Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
You had such sensitive ways, a kindness and gentility,
In the beginning you were so small and afraid of the world,
But you overcame this, sharing the warmth of a hunded suns,
Like very few others, you were our shooting star,
Shining so very bright, but sadly, fading out far too quickly.
Warm is the golden sun that rises,
Over eucalyptus and cypress shadow,
Across night frosted lawns beginning to melt,
After the long night, a new day is born,
There is a cool sharpness to the air,
A calm silence throughout the home,
Where I sit, eyes closed but seeing.
A brief glow of sunlight shines through glass,
It feels like a kindness, gently warming my face,
Every time feels like the first.
In this moment my mind feels free,
I can forget the sadness of the past,
And the fear of what the future will bring,
In this moment I’m caught,
Spellbound and suspended,
Within a rapturous embrace of warmth.
In this moment everything is ok,
And I am enough.
For some, it becomes harder to let the light in,
The world seems full of ghosts,
Every face seen is a blur,
Every name known is forgotten,
A darkness consumes the world,
The only certainty is that scratching,
Behind an old wooden door,
That colourless place with stale icy air,
Where death resides.
The pain in my side stabs at me,
Every breath a sharp reminder,
Of how fragile humans really are,
A moment of wrong movement,
Inflicts pain and suffering for weeks.
I cannot lay on my side to hold you,
But know I long to,
My comfort, my balance, my control,
Healing is to recover these things,
And put you in my arms again.
I haven’t created new imagery for a while, since recently removing Facebook and Instagram I haven’t felt the desire. Have I retired from art? no, I’m just not currently feeling clear minded enough for satisfying imagination. As a result, I’m not 100% happy with the image, but I felt it important to share the process, both wins and the losses. The image represents my current state of mind.
I feel as though my mind is in stasis, or hibernation, I have been writing a considerable amount for a new book and that has been my focus. Art for therapy is important, I guess I’m feeling up against things lately, so it is important to push myself gently.
There is a point that we reach,
When the daily mask we wear,
No longer fits our life,
So, we remove and dispose of it,
Leaving the flesh beneath raw and pliable,
In the beginning, it is sensitive to all sensation,
Eventually it will harden into a new mask,
Life exists in a state of constant flux,
Hopefully a time will eventually come,
When no masks are required,
The way we interact with the world will change,
And we can finally rest and be free.
Life seems to be a blur,
It holds little pleasure anymore,
It is a series of necessary movements,
Each one perfectly engineered to pay,
In some way or another,
I’m constantly lost in thought,
Caught up in a flurry of movement,
Against competing sounds,
There is no longer an opportunity to stop,
I am a ball of confusion in motion,
Daily toil seems to have no end,
Stress abounds in infinite supply,
Pain is a daily reminder,
It is an inconvenience to others to mention it,
What doesn’t affect people has no meaning,
Pain is personal, worry is the same,
Ignorance is the Crown Prince of today,
Soon to be made the King of fools,
I see no point being involved with most things now,
Even imaginary escape is impossible,
Peace always has a cost associated,
Human spirit has been corrupted,
Life seems to be a blur,
It holds little pleasure anymore.
There is an unease beneath the surface,
Something unspoken lies there in waiting,
In a black hollow somewhere deep within me,
There is a discomfort when I feel it shift,
Until it resettles back into that unknown place,
I never know when that black feeling will arrive,
Secretly, it slides in cold beneath my skin,
The mask I call my face washes over pale and bleak,
When I feel that numbing icy presence, I know,
That something in my normal day has fractured,
Something dark begins to skip out of time,
Like a needle scratching across record tracks,
A personality, no longer my own, another me, takes over,
They are here with me now, cold, uncaring, menacing,
It’s unclear if that unease is a protector or predator,
But it takes me away, out of myself, into the black,
Where I am placed into a dense dark slumber,
The unease then steps forward into confrontation,
It feels like my closed eyes are still open to the void,
The wholeness of its appearance is immense,
When that darkness, that unease, that predator awakens,
All I can do is keep my eyes closed and hold the tears inside,
Until time passes, until the strangle hold slowly loosens,
And that wave passes, before breaking onto the shore,
Only then can I return to the light of the day.
I don’t feel like myself tonight,
Aches and pains, things aren’t right,
I don’t feel like I’ve been sleeping,
For at night my mind goes creeping,
Away to another world,
To the Isle of Sleep’s black sand shores,
Where pits lay open like gaping maws,
And ground vents breath a smoky haze,
Where fire topped trees all stand a blaze,
Where is it that my sleeping mind goes,
Every night my curiosity grows,
Wherever it is the dreams don’t share,
Am I visiting hell,
Who can tell,
Perhaps I’m already there.
The disconnection continues,
Self-expression is becoming strained,
Creative stores and levels are low,
The world feels like so much weight,
It drains all energy to appear human,
Conversational connection is awkward,
Reality is being challenged internally,
Line between thought and speech is blurred,
And, as though swept away by the wind,
Thought patterns are scattered and unclear,
Effective stability, control, and delivery is limited,
A numb comfort exists within mental shadows,
This house is slowly becoming darker,
With the termination of each light,
The outside causes the system to overflow,
Retreat into the within means survival,
The disconnection continues.
Dan Verkys 