You Shall Never See
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You Shall Never See
You have not seen the candle that burns through the night. The wax that melts as it wishes to escape the flames. But no matter, for I will find a new candle and I will set it ablaze. I will close my window, my door, and I will place pages at my hands.
I shall strike the pages before me, as does a painter to their canvass. Finding harmony in a single light among the night. Creating blisters upon flesh from endless nights, though fatigue had found me every day. And the wish to fall away from it all, never to wake.
You never shall see my tiresome eyes flounder about the lines before me. Finding difficulty in even the creation of a letter. But I do not falter to the exhaustion of my body. For my soul is what drives me, it drives me to the heavens. Beating loud in the night, spreading its wings to soar above the clouds.
But you shall never see this, for all this is done behind the walls of my home. Behind the tinkering of my everyday. I create between the moments where the waves calm, even if just for a second. I design between the rising of the sun, and the setting of the moon. I rise before the stars and build before the sun.
This you will never see, for my dreams are not meant to be seen in their seed. But seen in their sprouting, in their blooming. For none are attracted to the tears, the sweat, the drawn out days that leave my soul to bleed. None wish to see the excruciating pain that reaps is weary head upon me. For these draw no passion for others.
It is in the results where I will evoke the gathering of those that find my words. Of others to read my words as if it is part of them. And though they may weep, or find themselves in likeness of my words. They will never see the misery that lines each word. They will never smell my pitted mind that wished to pull me to hell. That wishes to leave me ripped at the seams like a tarnished doll.
Bleeding me of any hope, and this, I fear was near. For none shall see the tears I wept like rain in the pain of drinking. Drowning my sorrows in pity as I lectured others as if I knew what should be done. Done upon myself and done upon others. For my eyes were turned away from myself. I led them to see only what was at my feet. And with every word I made from my throat to my lips. I spewed with envy at the world.
Jealousy was wrapped around my flesh like skin. Pulled taut, I choked, and with each gasp I could give. I blamed the world, I blamed all who I never spoke to. To those that never took nor gave, even those that gave I found ways to accuse them of their doings upon mine.
But this you will never see. You shall see only the crops at which I have sewn. The beauty of my words spilled upon white as if the sun had splashed upon it. Hues of the spirit you shall be felt with each word caressing your tongue, your soul as you read.
But you shall never see the suffering I feel. The feeling of being forgotten, the feeling of nothing, the feeling as if I am but a speck of dust. A speck to be swept up by an accidental touch. Only to be rubbed off out of distaste. But though you may never see what created me, what created my words. I plead with kindness and patience, that you consume each word I conceive as if to be your own. To find a place among my pages, my sentences, my world.
For far too long, did I wish to find another's words to just that for me.
Thank you for reading, please spoil your soul with, A Man's Traveled Heart
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