Music Poem
Today, like every other day, you may notice my headphones are on.
And sure, I can see you're talking for your lips are moving.
But no, I won't bother to push pause.
Music is my first priority.
How do I tell you I just don't care?
When sweet serenity is playing in my ears?
I wonder if you're smart enough to get the picture -
when all I do is blankly stare.
So go back to whatever you were previously doing.
This is a battle you are clearly losing.
I'll let you know, m'dear,
when I give a damn.
If you should still have any questions
my answer is quite simply,
"Because I can."
Not finished yet, but heres what I have:
Color Your World
"But its all just pretend."
"Just pretend!? No, no, no! Have I taught you nothing?"
It wasn't anger that flashed in her eyes, but rather as though she had somehow been deeply betrayed. "No, child. You insolent moron. It is never just pretend."
My first thought was that she had lost it. Her sanity was surely gone. I wanted to let out a cynical laugh or two, but the proportions in which those inredulous eyes were staring, boring into me made me keep my mouth shut. I was suddenly massively confused. In my mind I repeated, just pretend...
"Don't you dare even think it! Child, what do you see when you look at this tree?"
I gulped.
I hated the way she was cornering me, making me feel small and stupid. It was just a tree.
"Well, erm. Theres the branches, of couse. Obviously trees have branches. Theres the trunk. Its a tall tree, lots of leaves." God, I hate how ridiculous that sounds! It was dumb. Really dumb. "And erm, there's mixtures. Brown mixtures, green shades." I wanted to kick myself.
All the features in her round, old face narrowed. As if she were as disgusted as I felt. Moron, it read. She thrust her arms out from her sides, reared her head to the sky and screamed in octaves I never knew possible. My ear drums complained. It was as if she were cursing the Gods for sending such a creature as myself here. So unworthy of even breathing. I flinched quickly and closed my eyes as tight as I could, sorry for my existence.
When the screaming stopped I fearfully opened my eyes. Peeked, really. First the right eye, then the left. Her face, those eyes! They were looking at me. Expressionless
Crap, I thought. Which was worse? The screaming or no emotion at all? It was much too quiet. Uncomfortably, I squirmed. Until what seemed an enternity a deep breath came from her and she began to speak.
"You want to be an artist, don't you?"
I nodded, slowly. I didn't dare open my mouth.
"Listen to me, and listen close. Each artist has their own way of looking at what they see. You have understand and figure out what your way is. Thiis tree, its not just a tree. Neither are the rest of them. Its your responsibility to give them the unique values they deserve. No one tree, just like humans, are ever alike. If you don't look at your world as a canvas, how on earth will you manage anything artistic on a real canvas?"
Oh. Something dawned on me then, an epiphany perhaps. The strength of my courage, of my voice, was coming back to me. It made perfect symmetrical sense. I gave myself a few moments to let this sink in.
I thought about my palette sitting next to me. The fiery oranges, calm ocean blues, forest greens, sunshine yellows, cherry reds, pale shades of peach, clear night sky black. All waiting there to be used, to be taken from the white of the palette. My mind formed an invisible hand and wrapped its imaginary fingers over the small, thin black handled paintbrush and dipped the tip of the brush into the cherry red. Paint creeped up a bit on the brush, as little as I would allow. I now looked at the tree. I spoke to my teacher but kept my eyes on my project.
"The tree is black. All of it."
And it was so. Every little inch of the tree obliged to my command, my orders. I smiled. This was fun.
"The trunks bark contains streaks of this very red I hold in my hand. Not large streaks. Tiny. Almost unoticeable. More like accents, really." I remembered to mentally wash out my paintbrush in the clear water, and even there I imagined the red bleeding into the crystal blue. I thought of the palette, thought of my tree. Ownership, because it was my creation now.
"What about those branches?" I whispered.
An unexpected smile curled the corners of my teacher's lips. She reasked me, "Yes, what about them?"
I gave her a curious look. I'd nearly forgotten she was there. My eyes became concentrated, determined. Nothing was going to stop me now!
I gazed back at all those colors, and those colors gazed back at me. I couldn't stop the small smile that was beginning to infect me as well. As though it was contagious. Which color? Those branches! What to do?
But this is what it was all about; the decision. An artist has to make decisions all the time. Its a never ending task, I was beginning to realize it couldn't be emphasized enough. It was of the utmost importance on how I wanted this tree to look. More importantly, it was all up to me. No pressure, of course. Art is made to be fun. Art is like life in every single way. There are choices to be made. The volumn of the colors depicts the situation. All of it, made perfect sense.
So I reasoned.
I already have the colors black and red. What's going to work with the rest of the tree? I decided. Yellow.
Excitement began to spread inside me like a paint spill, replacing my very blood flowing in my veins. Before I knew it, I was seeing the tree in different colors that I never thought could even be. As the branches were black, I began to outline them in the yellow. Only the tips, though. I gave about an inch or two for each branch an opportunity to be yellow. I went through the mental process of washing the paintbrush as I picked another color. It was odd, the water and mixtures of colors blending; yellow, red, blue.
Orange.
That's what was next.
Starting where I had stopped, I eased the orange from the yellow. It was like a soft pull, dabbing the orange where the yellow stopped, bringing it down to where I wanted it. I didn't want them to mix, I just wanted them to coexist. Certainly there was a difference. When something mixed, they became one color. When something coexisted, the two colors still remained as they were yet together. It was a marriage of colors.
The paint was intoxicating my very being. My eyes narrowed further, a tight grin formed.
I continued on. Again, I thought about what I had. That black as night tree, showing the first signs of colors as dawn does in the early morning.
This tree was, in fact, different from the rest of them. The trunk was filled with the color of red, seemingly stolen from the sun.
I now faced my teacher. I told her these words,"I made the outlined branches spawn from the tree in orange, blue, red, yellow - for a reason.
Everything, for a reason.
Always, for a reason.
The reason, because I wanted it that way. And that was enough. Enough to fill a purpose.
Any purpose."
She smiled.
That smile was that only approval I needed. She didn't have to tell me she was proud, I could already see it. But I didn't imagine the tree that way for her smile. I did it for me.
Then I began to see the true reasons of art. That's what art was for me. Something that I can enjoy, something of my creation that I can enjoy. Some things are inexplicable, complicated.
Art, simply made sense.
The Cemetery
At the edge of this particular small town there is a large, desolate graveyard. While hopefully not your regular hang out place, it serves as physical Limbo for the deceased. Their bodies stay six feet underground while their spirits linger somewhere in time. Some making up the silver lining overhead while others are trapped in the fiery, tinted blue flames underneath. Contained inside dead wood coffins with the insects as company, their bodies rot. They are only kept alive by the memories and the writing on their weather-worn tombstones. The only remnants of reality that they ever even existed.
In small town graveyards the grounds are normally simple and unkempt. The irony of it all is that there's a white picket fence outlining the boundaries. Death thickens, threatens the air constantly.
On this particular day crystal blue splashes of rain crashed mercilessly on the lush, overgrown grass. One of the heavier rain falls of the year, however, the inhabitants couldn't have cared. A vicious storm clearly persisted above. Soft, graceful feet padded along the pebbled walkway, intertwining her way through the grounds. It was as though she walked on air. Her dress, made of pale green silk, clung to her small frame due to the cold water of the crying clouds. Her eyes appeared distant, far off. She didn't seem to have an inkling of her gloomy surroundings.
At the end of the path on which she was traveling magnificently stood a debilitated willow tree. A veil of flowing branches of green made up the canopy of this ancient willow. The tips of the leaves cascaded nearly to the ground in some areas, curling slightly at the end. The unascertained lady in drenched green stopped just short of one of these dangling, leafy branches. She glided her hand through the uneven, pitch-forked leaves.
Instinct told her to turn around. Obliging, she redirected her gaze away from the willow. In front of her a phenomenon was taking place. The rain was creating something, inanimate at first. Then an image began to form that made it more recognizable.
Layer by layer the rain carefully gathered, creating the base of an oval. At first it was merely the bottom half, then the middle, and then the curve at the top to finish the shape off. The oval stretched nearly seven inches tall. Somehow propping itself up, the rain continued to design the base of the oval. A small, rain-made peg attached to each side eventually kept balance. Then the object sprang to life in a silver outburst of blinding color.
It was a mirror. Rusted metal made up the base of an elegant mirror as the surface became reflective, tinged with sapphire and outlined in a gold frame. As Mother Nature stood by the willow, a slow smile began to form. "Perfect."
There are many superstitions about mirrors. It's said that mirrors can reveal your future. Then some say that if one breaks, the culprit will have seven years of bad luck. Others say babies should never look into a mirror for the first year of their lives, reasons unknown. Even others still claim if a young lady wishes to see her husband-to-be, she is to eat an apple while sitting in front of a mirror and then brush her hair. An image of her destined man will appear behind her shoulder. Darker truths reveal themselves through mirrors, as well. It is said that to look into a mirror is to see your own soul. This is why vampires, who are soulless, cannot ever see their reflection.
Mirrors are manipulative tools for both good and evil alike. Mother Nature, uses her abilities for good. It was odd place, a cemetery, to conduct such matters. But there needed to be a equilibrium of good and evil present. Since she was already the extremity of good, there had to be some evil lurking around to even matters out. The lurking evil seeped from the presence of some deceased that was just enough to sustain the required amounts.
Once the mirror was fully created and tangible Mother Nature stopped the rain and cast the clouds away. Clouds dissipated gradually, early morning periwinkle peeked through the sky. Slowly at first, then spread out like a blanket of comfort. The sun blazed orange brilliance, proud to be hung in the sky one more time. As though it had conquered the rain itself.
Off in the distance, near the entrance to the cemetery, Mother Nature could hear the wheels of a car come to a stop. This perplexed even her as she figured this place was unhampered by anyone in their right sense. It was more of an annoyance than anything. She decided to have some fun and grinned at the mirror. She eased herself gently behind the leafy branches of the willow, sneaking quietly away. She lightly pressed herself against the trunk of the tree, disappearing inside the bark of the trunk.
A car door angrily screamed shut. Sia placed clammy hands on the cemetery doors that were still wet from the rain, allowing herself in. She wanted to get this over with. Pay her last respects and be done.
Sia made her way down the path that led to her Grandmother's grave. Sia never got along with her Grandmother. Ever. It was classic knowledge in her family the mutual hatred the both of them shared. One of the only characteristic
Sia knew where she was going by the directions in her hand. Fast paced, the directions led her way to the willow. She was immediately enamored by it's panoramic greenery. Not the point, she reminded herself. She suddenly halted, taken aback. There was...a mirror. In the middle of the graveyard. What gives? she wondered, immensely confused.
Sia had once heard mirrors could reveal your soul. She remembered reading somewhere old legends and myths about mirrors. And if she believed in the supernatural, she would reference vampires. How they allegedly couldn't see their reflection in the mirror because they were soulless. Of course.
Sia ran the tip of her pointer finger down the small, golden frame. Cool to her touch, each inch she traveled along made her forget her troubles. Before long the reasons of her coming here in the first place escaped her entirely. Sia stuffed the map inside her pocket, looking down for a second. In this second something began to happen within the glass of the mirror. Needless to say, she was instantly mesmerized.
In the middle of the glass formed a small sterling silver band. On top of the band was a tiny, sparkling onyx stone cut into an oval, like the mirror itself. Sia loved how the onyx stone shone like a black sun. Ex's and circle designs were embellished on either sides of the stone that wrapped all the way around the band. It was decidedly the most gorgeous piece of jewelery Sia had seen in ages.
She longed to put it on her finger, and try it on for size. Except, it was trapped in the mirror. An old phrase came to her mind. So very close and yet so terribly far away. So she added the 'terribly' part. She couldn't help it. This fact alone made her want to behave like a child, and she wanted to throw a temper tantrum. Because it just wasn't fair! Sia pulled herself together, and an exasperated sigh escaped from her lips.
None of this meant Sia couldn't touch it. Even if it was just an image. It was so beautiful that she would settle for such a simple compromise. She vaguely wondered who the mirror belonged to as she traced the band with her pointer finger. Surely, the mirror just didn't appear out of nowhere.
Sia brought all the tips of her five fingers to the surface of the glass. Her middle finger placed directly inside the loop of the band. Something happened all too fast. Sia couldn't understand. All she knew, was the stone in the mirror was no longer the stone in the mirror. It was situated proudly on her middle finger. The onyx stone complimented her pale skin. It fit perfectly. Too perfectly.
That's when the paranoia finally set in. She was too entranced to notice it earlier. She wanted to keep the ring, but she couldn't shake the strong sense of paranoia. She found it so rightfully, it was hers. She felt the urge to escape, it nearly overwhelmed her. She twirled around and found she was still alone. Thankfully. Except she still felt watchful eyes on her that made her skin crawl. Her eyes gleamed with guilt, as she snuck off toward the entrance of the cemetery. Forget seeing her Grandmother. She was going to write that off her task of things to do. Nobody ever needed to know about this.
She reached the gate of the cemetery. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. She wondered slightly if she should just leave the ring back at the mirror. It had to be somebody's. But then she took another long look at the onyx stone that fit as though meant for her. She couldn't possibly turn it down. She knew it wrong to abandon such a moral act of visiting her Grandmother's grave. But she didn't want to share the secret of the ring, either. It was hers.
Then the ring on her finger began to quiver. Only a little, at first. A blinding light then erupted and Sia couldn't see, couldn't feel. Sia's entire body suddenly liquidated and bled into the stone. Everything stood still as the ring trapped Sia's body and soul. Nothing was left except the ring on the dirt ground.
The ring came to life again and hovered above the ground. Once hovered a few feet from the ground it flew back up the path into the mirror. The mirror seemed to sigh before flying off and disappearing into the clouds.
Mother Nature extracted herself from the bark of the tree and frowned. It wasn't meant to be like that, she thought. Humans were so unpredictable. That one small act of not visiting her Grandmother's grave, and the child was obliterated into nothing. How unfair. It never ceased to amaze Mother Nature how such good intentions could go so horribly wrong. At least the contribution of her soul would assist Mother Nature in the conducting of things. She only used evil souls to manipulate the weather, though, she figured Sia's soul had turned evil when she stole the ring and wrote off visiting her Grandmother. Again, how unfair. One last thought accompanied with a shrug -
Then, such is life.