The outer per/(L+7)/spectives


The negative spiral, there it comes again.

Outside, from outside I have no problems.

From outside my problems seem little and silly.

So I seem lazy and silly.

Not important to think about it, not important at all.

Most things people think are good and helping,

they help me to go deeper into darkness of the void.

Luckily the void is endless, luckily it is not just empty.

So the farther I go, the more I see what could be, what was.

The farther I go, I see how things are so perfectly wrong.

I see endless pain and suffering, endless oily darkness.

I see endless love, endless joy, in the color worlds we create.

I see how we all could be part of them and are already.

The farther I go, I see that we are so many, so colorful.

Only to get dragged out again, because someone wanted to help.

Dragged out of the colorful dream, back into the hopeless dark gray.

When I try to paint it all with colors, someone tries to help me paint it gray.

In different dark gray tones and shades, while they think it is color they use.

Like dogs, they only see the gray and think this is the life.

So when they see me, they see a gray mess.

So they think they have to sort the shades.

To make it a perfect gray and dark painting, all colorful for them.

What is it what they want, what is it what they need?

Isn’t it the color, the weightless joy?

They need distance, they need calm, they need time.

All the time would never give what they need.

The color is timeless, the clouds are too.

So what is it, is it that they don’t know what to do?

Is it that they were meant to worship the gray?

I think they all just went blue, far far away…

A story is the reward of a day.

A dream the advantage or terror of the night.

Music follows through the waking time.

Music follows into the dreams.

What happened to the golden dream?

When all is left, the silent scream…

A waterfall, a pirate cove, a spaceship.

Days just as a way to say tomorrow.

Days just to say what once was.

Each day, is not the same day.

But there are no days, only times when the light changes.

There are times of cold, of warm nothingness.

The days don’t give, the time doesn’t offer.

We used time to measure, but now it controls us.

If instead of time, we would sleep as long as we want,

if instead of structured, we would work as we want.

We wouldn’t need all the rest, no worries.

You need so much, for all the nothingness there is.

While all you actually want is inside and here already.

While all you wanted to see, is there for you to explore,

is open for you to create.

But everyone wants to control the time.

Everyone wants to control to make more of nothing.

Everyone?

I don’t need it, I don’t want it, never wanted.

All I ever wanted, was already there when I came to life.

But it was taken from me, got broken again and again.

The water, the pirate, the space.

Left me with fall, with a cove and a ship.

A ship to sail down the river.

Always down into the great ocean of wonderful void.

Could I have just been the way I was.

The way I was, everyone loved the way I was.

And I was just knowing of all what could be.

If the best of creation is destruction,

then why is there even construction?

If the best part about life would be death to escape it,

Why even live to reach the point of it?

If a tree could live hundreds or thousands of year’,

why is it that we are to make it disappear?

Death is an option we all chose to be.

So we could end, could finally flee.

Why is it that we drive ourselves insane?

Why is it that we want all this pain?

It makes no sense at all.

But it is normal after while in the fall.

A dreamer knows there is no end.

A dreamer knows it can always give something new.

If we would not worship time, worship dead things…

We could be stars, angels with wings.

No water, no fall. No pirate, no cove. No space, no ship.

Just a dot in the open. Just a grid.

We give it meaning, we give it life.

So why do we let it use the knife?

To make it all small and pointless?

To make it all dust and just less?

The fear never helped us walk.

The fear never made us talk.

The fear never gave us water.

The fear helped us to slaughter.

What did the anger all for us?

It made us worship fear just more.

To see the fear in other eyes,

gives many ones the cheerful highs.

The pain showed me where love is not.

The pain was a teacher to find the plot.

While I wouldn’t have need it,

still it came here a lot.

When I forgot, it reminded me.

It reminded me that I had all,

that I had all in the name of love.

All inside me, but it was too much.

Most were, most are not ready.

Those who were, lost it as well.

The future is in my head.

The past is almost dead.

The present only passing by.

Shall never come, the day I die.

And if it comes, with joyful tears,

I say hello to all my fears.

Good company you always were,

on the river of death along with the ferry.



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