In The Tears of The Former

Mukilteo Beach, WA 2014
In The Tears of The Former

I can't be strengthened in one who dwells in tears of the former. For no roots take hold in soils that are ill. No flowers bloom in the bitter tundra of pity. I have lent my heart to those who have found addiction in the forgotten, in the false bliss of yesteryear. And I have felt much pain in the lending of my heart upon their endless pursuit to grasp what is no longer.

Like a weight chained to my flesh, they were a burden with each step. No words could conquer their fortified soul, a soul caped in nostalgia. For in the former they deemed those times as the better. But no flower goes without the withering of seasons. The shedding of pedals is always to come. As painful as winter may be, no strength can come of holding to winter. For in the coldness you will find the illusion of depression without the seeking of shelter.

For what may have worked in summer, may no work in winter. The tending of new roofs may be needed, new songs, new hearts, a new rhythm of life. May be needed to find a better of what will be former. I have played in the fields of pity, its subtle darkness will comfort. But only for a moment, for then, its subtle touch will find you poisoned. Sickened to the dull colors that fade like roses left in a forgotten vase.

You will grow a craving, a dire fixation for tears. For the swallowing obsession of misery. And others will cling to you like scabs. Itching at every orifice's of the heart, of the mind. And you will scratch at them, peel them, and with each ripping of a scab. You will bleed, only to grow a scar upon your soul. A reminder of your loathing of those around you. But no others will call to you, will cling to you. For they too are addicted.

So you lay foolishly with them. Drinking in times of sadness, times of happiness. No moment will go without tears, anger, animosity for yourself for what others have done. You will twist the stories of your life to fit the motives of another. You will sickly play the ill victim to a another's decision. You will be the host of viral virus of sorrow.

You will blaze trails of burning tar separating what happiness their could be. Hearts will burn and you will feel no pain. For the walls of your soul have been drenched by the hot breath of self contempt. You will be repulsed by the mere thought of smiles, of joy, of ambitions and dreams. Disgust will coat your veins and you will suffocate in the missing of life.

For there is no strengthening in the tears of the former.

When have you held on to the past for too long? 

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