When dreams fail
Posted by Barry Hurd in Blog, Dreams
When falling stars
define whimsical thoughts,
passionate wanting, lifelong wishes
.
The moment between,
the insanity of reality,
and the intangible needs of life.
.
Beautiful seconds
where everything matters most,
yet nothing survives.
.
The sleepless dawn
Failing to restrain my thoughts,
from helpless desires of midnight insanity.
The child: an Amnesiac’s Freedom
Posted by Barry Hurd in Blog, Defiant, Dreams
As a child, my mother told me to pay attention.
Sitting idle as my thoughts played outside.
Blurs of imagination struggling to escape this prison.
The guards of denial, created by my elders,
binding me down, restraining me.
Until I forgot.
.
If I could remember,
the way I was told to behave,
or the manner in which I was told to act -
then my life would not be my own.
I would be an extension of what came before me,
instead of the extraordinary thing I need to be.
.
If my memory
in a moment of childish arrogance,
could be deleted, as it already has been,
I would know no rules, have no restraint.
I would dream not of surviving the failure of others,
but of discovering my own, of personal exploration.
To dream awake
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams
When I closed my eyes, I began to dream. I was a child, holding myself in imagination and wonder. Not like the tattered old suit who passed me on the street, or the fine pair of shoes that cautiously crosses the street.
No I was like I was when I hid in the forest of blades once beneath my feet, laughing as I snuck from here to there. When I dream, I begin to see clearly. I view the world like a rainbow painting my world, beautiful, hopeful, unbroken.
I hear the words of the world bring themselves to a chorus of unity and silence, to which I must take action. To believe that I am different would be pointless and unfortunate, as I, simply am. When I live, my dreams become real. I hold them. Touch them. Taste them. I try again and again, for something. That something is not what I desire. It is the act of reaching that brings my spirit to a point of fascination. My place in the steps of living may only be counted once, and then I must defer to the very figment I adore. To wake, I must be dreaming, for I still see the world in so many colors.
Flight of an Angel
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Daily thoughts, Dreams, Spiritual
In a lonely place, I said farewell
No longer could I dwell,
And I left no sign of personal relation
As divine words, became my hope of salvation
No trace on these crimson skies
Just thoughts chiseled within the question why.
Days of failing memory,
Distant things I cannot convey.
The stemmed roses in a field of dream,
Reminded me of things no one else saw.
One more step, I tell myself
That my spirit survives and will never fall
That I must carry my faith alone,
My aching heart, perfect in itself,
Weighing more than any would know.
As I questioned my body, my need of believing,
In something that even I could never see.
Should I wander, the wonder of my life
May it be that I will go, to leave this lonely place.
That your wings carry me when I fade,
I am away, perhaps not this day, but in feelings I must stay
That I never question, nor should I ponder,
This path I find within your eyes,
No I will not ask, no I will not forget,
For my thoughts simply remember beautiful,
And you, my angel, taught me how to fly.
The way people live
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Dreams, Friendship, Honor, Survival
I don’t get too much time these days to stop and smell the roses, sometimes however sweet they are. Rather I ask myself if I remember what roses smell like. Ironically, I find myself lacking that memory. People often fail to realize if they will miss the moments of life they love, and yet I look at things and find myself terrified of losing even my past, the warm scent of life that made me smile.
What does that mean? it means I actually miss the people I care about. I miss them a lot. Unlike many people who take moments of living for granted, I take every second as if it were a treasure… the kind you would covet as a child and hide away from all danger, both real and imaginary.
This is not something that passes, for me at least, part of who I am is locked in a moment of perfect clarity. In a fear of forgetting every perfect moment, I sometimes find them haunting. Yet I feel that strange desire of actually having something worth holding, something worth sacrifice and triumph. Something worth the very tears that remind me how my heart feels.
I find myself struggling on a daily basis to reach the goal of being triumphant… of feeling it… and when I try to succeed I am aware that my efforts were too late… that I failed. Realizing I have failed someone I cared about is brutal reminder that my duty is not something that I can ignore or that I can set aside. I am better than that.
Some people refer to me as a healer, a person of serendipitous nature and exact purpose. I am a catalyst of sorts, the person people interact with to produce a reaction of unusual results.
This leads me to a question that has been asked of me before, “what is my purpose in life?”
I seem to be a conduit. Something that is not a destination, but a place of action where one does not stop. My nature provokes people into moving from A to B, and there are no stops where I am. That has always been my life, a place where people never have time to smell the roses.
I feel like I am a rose. The kind of blossom that stands by itself against the horizon, waiting for the sun to rise and be embraced by a moment of warmth, only to acknowledge that the moon and stars will soon replace the vibrancy of life that keeps me warm.
Perfect little stars. The gemini in me realizes that duality better than most. Perfect and brilliant speckles of hope that keep me hoping that the sunrise will soon make me warm again, that the beautiful night sky is a place that feels too alone.
I promised my daughter a long time ago that I would never give up on people I care about. I do not let my dreams die so easily. That is a far more difficult realization than I care to admit. Failure is not an option. Allowing my dreams, my promises, and my hopes to fade away is simply something I will not let happen.
So I keep moving. I try to explain some things, and I leave some things without any explanation as I push myself harder and faster. The brutality of caring for people often leaves me left uncared for, but that is my life. I know what will or will not kill me. I am a survivor… a catalyst that serves a purposes for the things around me.
I will always care. Honestly and wholeheartedly. Even when I the world fails to give me time to say it, I will always remember and honor how I feel.
If I came across your profile
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Friendship
If I came across your profile,
would I wonder about you,
whether you enjoy the background,
the music that no one else hears,
or if you stand on the stage of life
and scream into the crowd.
If I came across your profile,
could I dare to think it defines you,
the way you eat breakfast in the morning
or laugh at whimsical musings like this.
Should I care to understand more,
or click once more to the next.
If I came across your profile,
should there be a glimpse of who you are,
I would hope so, enough that I befriend you,
as I ask myself what trivial things we share.
I do not know, I just wonder,
should a stranger like me even care.
If I came across your profile,
your smile, your eyes, the favorite color of life
with the people that you define as “friend”
Do you know how much they care,
if I came across your profile,
would you even know I was there?
As the Rain Falls
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Dreams
Today I arrived at a place, called home.
My son was in the car with his friend, laughing.
I was carrying my keys, holding his hand.
Telling him how wonderful life was, if only a moment to enjoy.
The sky was blue, with tender drops of cool rain falling down.
Yet we were happy, in peaceful seconds as father and son.
He does not wonder as I do, about how these days may pass.
But he teaches me more than I can learn, if only to be a child once more.
The Path of Dreams
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Spiritual
That our dreams may hold the answers.
The memories of our life, the notes of all our desire.
Every phrase of care, of loving words that we have spoken.
The moments in the fire that defined our lifelong yearning,
and of cherished times laying at our feet that feel so broken.
These dreams are the stepping stones to wonderland.
Each and every one, perfectly laid into a path,
so that we may journey down them one at a time.
Built of hope and of fear, of love and misery,
they hold us only long enough to experience them once.
As they crumble to dust and we faulter forward.
Before our world, the life we define seems so solid,
yet dissolves under the wieght of our hopeful living,
becoming pebbles of memory that fall upon the water,
and land peacefully in our dreams as echoes of our past.
Every family joke, every friend that said good-bye,
The moments we asked why, and every heart we broke.
Yet in our journey, as in all,
we pause, finding our journey at an end,
and the foundation of our dreams no longer holds our wieght.
We fall into the deep lake of our consciousness
and for a fraction of our life become aware
of the dreams beneath our feet that are always there.
Cloudy Dreams
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Friendship
for in the day,
it was the sun, for whatever reason I adored,
and at night,
the brilliant sparkle of so many dreams above.
I wondered, as I looked to the heavens,
was this a childish fantasy,
to believe in something I couldn’t see,
a dream being lived,
or memory long forgotten.
I wondered, if my life had been defined by fate,
as I meander through my friendships,
offering a hand to those I for whom I care,
and daring to believe it makes a difference,
in a life no one realizes is there.
I wondered, as my dream becomes so obscure
hidden behind the clouds,
of everyone’s lost perceptions,
do I bare the burden of my believing,
as my life is left unseen.
The Dreams of Youth
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Dreams, Spiritual
In our childhood, we are told
to dream of things that will never be.
Embrace the sentiment, the sub-conscious
and all the desires we have never spoken.
These are the lost moments of our wonderland,
the deep echo that thunders in our infancy.
Yet it is our world, the moment to be recalled,
as the birthday passes and our life becomes familiar.
It is within our innocence, that the figment is true,
that a warm embrace becomes and intimate reminder,
and we fall, never knowing, fast asleep.