Introspective

One must dig deeper to find the true BS within.

Confusion

The jumble of twisted hardware that is the brain. Confused by the simple play of events that is life. Hazy are the days that went just right. In the sludge of fact made fiction there is nothing but, confusion.
Confusion, Confusion it’s just a delusion . That seems to be reality. What is real and what is not. Is the person that you portray real or is the person that you aren’t real ? When the subconscious is in full focus, is that confusion or is it just another play on reality. At the end of this maze the thing that is still there is confusion.
The play of bewilderment still goes on . Racking the brain for the solution . The outcome is still the same.
CONFUSION. . .
The fog has not cleared. The quest for clarity still rages forward. But we remain still on the isle of confusion.


The Master Plan

The battle lines have been drawn. The fight between the logical and illogical mind. The gun is in my hand and the feeling is just right. It is finally time. Time...
Our battle have been raging since the dawn of an era. To give into a desire of the darkest of nature. The mere thought of entertaining them gives the mind pleasure. A Voice...
The sound of sweet chimes. Suppresses the notions and blind sides the mind. The gun is still in my hand but, the feeling is fading. I see that the battle is still forging on. The logical has regained control. The gun falls to the ground. The illogical is dazed. This is just another battle where nothing was really lost. The fact sanity prevailed just left another opening. Opening...
The chance to entertain or even act out the darkest of desires.


Why Me?(Multiple Sclerosis's Survivor)

I never asked myself, Why me? I know of my illness and of its horrible effects. I can't recall saying, Why me? I cannot imagine, sitting and worrying about it. Never did I ask, Why me? My life is filled with adventure and hope. I feel as though, my life is constantly on the up an up. I cannot see the end of me. Never did I ask, Why me? Many that share my illness always ponder that simple question, Why me? They ask me in return, why am I not sad? I simply say, " I have noting to be sad about." They look at me in disbelief and say, "You are only nineteen years old. You should rage against creation that you have this illness. Have you ever asked yourself, Why me?" My only reply is a kind smile and a few soft spoken words, " I never recall asking, Why me?"


Final Mystery

As I lie here in my bed. I feel the weariness of my years slowly yet, surely settle down upon me. Loved ones come in and say how much they care. They also say that I will get better soon. Those words of encouragement are only meant to console. I on the other hand, hear the sounds of a heavenly chorus beckoning me to join. The eyes converged slowly. When I lifted my heavy lids, I saw a new stranger standing in the corner of my room. The figure was shrouded in black. The face was familiar an yet, unidentifiable. It stood in the shadows. No one noticed the visitant.
Only me . . .
The apparition glided to the foot of my bed. It outstretched its arm and raised its head. In the face of the entity, I saw brief glimpses into my life. I closed my eyes and saw a beautiful light. The sounds of choirs welcoming me home. The faces were intimate and heart warming. One instance, I looked back and saw my family kneeling, praying for me. The blessed words that were uttered, guided me home. Their voices were beacons, shinning in the darkness, carrying me to the choirs of joy. Though, I knew I will not be able to hug, kiss, or even talk to my children anymore. I knew, I was ascending to a better place. The abode my father hath made for me. In the blinding light, I heard a voice saying,
"Welcome back dear, daughter."
In those few simplistic words I knew, I was in my father's house.


When I Die

When I die,I want people to remember me as a person of goodwill and not for my audacious temper. I want no one to cry over me for my soul is at ease and because I have lived a complete life. When I die, I will not see tomorrow, only past memories of sunsets that were shared with those along my way. If, I suffer before I leave this abode called life. I will face it with a smile and gladly go in that style.
When I die, I will miss all your smiles. Your faces will forever be etched in my immortal heart and soul. My essence will surround all of you as long as my bloodline endures. You might not remember me as time goes on, but I will be with you until forever is no more.
When I die, I may never write that one perfect poem that symbolizes my whole being or paint a sunset the way God intended it to be. After all is said and done, my life and quintessence will perpetually influence you in everything you do.
When I Die. . .

SILENCE

The silence. . .
The sounds of absents fills the room like a fog rolling in. The silence. . .
The monotony of the hours just compounds the atmosphere with it. The silence. . .
The profoundness of the quiet of the microcosm staggers the mind and causes it to ponder. The silence. . .
Ponder, the soundlessness of a large space. Is it truly silent? The silence. . .
The stillness of the air an echoes of space ricocheting off of space. Drives the rationalist to the outer realms of insanity. The silence. . .
Silence, oh silence, how it can cause the subconscious mind to dominate. The silence. . .
The conscience is left unable to rationalize the prospects of being alone. The silence. . .
Here in this void that is deaf, spurred an unfamiliar journey. A quest immersed within thine own soul. The silence. . .
Abandoned to explore the inner most thoughts of the self. Solely, in the presents of unequivocal silence,can anyone take that trek into the inner sanctum that is the soul.
Silence. . .

NOISE

Noise. . .
The sounds of a collective mass of organized clatter. Noise. . .
Car horns blaring. Music rocking. Vibrations of complete mayhem. Noise. . .
It brings the mind to a new level of consciousness. That helps it relax in a state of bewilderment. Noise. . .
It settles the soul with its crashes and pings. Every where you hear it, screams. Noise. . .
It puts the rationalist at ease. It helps in blocking the silence. Noise. . .
It makes sure the subconscious stay at bay. Noise. . .
The banging and clanging of the machines makes the heart skip a few beats. Noise. . .
Low rumblings. Fast pace screeching, fills the air with a harmony that ties us all together.
To the NOISE. . .


DESOLATION OF SOCIETY

Crumbled pieces of faded memories scattered in a frustrated mind. I write these lines creating on canvases of sepia trying to recapture times that passed on. You know , that time when the folks we met were more than just peeps from around the way.
Misguided youth that can’t find their course because daddy’s in jail . Already, at a tender age and set up to fail. And mama’s new man is the dealer down the block were most of the addicts show up in flocks.
Neighbors that don’t even speak except to see what is going down the on the other end of the street. Absurd, is the notion of togetherness. Loss on the vast majority that is blinded by the great paper chase. Often the pursuer fall into that crevasse of nothingness or to the way side with that amnesia like stare.
But along the path, shady gestures, transgressors, actions, factions, malefactions, and misdeeds feed the beast called greed. Contributing factors they all be. But I know that significant changes goes beyond me.
This may come across as preaching but, think of it as teaching. I am merely an observer of my zone. So excuse the urgency of my tone. But, the sight that I am beholding should make you contemplate your role and help before it is too late.
As I see it ,this is the desolation of Society and we all have some decisions to make.

©Christina Womack

Inspirational
For Love or Passion ?
When Good Love Goes Bad...

Just Because...
The Funny stuff
What in the hell ?

Punch Drunk Ravings
Remember
Just Friends

M W home

Want to be a manic writer ?