Familiar Voices

Familiar voices echo in unlistening ears —

worthless,

both the ears,

and the mindless chatter to fill time.

Do you ask,

why do I ask,

questions I won’t answer

unless it is done in a riddle,

for in truth,

I do not understand

myself.

 

Vacant eyes,

drab,

dreary,

unrecognizable in the mirage of my joy

clouds of deep purple happiness

cover my soul like the storm covers the sun

then you ask yourself,

the quiet voice of doubt,

“Is there a sun,

and so a soul?”

I will not answer,

I no longer care for anything I once did.

I am now self-centered,

the sun of my world of imagination

and closed whispery daydreams,

noting of the old life remains

save those familiar voices,

tombstone worthless,

only a faint memory.

 

March 15, 1998

Advertisements

7 responses to “Familiar Voices

  • Jeanne Elizabeth

    I wonder if I could have benefited from keeping my old writings that held the dreams of my youth? There is no answer that satisfies so I wonder why bother to ask. They are but ashes and from there I can rise stronger or wander in the dust.

    • dtdeedge

      Honestly, speaking from experience, I think I can answer that. And, I do not think the answer would please. It might satisfy, but most likely not please.

      My older works are treasured snapshots of a young man experiencing love and developing into the man who I have become. I lost these once, and I do not plan on letting them go again. I think I have been my own greatest critic/fan/follower, and both the younger and the older me are the better for it.

  • VictoriaJoDean

    “clouds of deep purple happiness
    cover my soul like the storm covers the sun”
    I love that. Deep questions here in your writing. I like the thought of leaving the old behind and pressing on, but I’d want to know I was pressing toward truth, not self, tho my thought of self might not be your thought of self. Your work is strong and beautiful – and open to interpretation, I should think. Beauty in the eye of the beholder?

    • dtdeedge

      a much younger man penned these words,
      and he was indeed in search of self,
      with very little interest in Truth.
      He passed through…darkness…
      and found that self is only a key,
      not the answer.
      I have said goodbye to this man,
      though from time to time he returns,
      and asks again of self – I no longer know how to answer him.

      My thanks for the praise,
      these older pieces are much more open,
      as I was less comfortable in the message,
      trusting rather to the reader
      to develop some of the meaning.

      Enjoy.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Mick On Everything

Just a regular guy who is interested in everything

Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.

HASTYWORDS

Turning Tears & Laughter into Words

A Word From The Raven's Beak

Or whatever I came up with whilst eating cereal this morning

t h i n g s + f l e s h

lyrical essays on songwriting + other mysteries

Syl65's Blog

Poetry, creative writing and a desire to inspire..... Hebrews 11:1 - Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.

Words are mighty

poems, and poems again

Itty Bitty Journeys

Epic Tales of Tiny Adventures

michaelalexanderchaney

literary fictions, flashes, fiascos

All That I Love

Because Writing Is Therapy

poetry by skull

The Musings of N. E. Skull

kellygemmill

The heart has to be able to act against itself. (m.m.)

A Holistic Journey

Finding my way back out of motherhood -- while mothering

Experimental Fiction

"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.

Ouroboros in Arkadia

A work in progress

Nathan Blixt

Art, Text, Code, Design

%d bloggers like this: