Stories

At the End of a Day

When the trinkets and treasures we so fervently sought
seem to have lost their novelty and become merely
trinkets and treasures.

When our precious thoughts we so wanted to tell and write
suddenly seem, too sacred and profound to ever exist
beyond our unfathomable minds.

Then for what did we struggle through it all?
We return stumbling, out of the bush,
worn and weary,
empty-handed.

To sit round the warm orange embers
on a fine Autumn's night
because we'll have Stories to tell.

A friend of mine had this concept, which brought him through many tough times. I tried putting it into words.

Empty words

I'm back from Taiwan and my course is as good as over. Usually at this time, people would be expected to talk about experiences they've had and the things they've learned. But I can't help but feel that throughout these weeks, I've lost more than I've gained. And I'm not talking about money. Or my weight.

Perhaps things are catching up with me now.

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming

-Bob Dylan in Tambourine Man