For Sale_ This Old House

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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Apr 08, 2018 8:37 pm

The hours would pass without my realizing of their speed…and I would see me again still on the road in the continuous search of my daily resolution dose, as nothing had happened, quickly followed by the night in closing my eyes with the hope of a changed tomorrow that maybe would never arrive.

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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue Apr 10, 2018 5:14 am

As the clock ticked... I would promise myself to change, that from that moment on _it would all be different…that finally I would be able to find a way , one day after another, to forever remove that sensation of helplessness in dealing with sorrow and sadness, that somehow I knew was to become my constant companion some day.

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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue Apr 10, 2018 5:18 am

The same sensation of that inner void that once seemed to have taken me far from all that really meant to me…that dragged me in a perseverance of my errors, that it had taken away my self awareness, plunging me into a vortex full of strength but devoid of soul, that forced me to spin unto the self, without ever leaving me time to understand what was inside of me precipitating a disquieting state of mind.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Thu Apr 12, 2018 3:29 am

I thought maybe it is time that simply changes all things; or maybe it is question of luck, maybe as in mixing a deck of cards.

Many times you cannot really blame yourself for losing a game or two…there are so many variables…so many things to take into consideration…so many possibilities of errors.

And the more errors we make, the more your cards seem to get worse, and your games more difficult…to the point where you realize it is no longer in your best interest to continue to play.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Thu Apr 12, 2018 3:41 am

I was wondering how a sort of a wall could exist to divide periods so different of my life.

I was trying to understand how was it possible, what pathway was responsible to have guided me to this point, as in finding me looking into the garden where as a child I played serenely with my friends, while in truth ... I was on the way to a precarious balance on the brink of a void.

I was trying to realize how much I had lost in my life and how I and why I had arrived to that point.

She is staring at you with an expression you find hard to interpret. Is it sadness? Or distress? Or despair?

Then slowly, with lips moving, she waves a black gloved hand at you. What is she trying to say?

She is pointing her finger…

Your hands are beginning to sweat though it is cold as ice ...

You stand up and look in the direction the woman is pointing.

It is freezing and the darkness inside is matched only by the limitless empty darkness outside.

And all the while I seem to be speeding faster and faster into the endless black night.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Fri Apr 20, 2018 2:49 pm

A window, fogged by the whispered breath of a winter's day, gives birth to a drop of water. Weeping slowly down the glass, I trace its trail with my finger, and in its wake I journey.

A picture sharpens from memory and a voice so sweet, echoes from the past. Red and yellow, the tears of autumn, carpet the ground.

A little boy, in Sunday-suit, laughs and giggles in innocent glee amidst a shower of swirling color.

A child's song plays from everywhere in the translucent background of orange clouds and weeping willows.

"Love you Daddy…" His words fade as he hands me a maple-leaf flower burning in monarch-yellow.
His words have faded, but I can still see them pass his smiling mouth – " I love you." His world blurs as the memories exact their toll and vanish as mist into the past.

I travel this journey often, this journey of sadness and pain. Crimson tips mark the paths that cross the sea of thorns, a path of sorrow that I would cross in endless repetition to bask in the sun of Indian Summer.

For at journeys end is the priceless smile of a child, my child, waiting to hand me a leaf of butterfly yellow, and to tell me once more that he loves me.

They say sadness will drain life from your soul, but for me sadness is a journey to bliss. If I listen close, I can hear his laughter in the trailing wake of a winter's tear.
:cry:
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Fri Apr 20, 2018 2:58 pm

Ancient Lament

The tree you used to reach

your infant's hand out to,

the verdant pomegranate

with pretty vermilion flowers,


in the mute solitary orchard

has now just turned green

for June is restoring it

with light and warmth.


You, blossom of my own
shaken and parched tree,

you, of my vain life
ultimate and only flower,


lay in the chilly ground,

lay in the black ground;


neither can the sun gladden you

nor love awaken you again.
Carducci
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue May 29, 2018 5:06 am

So live your life so the fear of death can never enter your heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their views, and demand that they respect yours. Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life.

Seek to make your life long and of service to your people. Prepare a noble death song for the day when you go over the great divide.

Always give a word or sign of salute when meeting or passing a stranger if in a lonely place. SHOW RESPECT TO ALL PEOPLE, BUT GROVEL TO NONE.

When you arise in the morning, give thanks for the light, for your life and strength. Give thanks for your food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies in yourself.

Touch not the poisonous firewater that makes wise ones turn to fools and robs them of their visions.

When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way.

Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.
-TECUMSEH-
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Mon Jun 04, 2018 3:01 pm

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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Thu Jun 07, 2018 9:59 pm

Shopping Mall

He sat on the bench with his latte' and stared at the crowd over the top of the white plastic lid. The mall was a place he could come, to be around people and escape the suffocating security of his apartment.

Life wasn't an experience, it was an existence. He wasn’t blessed with the Golden Fleece of looks and charisma, but rather was bestowed with benign physical traits. His glasses were heavy and slipped too the center of his nose.

His weight was over, and his chronic shyness scrambled his words. It was not that he was at the bottom of the scale, in a way he wished he was, rather he sat somewhere just below center, where the scale read 'social invisibility'.

Lost in thought, he forgot to sip and burned his tongue. He dabbed at the coffee on his white shirt, and shook his head in resignation. The crowd didn't notice, they never did. If he were a twenty-year old Adonis, or a twisted cripple in a wheelchair, maybe they would see.

Yes, there were people here. Running children, couples hand in hand, the strange, the obese, the beautiful people all flowed up and down the aisles in life's social spotlight, for good or bad. But in the shadows, wrapped in rags and stained white shirts, were the invisible people, sipping latte's that were too hot, and hoping.

He came to the mall to escape, but in reality, the deepest isolation was in the crowds.



[Elk Robe]
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Jul 15, 2018 11:40 pm

Mid-Night spell

You are suddenly awake.

It is a few minutes past midnight ... Your room is all-dark. A single faint
Light gleams out from the hallway of the house.

There is no sound except the hooting of an old owl in the top of a water-oak, and the everlasting voice of the sea that is not uplifted at that soft, melancholy hour. It breaks like a mournful lullaby upon the night.

And your tears come fast, from a familiar part of your consciousness, filling your whole being with a vague anguish, like a shadow, a mist passing across your soul’s Summer day.

It is strange yet familiar, a riveting midnight spell.

Knock, knock__ loud thumps on your bedroom door, but you know there is no one there.

Slowly it dawns on you it is your subconscious hammering to be heard.

~~

So you drift.. You see your face strangely reflecting to infinity in a string of mirrors. The many faces of you longing to tell the tale of sensations and events of your ordinary and not so ordinary peaks and valleys of your life.

As in a lifelike painting you see the self pawing across your human texture slowly grasping at its joys and sorrows.

In the life of each of us there are so many tales to tell, infinite yarns of personal, and some others’ experiences __ and depths of feelings of which we know all in detail, now taking structure in the mind by past voices, images, deductions, things overheard, things foreseen, things supposed, things said.

Midnight spell.

As your gaze shifts from the far mirror image to the nearest…oh God.. You have aged so much; your physiognomy is so different than what you remember from your younger years.

Was it old age knocking/thumping at your door ?

Why the aversion of looking at your self in the mirror? Are you afraid of the many faces scowling in judgment?

You look away, your eyes falling upon an old trunk by your bed__ you know why it is still there.

It is the baggage of your life weighing on your curving shoulders. Aging, this large trunk keeps on bulging at the seams more and more, and you are ever so inclined to lift the lid and rummage its contents, but you fear, a great fear...

God, so many things. And you think of the dust of your years in that trunk, and your reflections upon it as wings of a gentle eternal wind in a soft caress, stirring the sediment of the past, although brief, yet sufficient to leave the mark of thousands and thousands of passages, of a thousand faces, of a thousand voices, of a thousand touches and gestures, of a thousand scents, of a thousand colors, of a thousand sunsets, a thousand looks, a thousand gazes into the eyes of lovers and friends, of thousands of offenses given and received, of a thousand gifts__

A thousand cries and laughs, a thousand hand shakes, of a thousand of caresses, a thousand nights of insomnia, of a thousand roads traveled, of a thousand fears, high anxieties, of a thousand hopes dashed, of a thousand of lost opportunities…..

Then you realize it all again multiplied by a thousand.
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