Reminded of my wrongdoings

27 March 2006

 

I hear the tree-branches outside perform a fleeting, frantic, flustered dance.

The music the leaves create has structure:

rustle, rustle; crunch-crunch-crunch.

It sheds light on the lie I sell as truth.

The ruse cleaves – it despises light – it wants to rupture;

it would retreat to my sombre spirit if given a chance,

but it can not: it is mesmerised by the dance.

 

 

I twist, tormented, upon seeing what I have grown to be:

I am a lie, I almost doubt my physical existence.

Rustle, rustle; crunch-crunch-crunch.

The repetitive percussion mimics my heartbeat;

the way that the core organ endures with undying persistence,

and knows not what I am; it knows naught of me.

It is doubtlessly safer that it does not see.

 

How can my nucleus and I coexist with opposing motives?

Now, can I part with it and still move through life?

Where can I find answers? –

only there will I take my chances.

My heart must go – I have filthied it enough.

I start thus, though it is privy to my joy, fear, hate, love,

on my heartless dwelling through the starved life that is my sentence.

        I have no heart

        and I feel no life.

                                       

Am I still here?

 

© Annalinde Louw

 

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Your return is prohibited

24 October 2005

It’s late at night,

rain drips outside my window.

The spectrum will soon turn to light;

another day’s passed – what have I to show?

I reach into the darkness:

the murky pool of black distortion

turns into my likeness:

a blur of hazy misproportion.

I lose all identity facing the faint smudge of me.

I try to hide from my reflection;

I seek strength and invigoration – come to me!

I am losing my last fundamental conviction.

I start accounting for damages

that I got from this infection:

my very soul is severed; logic aimlessly ravages

in a non-existent place for a remedy for this affliction.

 

How arrested within a memory can I be?

You have left me with reminders of what should’ve been.

I don’t know why it took so long to dawn on me:

in my life’s movie you should not be seen.

You invade my sacred space,

and act as if it’s your own place.

You may not have known; now let me inform you

that you are evicted; get out of my mind:

your return is prohibited – just leave me behind.

I have no inclination, obligation or jurisdiction to restore you.

 

I reach through the darkness into the bright;

I move from the morose dark blemish into the light.

I reign victorious as king of the night.

Smiling, I ban you from my sight.

I focus all my energy and all my might;

my chest and lungs feel much less tight,

and so, feeling life itself, through and through,

and so, I breathe without you,

and finally, I exist anew.

 

© Annalinde Louw

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Tired old carpet

 6 October 2004

This life is blind:

the eyes are the mind-

what you see is what you do;

disregarded are all the truths you ever knew.

There is no thought spared for the down-trodden individual

whom, despite its circumstances, is an enlightened intellectual.

Too despaired to change one’s own life-happenings,

another day is born, another day is killed;

many things are too much and you’ve had too much of many things.

 

 

Gone are the daybreaks when you were strong-willed,

enthused; easily amused;

not feeling so over-used;

when the sunrise didn’t appear oddly crude.

Hours upon hours deplete; pondered is the meaning of existence;

days turn into an obscure continuance;

this morrow is as distinct as the morrow

of yesterday and the morrow of tomorrow

and the morrow of the day after tomorrow

and the morrow of all days before and all days to follow.

 

 

A once-felt euphoria is twisted to be

an oily canvas painted with only nefarious occurrences to see

of the world/ cradle of humanity/ Earth/ mother planet.

I’m looking for a rocket into the heavens- where can I find it?

I’m looking for a craft and a crew to man it;

the mission: find the kind humans that once were here.

 

The blameless beginning is tortured into a vile, sickening smear.

A clean break is needed or a clean slate

for all of life, all of time at this rate.

I’m left, blissfully alone without the bliss;

many people and feelings are amiss.

The only thing familiar to me

the only useful, good and true thing that I can see

is on the floor,

it stretches from the wall by the window to the door:

 

I’m left with the companionship of a tired old carpet.

 

© Annalinde Louw

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Now also posting at…

http://glipho.com/alfriendo

Destroy myself

7 January 2009

I plan carefully the foundation of my downfall;

such a construction must be steady on the ground

so that, if the machinations may stall,

there will be little destruction to the creations around.

Destroy myself; and keep peace with the neighbours:

quite an ironic objective

since these people in my life only add to my labours

and build a love best called defective.

 

Too much; it’s become an exponential component of disgust.

Too long, an incomplete project left outside for years to rust.

So such is the tornado engulfing my mind;

so strong that all true emotions are left behind.

Leave me be – I turn to dust.

Let me see the regression of a love once fruitful.

Leave me here – I need no rescue.

Let me hear the stillness signifying the absence of you.

The peace, the quiet,

the calm after the riot.

I’m left alone, presently not whole;

at least with no-one pretending to fill your role.

© Annalinde Louw

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The DownLouw

We are nothing without our friends. Thanks to my Moey for creating this super-cool pic for me 😀 I love it 😀

Resolve

Emotions build a giant mass of towering obstruction

blocking off the sun, the air; the rigid, reassuring reminder of reality;

not allowing the usual broad-minded deduction

that the eye within the spirit can clearly see.

 

Courage – so easy to speak of this concept of fortitude;

the display – not so simple, is it now?

The presence of which in one’s context may elude,

the elusion of which we should not allow.

Courage:

have courage, my friends.

We can stand strong and stable and face anything.

We can face any challenge any situation may bring;

for we are not aware…

we have forgotten

that we are powerful beyond imagination.

 

© Annalinde Louw

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The ancient brow

Orion stands proud and strong

and looks down upon our ungrateful faces

with a mournful look on his ancient brow.

The lights in his eyes sparkle without boundary;

sparkle despite the ungrounded complaints in our minds.

 

Across his belt shimmer hints of Hope;

for a more inspired tomorrow,

for less fickle reflections in our reality,

for appreciation of the grace of which we do not yet know.

Hope;

grasping at planetary specks of potential

aiming, prospecting, exploring, urging on…

towards an uncertain outcome – the crucial calculation of our lives.

© Annalinde Louw

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Buzz

Relentless restlessness;

like the unremitting ebb and flow of the tide,

the interrupting, enabling commotion does not dawdle,

the visits are short and pointed.

Objective: to interfere

with the Electricity jumping hoops

between linkages in the circuitry of our Thought.

And interfere – it does –

often I can’t find my mind.

MIA! Trotting off to astonishing terrain;

conjuring up things one dare not grant birth-right.

For these amazements, once birthed, may melody an unearthly refrain

that can’t be encompassed by the metallic minds

of the unenlightened androids that rule this planet.

Hence we remain caught in a woeful, worldly refrain…

A gain, a gain, and a gain.

© Annalinde Louw

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The conductor

The conductor:

painter;

sleeves chaotically dotted with a kaleidoscopic jumble of ideas gone past,

splashes bits of universal cacophony

as far as the waiting ears can see.

 

As far as the impatient eyes can hear,

and the anxious nose can feel,

and the impulsive hands can detect the scent;

the fantastic scent of the wholly heaven-sent.

The infinitesimal squelches of honey made just for the mind

desire to stick… hence get trapped between the chamber orchestra of my heart

and my once-present firey passion –

now yearning pathetically for the Symphony of Silence;

for the Concerto of Calm, the Peaceful Polka, followed loudly by

 

the Tranquility Theme.

 

The sound-splatters tint, smear and brush canvasses of glory

against the temporary wall of clarity behind the cloud-mass of thought,

inspiring originality beyond that which instruction brought.

Oh, what a delight;

a purely blissful moment,

when one is able to be; simply, free…

© Annalinde Louw

I found the images using Google Images http://www.google.com Click to follow the links.

The image of conductor with paint was created by merging 2 images found online from http://michaelhyatt.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/iStock_000018995017Small.jpg and http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02154/Velvet-Underground_2154091i.jpg

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