A world is built with sounds
Who is speaking?
There are emotions
Is madness an emotion?
A common noise
Out of the endless loop of noise a sound emerges
Can you hear it?
Blood dripping on the lifeless ground
Can you see it?
Shadows of life
What do they do?
The beings that live on this world are bound by time
They crown themselves the kings of the universe
They plague their world and suffer by its consequences
They devastate each other for the sake of their needs
So different but yet they live the same
They fight through infinite challenges and still stand
They bear much vigor but hold little strength
But what about their hearts?
There is no colour in their eyes
Not born but grown
The poison that crawls in them has stolen their eyes
If fuels their anger that plows lands more than Mother Nature could ever sustain
Will they stop?
The world only exist to them if they can see it
Are they all blind?
The tears have turn into blood
Cold is the darkness that which it travels in
Its blood that no one sees has run dry
Soon it will forget the reason to cry
But has it lost its sight?
The wolf was like them
Born no different
Born not perfect
But the family eyes see the wolf different
They all made mistakes
But the wolf’s mistake was not right
The voices are cast at the wolf like fangs on preys flesh
“It’s not normal”
The sounds echo in the wolf’s skull
It wasn’t anything serious, surely?
The wolf’s death had been predetermined
The wolf became a “that” a thing without a purpose and its destiny an agenda
The whispers have deafened the wolf’s ears
The memory of the cause was long forgotten to the wolf
But there was no new beginning for a dartboard
Its trust became but nothing
So the wolf ran
The legs moved on their own as the wolf forgot how to feel them
The mind lost all taste and only knew how to run
The mind became a hurricane of despair
Where to go?
Is there someone waiting for me?
Why is it so dark?
Thoughts ran through the wolf’s mind like wildfire
But as much as the wolf thought all that lay before the wolf was emptiness
The wolf lost all reason
It began running from judgement and started chasing after death
Its voice sang in silence a song that did not want to be understood
And death was the wolf’s greatest audience
It laughed at the wolf’s efforts
Its grand joke being the wolf’s passion to keep running into nothing
But it’s laughter wasn’t the only one to be heard
In fact all that the wolf has heard for so long was the sound of ignorance
Sounds that kept repeating but could not be learned
Déjà vu was never so real
But is it all just a dream?
Nothing seemed to have a reason
But why do I feel pain while I sleep?
The wolf said to them self “All things belong somewhere”
“It must be just around the corner”
For there is always noise to listen to
Purpose, value, importance, reason
The wolf was told that if it grasped such things it would live
There was hope on thin ice
“Oh what a foolish thing”
“It sank before it could even take a step!”
“Well I guess it was just unlucky”
No harm in trying
Every breath became emptier that the other
The world was a cramped place filled with abstract inhabitants
There were many creatures all with convincing tales
The wolf tracked them studied them
The result unraveled into a butterfly effect played on reverse
The wolf convinced them self over and over that there was more to it
Where does it connect?
What was left of its nose was broken amongst all the dead ends
Its wounds forgetting the concept of healing
The wolf searched for faces but all that could be found were masks
The wolf had forgotten its name
There was no meaning in the wolf’s birth
The wolf had forgotten all names
But there sure were a lot of names given to the wolf
“I’m not stupid, I can cooperate”
Was it a mistake to become a figure?
Did it help to run faster?
There was no easy way out
The wolf became two and many
Yet another side effect from the expedition
How far have I traveled?
Only continual paths lay before the wolf
The wolf recited the sound of the clock in its head
And through time a bird would notice the wolf
A pure and just being living as it was made to live
A being that makes its decisions with reason and what is good for others and then itself
Happy because it’s alive and possesses its own character
Living because its existence influences all and is made to love
A being that is free
Now the bird cannot do much for it has been created to fly;
And if it to contradict so, the rules of life would be issued and the bird would cease to exist
But born with a tongue and a heart to speak, it rightfully so use it
And after watching the wolf make its trail in its frail blood
After seeing it hide its face in dirt to lessen the burns
After hearing its broken voice scream for condolence
The time stops and the world blesses the bird with a chance and calms its winds for an opening
The bird soars down as low as it can descend and sings the following words in question to the wolf
“Why is it that you travel the world but reach no destination? Why is it that you hide oneself from the other and seek no future? Why is it that you ask a question but expect no answer? Why is it that you write stories but let nothing read it? Why is it that you have no strength but yet still climb endless mountains? Why is it that you look in the mirror but see no face? Why do you run?”
It was not a noise from the darkness
It was a song from the hearth
What does it want?
Have I found my dream?
“My life is but an orchestra of the mistakes of others. Others that are myself and run just as I. Singing sounds that many ears will never hear or understand. I have walked but understand little of the world. A world built by my kin but sunken it the shadows of our temptation. I do not understand what to do or who I am. Secrets are the only things that are me. I am broken and I have shattered myself. Watch me if you are and see me try to rebuild myself with questions. See me try to shape the world because I have seen my reflection and believed that there is something more. I listen to sounds seeking hope that I’ve know when I was a child. A memory of hope flows in me as I walk into shadows hoping to deceive my own very mind. The thing that is me is an idea created from a lost source. A source forgotten but which its strength lives on in my mind. A source that lives my mind and gives birth to ideas, ideas that never end sounds that never stop
I hear a sound
It speaks of who is the I
“I think therefore I am”
Then an idea
A reflection of a sound
“I live therefore I run”