light of the sun. Their company makes this voyage bearable. Their thoughts make my soul want to cry out at the unfairness of our flight. Their dreams make me smile. Their hope spreads like flames from a candle kept too close to too many sheets of paper.

And then there are those who have thrown themselves into the raging seas, convinced in the madness of stormy nights and thunderous skies, that the only land there is to find lies many many miles under the water's surface. I have seen many rescued from such a plight. And I have seen many faces gasping for air before the waters claimed them forever. I have said many goodbyes.

I choke and drown on memories that have long left the insides of my mind. I think I made a mistake when I turned it inside-out. Now the whole world is in my head. And there's no place left for me in there, anymore.

I have no country to return to. And the land we set out sailing towards seems to be nowhere in sight. This ship and it's crew is the only world that exists tonight. But even the hushed voices of the people with stars in their eyes can't drown out the screams of the drowning. Perhaps the only land that exists is really a thousand miles under water.

They never told us that you couldn't sail the moonlight to the moon...

I think our ship is sinking.

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A New Day

Dawn is breaking, and once again I'm awake to see the light.

Too bad that the line has no metaphoric connotations whatsoever. That would make life simpler, yes? Instead I'm left watching the same stars fade and fall away and the same old beautiful broken moon every time I take a chance and look up.

I've been searching the skies for too long now. Nothing ever changes. Well, nothing significant. I mean sure, sometimes the moon isn't even there. And sometimes a star I get particularly attached to decides to crash and burn, but in the end it's all almost the same. Almost.

They say hell is an endless cycle of similar events. I thought that was how life was defined. But then again, "endless" is pretty huge. Not something I can even dare comprehend without kissing sanity goodbye. Ah, but the only thing longer than forever is never, right? In which case it isn't exactly impossible to imagine eternity. We do so much worse every day.

It should bother me. The fact that I don't even want the sun anymore. But it's already been quietly accepted in a peaceful wisp of smoke. Besides, there are a lot of things that should bother me and don't. Why should this be any different? No reason at all.

Oh, I could fix my sleep cycle. I could sleep at night and socialize in the day. But these words keep floating by: "No one says anything important during the day." So true, and so deftly eliminating my one (make-believe) reason to fix things. Like a head shot.

Everything I need is right in front of me. And I'm not allowed to touch a thing. Because if I do, I can never have the things I want. And never is a very very long time. So, I lean back, close my eyes and let the smoke dance around. Fragile is relative. And Patience is a virtue. Glass is nothing but sand. Sometimes strength can end up becoming beautiful and fragile. But fragile is relative. And the moon always comes back. "Everything under the sun is in tune , but the sun is eclipsed by the moon." Eclipses are what everything is about. And everything is what eclipses are about. Maybe I should relocate, but where can I go to escape the moon? And why would I want to? Songs. Beauty. Silence. Words. Sadness. Memories. Perhaps I'm just an easy person to haunt. Perhaps it's what comes out of waiting on the dark side of the moon. A tear can sometimes help pass time. Me? I prefer cigarettes. I guess sooner or later, I'll have to take that last drag.
But not yet.
Not just yet.