~ An Ode to my Generation ~

Some scribblings recently found in the back of an old notebook. Not Byron or even remotely good, but it make me laugh to read it again.

Oh young woman, on the corner's street,

Why does your laugh sound so fake?

Your eyes be long with blackened paint

Your hair be straight, of unnatural make

You squark and strut like that rooster's mate

With ruffled feathers and an injected hide- 

You are like the chickens stuffed with paste

That at my grocery store are daily fried

And consumed, as part of Sunday lunches

Devoured by culture with many munches

Meat broken off and bones thrown away-

My dear, is that not you today?

I have learnt

Source

I have learnt so much this year. Now I know the why and what and when of what I never needed to know, as well as the deepest hidden secrets of the world that every human being should have to chance to understand. 

How the colours of the wind are written in the sound of silent words as people hold deep conversations without even saying a word.

Why eyes really are the windows to the souls.

What it means to be finally complete after years of unawareness as to who you really were, who you really could be when you thought yourself complete.

How a whisper to the ear can be the lifeblood of a thousand humming heart-beats.

What it means to read for pain and not for pleasure except the pleasure of saying that you know what you never needed to know.

Why people think that they really matter when we all know they are only kidding themselves into a sense having to belong, somewhere, somehow.

That often life catches you in the middle of a epic plot twist and throws you in the air and then catches you, giddy and breathless on the way down, while you try to understand how and why and where.

I have learnt what it means to take control of what you decide with your life, while still remaining within the boundaries of commitment.

That to be a lover of people does not mean that you have to love people themselves, do not have to condone the wilful stupidity that they drown themselves in. You only have to understand why, or at least try to.

Why children make a house dirty and a home sing.

How it is possible to have a thousand memories carried on the single scent of a long reaching dream that has come true on your doorstep.

How to cry in silence when your feet are ripped out from under you and you still have to go on, press onward on your bleeding stumps of self doubt, while the smile plasters onto your face until it becomes your true expression.

I have seen the fire, held the hands, cried the tears and beamed the smiles.

I have lived this year.

Edit

I'm having to write this in a new post as the previous one will not let me edit it from my iPad (stuff Apple) , suffice to say that I've done a bit to research and managed to connect Google Friend Connect to this blog - happy days! :)

Anyway, if you want to follow, that option is now available.