The Mask of the Sun

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

When I was younger, I used to write a lot. Journals, poems, or just thoughts. Most of what I wrote was pretty morbid but a part of me was always proud of that quality in me. Morbid thoughts came so easy to me. Childhood was morbid...teenage years were even more so.

In writing I felt that it helped me to escape the sadness, gave me some sort of release from the grips of reality even if just for the thought of a sentence. I believed that my notebook was my friend, ( I know, that is just absurd), that it was actually somewhere I could voice all my anger, hate, love, sadness, joy, and whatever feeling I had and that it was there to listen. Not to give me advice, not to lecture me, not to tell me it's problems were worse than mine, none of that...obviously. That sounds like somewhat of a loony person although I am far from that. I am not one to air my problems very often although I am learning.

But recently things have been happening in our lives that have caused me to feel the desire to write a morbid thing. Things have built up inside of me as I am one to let things stay where they are at. It has always been my way, just stew about it for awhile and it will go away eventually.
Even Pat has a very hard time getting me to talk about things. I simply don't want to lay my burdens on others as I feel we all have our problems. Although I am the one who will take the weight of the world off of anyone who dares to ask.

It has been an act that I have struggled with putting on my journal simply because I don't want people to think that I am really depressed, suicidal, crazy or whatever. Quite the contrary.
So, on that note, I will test the waters and see what kind of response I get.

One day all the turmoil will end, all the peace will begin.
One journalist likes the number '3'. Things happen in 3's they say.
Some 3's seem multiplied by 10 when the agony of the days never seems to end.

Day after day after day after day the black cloud looms above.
Some days crying tears, others just casting the shadow of gloom. Gloom in which seems to never cease.

Eventually the sun shines down to dry those tears and envelopes that gloom.Giving it a mask of happiness, a way to hide. Maybe only briefly, maybe perhaps for a lifetime.

I am told that the sun will shine, I am told the gloom with cease. All I can do is give an empty stare after hearing that for many years. The mask is getting worn. Worn from years of repeating what seems like the same routine.

Years of pretending to accept the hands of fate. Tired, exhausted, spent...
Strength will come again, only to be weakened by the black cloud, And the hours of the days will mend themselves eventually. As is the way of the cycle.

How much can human emotions endure?
How much pain can one simply not escape, Before the sun shines again.

Things happen in 3's, Three good days, three bad days.
One day, the sun will shine and cast its mask upon my face.

Written by louie0768.