Will you answer?

Words lie like dirty sheets on the floor, the curtains blocking the light to the inner fight, the hate spreading like wine over a carpet of white. The furniture like the rest of the room is old and damaged, except for the red telephone hanging on the pealing  paper walls. So long have I looked at the phone waiting for it to ring, a way out, an escape out of this dream.

Days have passed since I opened my eyes and till now no one has knocked on the rusted metal door. I remain alone here with my actions, paying off my debt for a day, a life, a night. What lies behind the door I do not know, a portal to reality written on the wall. When will I stand and face this messy place, how long must I wait.

Its been a month now and I am still alone, the phone stopped working days ago. It did not matter, who would I have called? I was the one that was better first, I had success and everything, I did not need them like I needed them before. Gone is the sun now, the shadows it used to cast over these filthy words and stained carpeted floor. If I am to make it I must open that door, I cant stay here much longer, I am going backwards and need them all again. I need the people at the bottom to carry me back to my majestic chair way up in the sky.

The door is heavy. It had been shut for a long time, clouds of swarming dust filled the room as I pulled on it. It cracked and squeaked until finally I could make out something on the other side. It was paradise. I was home. I swung open the door and ran as far as I could until I reached a pool of water and jumped inside.Then I heard it, it was faint at first but soon became clear, standing in the middle of the water was the red telephone ringing away.

I approached with caution lifting the receiver remaining silent. Truth is just like the last time someone hung up and the message was the same. I thought I was to good for other people when I reached the top, truth is I was wrong.

I guess in the end the question is whether that red phone is also ringing for you? Will you answer it or ignore it just like others will eventually start to ignore you.

I choose to say Thank you!


 

Don't Run

If you run what is it you will find? Is it the dreams you left behind, will nightmares run swiftly by your side, will all that is so right and wrong leave you to find your own way home or will it return to remind you running is like the sky. The clouds come and the clouds go and so does the rain and what might be gone tomorrow can easily return the next day.

The road to run is long, it has rocks and sharp glass to cut your feet, it brings with it no signs of sun, just darkness follows in its path. Here lies loss and pain. Empty graves of darkness lies within the field, a field of broken promises and disgust. The trees stretch their long bony arms pulling at your clothes, trying to hold you back, no one is to leave, no one ever can. It is a door within a forest of weeds and thorns you will never find, a never ending tale.

In the end is it not best to abandon the cause, leave that door alone and look towards the sun. Clouds come and go and so does the rain but if you hope and keep fighting it can return any day and you will be okay. Stay true to yourself and face things as they come no matter how hard it may seem.

Darkness of a Man

Tired he walked, kicking ground, ground that bared no fruit. Looking at the miles of land ahead, the image was the same. He remembered the picture he had painted so long ago, the family, the farmhouse and the greenest land with orchards tall, as far as the eye could see.

 Memories haunted as the sand swirled up with particles of a past better left alone, a picture burnt with a hellish fire, destroyed by man on uncertain time. . 

Tired he sat, shaded by a tree, a tree with a wooden swing. a swing missing and out of time, for the pink ribbons had faded and the feelings it provided was no longer there. Tired his tears began to fall, dust and emotion combined, mud within a river dripping down.

Tired he sat, clothes of white had turned to red,  fire burning coals of anger, his tears had come to late, was it fate that brought him here, carried from far away for the evil inside to sing, sing a song of pain to bring. 

Burning picture contained it all, the story, how it happened and more, for in the night tired he came to the farmhouse up for sale,   the painting was just a bad dream standing on the ground, protected for the journey ahead, something another one would find. Drink of plenty soothing his mind he thought, filling it instead with sadness and despair, he can give them nothing as this failure of a man. 

Tired he ran from the calls of punishment for under the fire in the soil his act remained, a  memory he would always have of the farmhouse, the family and the barest land. 

As he stopped later far from the smoke and punishment that would come, punishment of his own he had sitting with his gun, clothes that had turned from white to red, battle of scratch marks his body said... one pink, one purple ribbon  and a silver necklace in his hand he had to decide, should this be the end?