This Life

Pastel Skies, and baby's breath wind. Slow moving days and whirlwind nights. Struggling to keep up with your own pace, each foot goes one in front of the other yet I still can't find the right way to walk. This path it winds and twists and turns, it rises and falls, the hills and the valleys it all changes constantly. Never enough time to get comfortable. Its beautiful, it makes so much sense and none whatsoever all at once. I look up and I see the promised land, its 27 feet in front of me yet all I can do to get there is move at a snails pace. Inching my way there it seems light years away. I have to take time to enjoy the journey, the raft ride down wild rapids that shake my foundations, and loosen my leaves, break my branches and lift me from out my roots. The clouds scream of cotton candy, with pink and orange skies that drip dreamsicle drops as they weep. Going to sleep knowing that those dreams you dream are only rearranged thoughts of yesteryear, and a house of mirrors reflecting crazy thoughts and forgotten feelings. Can your fantasies come true if they are only reflecting what you do and already feel. Trying not to let these things interfere with the day to day workings that we stress, mull, and cringe over. No one wants to clean their room, and do the dishes, drive to work, or wake up too early, not on our way to the place we ought to be, wherever that might be. I can see that place for any of us, especially myself. I have seen that country, that state, that city, the town, that place. It has that perfect temperate climate that lifts your spirits as temperatures rise and cools your mind as the mercury drops. The seasons change and so does your mind, we grow and bloom in sync with the flowers and the grasses. The trees whisper secrets to us and we reciprocate by taking a nap right under its ancient knowledge. Getting there though, thats the part that I enjoy. I see it, and I can feel it. The path there is rough and rocky, its a hard road to walk. Those things that we cannot control, that are unfortunate and aren't as enjoyable as we might want them to be, they are an indefinite part of the process. The heartache and sorrow, the tears and the open wounds, the memories that never seem to let go even though you have tried to force them off your back, all these things, they can hurt and they can bring sorrow in the door like an unwanted guest. Its all part of some crazy, plan, some crazy, twisted and strange plan. Its all part of this life.