The echoes of the song of the windchimes
February 19, 2017 12:05am CST
I cross my legs, leaning against a worn, gnarled old oak tree with my eyes softly closed. Above me windchimes play a melody, speaking directly to the core of me. I dread the hour when the wind dies, and the last strains of this sweet melody leaves me hollow, with silent, faded memories and un answered questions... so many of those un answered questions. The stillness - not one of peace, but of restless anxiety. A tremor buzzing and whirring away in my sickly mind. And the thought, nay... the knowledge that I am all alone in this world once again. Alone and headed to the grave someday. Then I think... maybe there really is some place special on the other side; but who am I kidding? Disowned family that never really wanted to know me? Friends that were more interested in what was coming out of their clever mouths, than having a real connection? No thanks. Perhaps I'll make a peace with this slow, seeping sadness. Perhaps it will love me. Perhaps it will allow the depth of my own love. Perhaps...perhaps. If I could only know for sure; then I'm sure I could decide just how to feel and fling off this dreadful anxiety. Until then, I lose myself in the haunting tones of those windchimes, doing my best to escape this reality.
2 people like this
20 Feb 17
@anewoldsoul exactly. and you are in a right place to air your thoughts. i have been writing too, primarily just to express and not to impress. i remember keeping a journal where i write my thoughts whenever i feel blue. funny though that as i read them now, i find them very emotional and nice. i guess it is really true that emotions get the most out of writers.
• United States
20 Feb 17
@Yadah04 - Yahah, I love pretty much ALL forms of communication. At some point, I'll be getting into making movies. Writing is a major PART of that; so it is something that I focus on a lot. I'm good at it according to my friends and even some strangers, I love doing it - kinda like the need to breathe for me, and I feel I have something to say. Every day, there are new experiences. Everyone has a story to tell; and you can write about ANYTHING under the sun; or even way, way, way past it! For a very long time, I thought that my writings would remain hidden; but then I shared them with a few, select people. Each one, in turn, told me that I had a real gift. The clincher, was when our English class was given a homework assignment to write a poem. I finished up reading mine, the next day, and at first it was deathly silent; then, all at once, the whole class started clapping. That was back in tenth grade. Without knowing why, my poem turned into a sad ballad, of a former lover who had taken her life on the beach, visiting a man in his dreams. She was there to urge him to move on with his life. I might re-write it, here, on myLot, when I get the chance.