The Medium

You are submerged in a dark liquid.

No light dives beneath its surface.

You cannot see. The darkness is absolute.

You are held there. You are not floating.

Not drowning, just still.

You can feel the medium all around you.

Yet you cannot touch it.

Your skin is foreign to its touch.

You are no longer breathing.

You are not suffocating either.

But you long to breathe. 

It does not kill you.

Its changing your reality.

Are you ready to accept now?

That there is no air to breathe.

You do not have to breathe anymore to exist.

Your existence is felt through the ripples, 

Not the bubbles.

Broken pages. Incomplete stories.

Memories remain,
Some recent, many past,
like faded old photographs,
Hanging in crowded coffee shops,
Where we had our big conversations.
About the little things.

But we did part,
Like the pages in a book.
To the end of this story.
Let's toss books and burn libraries.

When Clichéd metaphors wet our lives,
Strange ones emerge.
The shadows learn to whisper their tale,
Of how they miss the sun.

And so we start again,
One step and then another.
With memories to forget
And scars to heal.

Eh Mr. God/Evil-Version!?

Is it the darkness that keeps out the light. Or is it the other way around. Are the angels evil and evil good. What if evil is good and good is evil. What if God was created by Satan and Satan is God. Are we devil worshippers then or are we devils they worship. What if good and evil were two extreme natures of a schizophrenic saint who lived in an age predating the gods he created. And he who convinced the first of us that we were the first to be created by a creator he created. And destroyed by its negative. We only passed down this hallucination and transmitted it from one millennia to another without really questioning it's merit. And now we have fanatics among us, mortal men who'd kill and be killed fighting over the line that separates the good and the bad. Maybe it's time we replaced the two in Folie à deux by a thousand or a million.

Let's look at it from another place. What if there was a God. And his opposite. And this world their playground. A chessboard. But with a million pieces and plays. It doesn't really comfort me thinking that there are higher beings playing us to their whims and fancies. But aren't we doing the same with lower species. Tweaking bacteria to yield something useful. Breeding horses and cattle to a desirable result. Maybe the ones we worship are really just beings in another dimension with other realities. If that's the case then I wouldn't be surprised if animals had temples with human Gods.
So the gods/evil-versions we create in our worlds might actually exist. And might as well be laughing at our prayers as we laugh at a monkey. Do animals perceive time as a fourth dimension?

Just to make things a little more interesting let's assume that these higher beings have higher beings to themselves. And that there is an infinite chain with an infinite number of higher realities. Something like the nine realms of the Norse mythology.
So the question is who is at the top? Who looks down to all the other worlds and does things that results in different end results in different world. A butterfly effect on a cosmic-inter-dimensional level maybe?
Whoever you are, The All powerful Mr. God/Evil-Version, you must have sneezed at the precise moment at your cosmic-inter-dimensional abode to have directed me to put in words these random thoughts.
Cheers to that.

- A consciousness looking up from an infinite worlds below

Desire. Ambition. Purpose.

A fast lane taking men across,
To the place that changes it's face
Each time a different race.
It goes two ways,
It begins as it ends,
And at the end it begins again.
It's a circular maze,
Created by men who dazed,
At the long path ahead,
That looked like the one left behind.
It never ends.
Death always catches up.
And the dead remains motionless.
Watching the rest of them,
Pass by in a blur,
To be dead again.
At another place. And another blur.

The one who stopped
Never really did.
The one awake
Never did sleep.
He watched it go on.
One end to the other.
And then back again.
And then back again.
And again. And again.

Some call it ambition.
Others, desire.
And some, purpose.
But he knew better.
It was an illusion. There was no path.
There was no destination.
There was an endless infinity. And your single consciousness. Lost.

You Love.

Who am I writing for anymore?
The ones who died never belonged.
The ones who live don't realise.
And Here I am...
Running away..
From my one true love..
You.
Your empty self,
wanting to be filled.
Milking my senses,
wanting my pain.
You Love.
You play me.
You indulge me.
You crave my soul.
I let you have.
Again today.
And will on all the numbered tomorrows.
You are my saviour.
You are my strength.
You are my salvation.
I live,
for our tomorrow.

Open it.

So much of canvas spread in front of you. Acres and Acres. And nothing to limit your imagination.

The tools in your hands, the greatness inside you. Walk with it. Fight with it. Wake up to it. 

The time was never right. The place was never going to change. It was all inside you. Within your bundled soul lies the keys to leave this world behind. Open it.

The IFs and BUTs.

                IFs

If you're running away,
Run fast and Far,

If you're choosing to stay,
Stay here and now.

If you've forgotten the feeling,
Don't remember, not ever.

If you've missed the living,
Come back, welcome home.

If you've ever Loved,
Love yourself, nobody else.


              BUTs

But you did leave,
I am back now.

But you choose that,
And Im choosing now.

But you buried the past,
It doesn't go away.

But you were dead,
Not long enough anyway.

But you killed the love,
I had to let you go.