A sense of self imposed apartheid; bars on my window and chains on my door, visible to myself, to others they are non existent, there are no restraints.
With every sunrise there is a sunset...
A sunset like a fallen curtain with only echoes of love in his ears. Or like the gates on his windows...shuttered and secure...
Secluded, protected and unshaven…rough, tough and demented, falling towards assorted variations of self inflicted life affirming pain.
With every ounce of love there is hatred...
Another world, another time, another self, do I still have a soul? I wake to find myself in some transported dimensions - one, two or three?
Watching through the window I see the dogs standing and barking by the curb. a squirrel climbs up a tree to safety. I see a cloud but there ain't no silver lining - tears in my eyes...
Birds sit silently on a branch of an oak tree in a park, over a bench where an old man sits holding a flower, waiting for that lady from another time to sit by his side, to try and understand him.
Can she ever understand him? He doesn't understand him.
Misunderstood and filled with confusion, his emotions bubbling inside - like a wild horse in a stable, kicking up and raising it’s voice…
With every ounce of freedom there is a ton of captivity...to keep you hidden from harm...
Beauty confined is a murder of sorts. Never understood, never truly seen. True beauty resides in the blood coursing through our veins - if one has never bled, were they every truly alive?
The old man crumples the flower, stands up and resumes his journey...comforted by his past; he remembers a time when he would receive standing ovations and calls for encores…
He went searching for the treasure, through endless tunnels, through rocky mountains and wild rivers… wild stories of wild women and stolen cars. He hears a tune and its just like that song…
Born out of time, in the storm, left in the wreckage no treasure to be found. There is a light ahead… And it’s the lucky old sun…You know that old song? Here it comes again…
With every lock there is a key - set me free...
Show me that river, take me across and wash all my troubles away...*
*Lyrics from Lucky Old Sun Songwriters: Beasley Smith / Haven Gillespie
About the Creator
Freddy Zalta
Currently working with families to develop personal biographies to be handed down to future generations.
Also writing fiction and poetry.
https://linktr.ee/Freddyzalta
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