I thought it would never faze me again,thought it would never faze me again,
The fear that lies deep within the lost reaches of my mind,
The fear that once crept into dreams, tinting them black and red,
One I never thought nor hoped to remember.
By day I lost myself to the sight of honeysuckle blossoms and the branches of evergreens,
slowly falling maple leaves and vibrant tulip petals,
I never felt safer, and yet...
I saw them only in dreams.
So intricately were they placed,
In horrifying patterns to lengths I thought weren’t possible,
Making monsters to be all the more threatening,
Or causing them pain, blinding my vision with nothing but images of strife...
...I never spoke of these dreams
because I didn’t understand them...
I had been afraid.
But now I am not.
I’m not afraid.
But I do have to ask...
Why did they haunt my dreams back then?
Why did they reappear again...
It’s natural right?
A common fear?
The fear of danger that lurks within us all?
Why did I think of them again?
Why did it all come back?
I thought I had escaped.
I wasn’t afraid.
I can just forget it all.
I did it then, years ago.
I can do it again
This morning I jolted awake.
Why were they on my mind?
Playing Telephone with Google Translate
“Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” -Dr. Seuss
I translated this quote to Japanese, Mongolian, Urdu, Thai, Hebrew, and then Finnish. The result was:
“Because it’s silent, I smell like that.”
I was scared to go any further than this, but I did anyway.
I then translated this to Armenian, Maltese, Hmong, Yoruba, and Sinhala. The result was:
“When I was quiet, I thought I was fun.”
Words to live by I guess?
So many times that you may often have some time to waste,
You'll see a lovely smile from a near onlooker's face,
And while it's shape and honest look beats all of those around,
Its such a shame to look and see it's been flipped upside-down.
They think that once you're seen that they will know your whole life story,
Mostly if the tale involves anything but glory.
What an avid reader! If you changed a few credentials,
Last time I checked, to turn a single page was an essential.
Your decorated cover has been spotted by somebody,
And from their lovely, mixed up smile, they dislike what you embody.
I'm sorry, human novel, it seems that you will not be read,
But your somehow "sketchy" cover will remain in someone's head.
Some authors just don't see the sun, but I guess in that case,
Why don't we lose some sunlight, so we'll never see a single face?
A stupid idea really, but it has a certain spark,
'Cause after all, nobody thinks to read when it is dark.
My Dear Pedagog,
How could it be your pedagogy places me out of line,
But in time, I'll reform to so the norm of thine?
Do I proceed and excell and be praised to do well,
Or should I fail to fly? 'Cause it's so hard to tell.
But you're not alone in the group I shall ask,
For you should not fear to take on this great task,
Of finding an answer for thus query I've said,
Because it has left me with pain in my head,
For I've thought long and hard 'til my poor mind was sore,
That I shouldn't have limits to face anymore.
So my Pedagog, riddle me this,
For I know deep inside I don't want to be this.
A puppet on a string on which you will pull,
To keep me behind, to keep me so dull.
I know that there's more to myself to express,
So as for restrictions, I'd give them a rest,
For the me I can be is clearly the best.
Such as the taglock stays firm,
My thoughts cannot break into words.
What can I say to speak my mind,
That won't be taken as unkind?
Stay silent, quiet, quite polite.
Don't be the one seen as in spite.
Don't loosen strands the taglock holds,
To make yourself appear as bold.
In spreads and tattered now it's seen,
For some things said we shouldn't mean.
I oppose my opponents and dispose of those that don't know the doses I suppose don't show and flow unnoticed, such as roses show off poses to dispose thoughts that oppose it, goes to show that those who are slow and those who don't know what's unnoticed won't suppose that there are those that put on shows and poses, as does the rose. My opponents I oppose can't disclose with with such a flow that that I have shown I'm quite a pro, I know, that I go on with my own show so listen, those who I oppose, I always notice, always focus, like the locust rises over that which tries to dispose it. So go tell what you've noticed and oppose those known opponents and show that you're no rose that shall pose and prose for shows, so suppose you go like Moses for he opposed the flow that blows. Those who don't oppose but know that though opponents go and close the prose and slow us we still chose no rose to show us.
Dad-blasted dunces dilly dally and don't discuss the destruction their daily doses deal. With dark deeds they decomposed dozens upon dozens of dearly dubbed delight. They definitely don't dare to diligently dance delicately during deeds of dishonor and drive doubts doubled with darned days to be discussed during decades to date. Disbelief develops in the deepest depths of dreamers deprived of delight inside. The devious and damned dominate the domain, driving desolation til the day of drear decomposing. Why don't the daft dwell on their disasters? Do they dream of a destroyed dimension drowned in depression and death? Will the dreamers decide to do any deeds to drive away the darkness?