Wandering

"All learning has an emotional base."
                                 -Plato
I feel very restless today.
Like a wind up clock without hands.
Like a time frame with no event.

I'm a lost planner of sorts, having fully engaged in
embracing negativity for certain notions that I once held to be valid and true.

I feel strange and yet,
oddly aware.

I don't know how to be the "to-do"
list anymore .

But I miss even that.

At least then I had a definition.


-Lys

Transience

Among other things, this past week has been run over by a number of strange circumstances. I didn't want my word of the day to be what is in the forefront of my mind right now, but it feels like something that I  must unwillingly admit to, if only because I have chosen this adjective as the singular and most ironic constant in my  life. 

Transient. 

I don't know why the font of it was green. 

The word just  was. 

Transient= an inability to remain steady. 

An inability to remain still. 

I have desired transience in many aspects of my life.

Namely within my personal relationships. 

I never thought it was out of fear ,but rather, out of an understanding that tying myself to a  tree stump over and over again would eventually lend itself to a 

dull pair of scissors. 

And something that I've tied myself to voluntarily would become my

 ineffectual existence. 

As a part of something living, yes. 

But not as a part of something moving. 

It's almost a desire to remain in movement with water. 

I cannot be like Earth. 

In this way, I can ebb and flow in whatever direction life takes me. .....

And then I read the physical definition of transient..

:: Decaying with time.

Can transience actually be displayed as a function of something 

rotting?

The very thing that has lifted me to the height of disconnected flight is the 

same thing that has the ability to decay away any 

welcome mats

I may have placed in random places 

when I've cut the string too many times

from what I thought were

dying tree stumps. 

Maybe, without knowing it, 

it is I who never followed a path  long enough 

to decode the encrypted enigma within it.

Maybe, in actuality, we are chained by our drive for perfection.

Perhaps the decaying tree doesn't have grounded roots. 

Perhaps it is grounded in my transient nature;

spindly tentacles wrapped around my pulsing, 

warm-winded heart. 

What starts as life, as green comes to an end in this, 

that my flight, my pressure filled storm, 

has been fighting against an enemy 

that I've long considered my friend. 

Can you give something enough water to bring it back to life, 

when the summer has has already begun 

Internal Autumn?

Oh, how  beautiful , how colorful

the leaves change in the fall. 

Before the cold of winter frosts 

dark death 

over us all .

-Lys

Broken Stringed Words

I sat with my lukewarm
  Cinnamon Sugar
Enhanced coffee
 in
           its
              Sunflower
 Cup
                     This morning.
 The cookies were only mixed together.
 We are alive but one second of the
 Earth's time.
 Bound by impermance, but also freed by it.
 In this actualization there is internal vigor :
created by tragic inevitablility of our
 shadowed journey.
 Where we all will go.
at the end of all of this.