This post was published to Random Poetry..Rhyme 2 my h... at 5:50:12 PM 11/14/2012
What is it like to grow up with everyone already having imagined what you might be in the future and the responsibilities you’ll need to fulfill?
It is hard to grow into the role that’s already been laid out for you to wear but some people are lucky enough to have been allowed their own individuality and their own dreams. I myself, I’m a dreamer but when it’s the dream world where you’re allowed to be who you want, it’s the dream world you’d prefer to the harsh realities of life. That won’t solve any of my problems though and so I’m going to turn to the unresponsive white background of my blog to pour out the bitter taste of reality.
Life is a large spread of land crawling with thick masses of greenery, vines, and massive tree trunks with their tops of green shrubbery towering into the clouds. Life is a jungle. It’s dark and humid in there with only a few specks of light getting through the spaces between the leaves and branches. The trees are so tall, so wide, so rough barked that they are impossible to climb that you unable to see over the land at what lays ahead. The trees grow so close and the plants litter as far as the eye can see into the mass of darkness; that you cannot see what’s far ahead.
Your only hope is the tiny splattering of light that breaks through the open spaces and faith enough to believe there is something great beyond the darkness and chaos of the jungle. There are remnants of a concrete path, lying broken and almost unusable along the ground, half buried by the soil and almost hidden by the wild grass. It’s very difficult to find this path in the jungle and painful trying to move the sharp blades of grass; some whose cunning thorns prick your naked fingers when you try to search for the faded pavement.
This jungle, I am in. Around me there are people, some who stay close but others I can barely see but are still within hearing range. Now and again I can call out and they will hear and respond. I fear though, one day they will disappear and I will no longer know them. Others are right by me and I know them all. Some have tried to hide the pavement from me; others have lent me their spare machetes to clear the weeds off the path.
Sometimes, I’m weak and I have trouble cutting down an annoyance of a wild plant that blocks my way and people laugh. Sometimes, someone who is kind enough not to laugh steps in and helps me cut the weed down.
There are people behind me, whose tongues are like whips but yet are like gold. Sometimes, I miss a stone or a root and I trip; the lashes begin. They tear across my heart and causes pain that cripples my mind and hurts my soul. I sometimes think I can bare it no longer and lose all feeling in my legs. I think I will not stand after this. I think this travel is no longer worth the hurt.
Sometimes, I find where the pavement rises and I stand above all others during such an achievement and I receive gold. Precious, priceless and rare. It shines and glows through the darkness and I think, this is why I try. This is why I bother. So that I can have the most precious thing in the world.
I find myself always stumbling into somewhere too dark to find the path and the lashings behind me distract me from what I try to find. It’s painful and cruel and I want so much for it to stop. The only way It can, is for when I find the path they want. I want my own, though. Is it worth the pain?
All I see is darkness but always, there’s that one ray of light. The hope that I need to have to stand again. To do labour and cut, chop, chop, chop the numerous wild life in my way.
It is great help, when others around me give me cheer or spare cane-knife. Some gold too, to light my way. Someone beside me, he gives me so much gold that I’m amazed about how much bounty of it he has. It’s so precious, it’s so rare and it’s so very much appreciated.
I give my gold back to him. As much as I have, as much as I can give. All I want, is for those behind me to one day give my share of gold. As much gold as I’ve always given to them. As much as I can afford to give.
I want that I can find my own path. I want that those closest to me do not hurt me.
As it is for now, I still have my light. For now, the most precious gift of all is in my grasp. I may have fallen into a trench. I may have lost track of my path. I may be suffering the piercing pain of those lashing whips.
BUT
I’m still in this forest. My path still exists somewhere. I have gold. I have light. I have hope.
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