Writing is a form of prayer.
I did not find God. He is not to blame. I am. I could not and would not surrender my personal vision of Him. I admit that there were times when I assuredly believed He played a role in my life, only to find that it was merely another delusion. I never knew Him. I never knew you didn't care. I suppose I didn't know you either.
You drifted through my unknown dream world again last night. You were there, illuminating the sky. I saw you, but as it were, you had your eye on something else. In what seemed like an eternity, but perhaps only an instant, you in turn gazed at me - with a look of both apprehension and gladness, I am unsure which, so I mention them both. Angry and Lovely. Unforgiving and Lonely. You said: "There is a choice. We have a chance."
But your spirit is stronger than the memory. Your memory. My memory. Shining and enduring, and we were dead before birth. The promise, the possibility and the potential - within reach, but forbidden. You said it all. One word. Goodbye. It was finished, and it hadn't even started. I am the invisible, the If Only.
The grey impression soaked in your shadow, yearning for a loving expression. It is not without importance - for faith, fortitude, friendship, a fragment of your attention is a dream, a shimmery coin from the pocket of an immutable Night. Where were you? "Please!" she yelled. But you were gone.
And yet, I hope to hear your voice again.
I did not find God. He is not to blame. I am. I could not and would not surrender my personal vision of Him. I admit that there were times when I assuredly believed He played a role in my life, only to find that it was merely another delusion. I never knew Him. I never knew you didn't care. I suppose I didn't know you either.
You drifted through my unknown dream world again last night. You were there, illuminating the sky. I saw you, but as it were, you had your eye on something else. In what seemed like an eternity, but perhaps only an instant, you in turn gazed at me - with a look of both apprehension and gladness, I am unsure which, so I mention them both. Angry and Lovely. Unforgiving and Lonely. You said: "There is a choice. We have a chance."
But your spirit is stronger than the memory. Your memory. My memory. Shining and enduring, and we were dead before birth. The promise, the possibility and the potential - within reach, but forbidden. You said it all. One word. Goodbye. It was finished, and it hadn't even started. I am the invisible, the If Only.
The grey impression soaked in your shadow, yearning for a loving expression. It is not without importance - for faith, fortitude, friendship, a fragment of your attention is a dream, a shimmery coin from the pocket of an immutable Night. Where were you? "Please!" she yelled. But you were gone.
And yet, I hope to hear your voice again.
Second, I like your entry. You are living up to your stated occupation.