Sometimes I feel like I am travelling all my life and I wonder… Does my life fit in a suitcase?
Write a poem,
write a thought,
write something you like the most,
write a story,
write a rhyme,
write about something that is in your mind.
The soldiers took their rightful positions.
The fight is ready to begin.
The smell of war is flying around.
The night is settling down.
The day comes the night goes
and the clock is moving like it usually does.
But the fight is not beginning
the soldiers are standing there,
doing nothing but staring and breathing
and looking in the air.
Their eyes are black and hollow
seeing nothing and all
just waiting for the orders to follow.
But the orders are not coming
and the nights and days are passing by.
The seasons are making circles
and the time has started to fly
The soldiers now are yawning
looking around for what they are supposed to fight.
But nothing is coming their way.
Now they think they are wasting their life away:
“Do we stand for nothing here?
Is there not a battle field?”
The place suddenly starts trembling
and golden rain comes from the sky.
Realizing there is no fight to fight
and no struggle to struggle
the soldiers do not die, nor disappear.
They are now ONE with the battle field.
Memory here, memory there
Have all our memories gone elsewhere?
Doubt, doubt, doubt…
Our memories have always been there in the crowd
I closed my eyes and started taking the trip
Jumping and searching and looking
For my golden key
I saw dragons with a roaring fire
I faced soldiers killing with desire
Wise men in the name of pride
And others because the one they killed only seemed wild.
After that the images changed
I saw drizzling golden rain
I smelled the smell
And dance the dance
Retaking all the secret steps
I remembered the thoughts I needed to
And saw the stories I was afraid to
Now memory here, memory there
I am looking for a memory without a pair
The first one, the old one, the one from the beginning
That holds the secrets to what I am feeling.
I know there is a hidden memory somewhere
The final answer is still resting there
I look and search and go through tunnels
But it only seems like I am changing the channel.
Suddenly there is a whisper in my head
“I will appear to you when there is no fear of me left”
It was a sad and cloudless morning
I took my pen out of my kit
And put a feather in my head
Did I really think it would help me to write best?
I ate an apple and drunk some tea
but the ideas were still not pouring out of me.
I started crying from despair
then I went to the fridge to eat a pear.
“Let’s see a movie” I told myself
“Or read a book that would be the best!”
I run with joy up and down
even my spider thought:
“we have a crazy one around”
The evening found me in the bathtub
thinking “that’s it, my fate as a writer it’s done”.
I threw away my pens and pencils
even my favorite notebook full of sketches.
Two months passed and I still cry.
I always thought I would be a writer for life.
I walk pass the places I loved to write
and I don’t speak with people I used to inspire.
Friends have left me all alone
and I have no one to turn to when I feel alone.
They say “you act like your best friend died”
which is true my writing has gone out of sight!
Searching and searching I sat by the sea
I closed my eyes and my mind was full of dreams.
An empty page came my way
and I started writing about my long day.
Christmas is a feeling
Let it fill your heart
Let it fill your mind
Let it play and dust
the corners of your mind