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Sundials for Salvation
Painting the windows does not stop the sun from shining; I guess I learnt that the hard way. Blisters grow on eyes to convert the mind making it believe darkness was all it saw, or would ever see. Boys will be boys and drowning fish are in the wrong sea, well that was me; a distortion of youth, one who clings on to the bath tub for fear of drowning in that inch of water, knowing that’s all it takes. I never knew smiles were a weapon of deception on some people’s lips, tongues so sharp they can pierce dreams and devour the motivation like Sunday dinner. What I’m really trying to say is when you lose that trust you once had, there is only God who can build it out of flaming friendships (words of an atheist). He’ll never know the pain or understand these thoughts, thoughts of a child lost. I know he’ll remember though, all I wanted to remember was blackened out windows and the taste of rusty blood in my mouth.
You have to believe; painting the windows does not stop the sun from shining. You have to see the cracks appear to know it possible that the pain will fade leaving timid scars but at least they’re faded scars. Ghosts will haunt and devils will dance and no amount of me believes he knew the tango. Boys will be boys and the past should be buried. At least those windows will always be open for this kid. The sun now shining through doors instead leaving me liberated. If I never learnt how to forgive I’d be stuck in the past, holding on to steel bars and bad memories letting my demons be my dictators. Knowledge of human behaviour makes you let go of those steel bars and wash the blood out of your mouth and know its time, time to be free of bad memories and blackened out windows. Free to know that mistakes don’t always brand the victim, not always, not me.
Painting the windows does not stop the sun from shining; I guess I learnt that the hard way. Blisters grow on eyes to convert the mind making it believe darkness was all it saw, or would ever see. Boys will be boys and drowning fish are in the wrong sea, well that was me; a distortion of youth, one who clings on to the bath tub for fear of drowning in that inch of water, knowing that’s all it takes. I never knew smiles were a weapon of deception on some people’s lips, tongues so sharp they can pierce dreams and devour the motivation like Sunday dinner. What I’m really trying to say is when you lose that trust you once had, there is only God who can build it out of flaming friendships (words of an atheist). He’ll never know the pain or understand these thoughts, thoughts of a child lost. I know he’ll remember though, all I wanted to remember was blackened out windows and the taste of rusty blood in my mouth.
You have to believe; painting the windows does not stop the sun from shining. You have to see the cracks appear to know it possible that the pain will fade leaving timid scars but at least they’re faded scars. Ghosts will haunt and devils will dance and no amount of me believes he knew the tango. Boys will be boys and the past should be buried. At least those windows will always be open for this kid. The sun now shining through doors instead leaving me liberated. If I never learnt how to forgive I’d be stuck in the past, holding on to steel bars and bad memories letting my demons be my dictators. Knowledge of human behaviour makes you let go of those steel bars and wash the blood out of your mouth and know its time, time to be free of bad memories and blackened out windows. Free to know that mistakes don’t always brand the victim, not always, not me.
Last edited by *Augustus* on Tue Oct 19, 2010 9:19 am; edited 1 time in total
The imagery of the sundial in the title really fits the piece so well, as your prose measures itself by the sun. Impressive depth, enjoyed, my friend. 
