2004-04-02
Please Don't Take My Starlight Away
hearing: Angel In Disguise - Delirious?
reading: Great Expectations by Charles Dickens and (read) The Bell by George MacDonald
wearing: pjs and sadly enough, socks
You Are My Sunshine
(with some creative editing)
You are my starlight
My only starlight
You make me happy
When skies are hazed
You'll never know dear
How much I love you
Please don't take my starlight away
I have more on my mind than it can hold.
I have more feelings inside than I could ever begin to express.
Words fail. Miserably.
For every direction my mind is being pulled. So many ways. Most good, but some few are bad.
Yet I still attempted wording one bent of my mental turnings. The least and most prosaic of my many feelings. The bad one also. But pain and bitterness are so much easier to express than joy.
They have killed the sky.
The sky is empty and black.
Not a beautiful, rich, deep velvet blue/black, but a dull hazy yellow-black.
Mechanical, dull, and uninviting. Merely a vast expanse of ugly nothingness, broken only by taunting spectres of industrial light [airplanes] pretending to be stars. Stretching over uniform patches of clipped grass, concrete, and packed in cookie cutter houses.
Worse yet, not a jewel of light can penetrate the haze. No glistening starlight to pulsate in my eye.
I cannot feel their rhythm.
I cannot hear their song.
There is no glory. No beauty. Nothing of what I once knew.
I remember...
The freezing fresh mountain air.
The dense pine forests. The scents of the trees perfuming the air.
And the lush, velvety sky, thick with melodious pinpricks of light.
The sky wheeled and spun, heavy in the sky, barely suspended above my upturned face.
The stars seemed almost close enough to touch. Always one more hand length, and I could grasp one of those glistening diamonds to hang in the deep reaches of my soul.
And it was glory.
It was bliss
I was one with
those ancient harmonies
With my Creator
I was lost
He was found
And we were one
And it was beautiful
And it was joyous
But here, the sky is dead.
Nature is sparse, controlled, and unlovely.
Not even one twinkling star.
Not even one.
I am cold, spurned, and alienated.
My favorite method of reaching out torn from my hands.
And I cried.
In mourning of my lost sky.
tears of bitterness
disappointment
frustration
anger
and
longing
I shake my fist at the cold, money loving, power hungry murderers of nature.
Technology carried too far.
Misused and abused.
A terrifying, heartless monster of concrete and steel, devouring everything in its path. Heedless of song, joy, wonder, lovely glory, and beauty. It knows only death. Unlovely death.
I spit and scoff, then close my eyes and turn away to shed my tears.
I only wish that someone could send me a star to hang outside my window.
Just one of those pulsating droplets of precious light to lend me hope, until I can leave and seek out a home under a clearer sky.
But that isn't possible.
So I settle for memory and escapist imagination.
Placing my hope on the unseen, on the unheard.
For they have killed the sky.
They have killed My sky.
Was there a double meaning to all of that?