poetry in motion

My eyes become heavy with the weight of a few hundred sunrises and sunsets, what does the world have to offer that which I have not witnessed before. Every day the winds bring about a chill that burroughs deep into the crevices of my skin. I have not the strength to prolong this life nor have I the patience.
I lie atop my hammock fastened from intertwined ropes scrounged from the wreckage of my memories. Each twist and turn of the fibres of these images are a welcome sign of pain and grief from my life. Each calling out to me. They say welcome brother. They embrace me with open arms, enfolding me in their cloak. The darkness envelops me, suffocates me. i cannot stand it.
Each day I welcome death, yet, at the same time I try to break free. I have so many things to look forward to. Another sunrise, another embrace by my love, the taste of fruits and the tangy smell of meats. The textures are both so different and so alien that they are new to me every single time. Pears, the sandy gravel texture of their skin. the bumps and earthen taste of them. Yet as you bite down, hoping to be welcomed by a hard shell, your teeth bury themselves fluidly as if you were biting down on a cloud or water itself.
I guess the pear has a life of it's own. It appreciates the bite. It welcomes the bite. I wonder if it had not. Would your teeth ground to a stop? Would it be hard to bite through if the pear itself was not so inviting? Yet, each pear has a simpicity to itself. The skin a soft, sandy texture but appalling in taste. The insides a gravelly watery abomination yet sweet and juicy. Juicy? Is that what they call it? I would prefer the term cold and daunting. Just like the winds that greet me every morning. Just the like the faces of my neighbours. Always scowling, brows bent as they reverse their cars from their porch.
What are they so miserable at? Their beautiful trophy wives? Their adorable intelligent children? The ones who always have a way to make me smile in the morning by asking me questions that only a 5 year old would for instance, just the other day, one of them asked, "what makes you happy?" I stuttered. I never knew what made me happy. In an effort to save my ego, I asked them back, "What makes you happy?" Their answer was simple and just, stunning me for a few seconds. Their answer was play-doh. Play-doh? Of all things? I was late for work and yet, these kids had piqued my interest. What was work compared to finding out the intricate possibilities of the universe using Play-doh as a means of knowing the answer.
They replied,
"Well, Play-doh comes in all shapes and sizes right?"
"Right" I answered.
"And you can mould them into anything you wanted to right?"
"Right" I replied.
"what else do you want in life?" they asked me.
"something that's colourful, that you can make into anything you wanted".
That simple blunt fact hit me hard. If that fact was a flying block of granite, it would've given me a concussion.
Simple, yet direct. Oh to be 5 again.
Which reminds me, must pick up some Play-doh on my way back from work.

This post was brought to you by the color blue, the number 5 and the word Play-doh.
The color blue for the children's eyes that matched the sky that morning. It blended them together so effortlessly. The number 5 for the right age number to be at in anyone's life and the word play-doh because everyone should have a source of happiness.