lundi, décembre 06, 2004

Cry A River by Amy Grant

Looking down, I think, jump jump just,
floating down, falling to the ground, speeding up as gravity’s rules decree,
I think to myself what ridiculousness my life has been.
I know nothing of meaning and rhyme, because
everywhere I turn there is no one who knows who I am or what I am.

Here I go, ending the loneliness and the bitter, in sorrow.

Standing here and watching now as they crowd around. Flashing lights,
Bright dark bright dark bright dark
As the tide ebbs, I wonder if anyone will miss me.

Struggling inside…
I want to live
I want desperately to end the years of hurting and loneliness.

Can you know,
can you understand,
can you sympathize with the intensity of my isolation...

the isolation of my mind…

Abyss of agony between me and the world's blase harmony.

Here's another thought for you.

Sometimes I think that a particular kind of smart humans are just doomed, because of the way their minds work. It's a common phenomenon among very bright people who have a certain class of expectations that they're very much feeling beings inside and yet that's not meshed very well with the very high operating thinking being within also. The clash of the two raises a high level of feelings of isolation and frustration. Generally, the perfectionists, they want everything to be just so and that tends to lead them further away from humanity and companionship which they desire greatly.

I can't imagine that anyone really understands this feeling. I find so few people who know what it's like between the void and my reality. I don't really think I'm a human. I'm not sure I have any validity. I don't believe that I can survive this world. I don't really know if I can keep my tail out of troubles and traps. What kind of cat am I without a tail?

No Manx am I.

Here's another for you.********

Off to the side, I am your angel. I see you half-alive and half-dead lying there. Did you know when you came here what you would be suffering and doing? That you would lie in your hospital bed alone and fighting for three days? Strugging between life and death, most of the work for death already done, but that still your soul would kick and scream refusing to let go of your physical form? did you know then the power of that inner voice of yours that wanted to live? Do you know it now?


Standing back one more step, I walk backwards away from the tent.
I see beneath it the shadow of the valley
and I am afraid.
Does the angel come for me or for you?

You're already gone, though.
so is it just my mind playing tricks on me?
Does the shadow hover even when his work is already done?