The Voice of Reason

"Why don't you write tonight?"

'My head is full of grief
from all the saddening tales
for sure resent to speak'

"Why don't you write tonight, maybe your head will clear?"

'No matter how many clicks of the keys
my head will always be fill with 10 ton memories
to densely rooted to cease'

"Why don't you write tonight, It will be a nice release."

'Excuse after excuse,

why won't you let me brood in peace?!'

"Then answer me this; why do the June flowers open and Maple tress rustle in the breeze?"

'They bend with the forces of nature and react as they please.'

"If one flower is clipped and one tree is plucked from the Earth, do the rest not open just as wide or catch the zephyr's as they squeeze by?"
"If you love someone enough, you will do them the favor of casting off your sorrow for their departure"

'How can you say that?
She meant everything to me.
For sake of nothing else to rebut I will write
but only on this one thought....

'How desperately I search for you in others,
groping aimlessly for the soul contact, with help from my brush and keys.
I paint and type hoping to one day to find the connection we once had.

The paintings lead me to a summer porch surrounded by clean, fresh August air. As the sky beams pulse, heat dances around the blackened walls of my mind.  The clear sounds of a lofty day filter through my cotton ears to encased strings buried deep in my pink, muscle bound heart and plays them like a baby grasping for her mothers' finger for the first time.

 Such transience cannot exist without the truly unrelenting drive of a well ground thought or idea. The action of fluid loosely dripping on the canvas pouring out heart-ache in small increments. It is the fate of the survivor to transcend grief to this unseen place and sit in the full embrace of euphoria for as long as the spirit can fly.'

"All those who never knew anything of the same cannot appreciate what I have to live for now.
"Just move on..." 
I have just started, so give me time, the spell will break but not without a visit to said August day."

Author's Note

A quick write for cathartic purposes. A dialogue between my mind and the stubborn child who can't let go.