November walks up to me and says “It’s time you take a break.”
I walk with him slowly down a path of sleeping leaves and resting trees.
A cool wind is blowing, I can feel the world breathing with me.
November says to me “Take a seat, rest your feet.”
But this time, His idolatries are admired but not accepted.
He sits and I continue to walk as if He is not with me.
We are connected somehow, and He begins to drag.
I need to keep moving, things need to be done, there is no time for breaks.
He is calm, but steadily becoming slower, I fight to continue walking.
Fatigued and almost passing out, I finally sit with reluctance.
He looks at me with great care and serves me a great meal.
After a while, November says to me “You may continue when you are ready.”
I slowly get up and resume walking at my normal rushed pace.
November says to me “You are never rushed by anything but yourself.”
I shrug him off and carry on my way.
He begins to worry for me, for December will not be so gentle….
About the Creator
Noah Adam Busby
The inner visions/delusions of a schizophrenic individual. Don’t get hung up on the reality of it all, we aren’t here to get it.
Insta: @delusionsindisarray
Twitter: TBD
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Flying
She’s still hanging there... the house has been run down for years, yet she still hangs there. The old piano we used to love, sits against a rotting wall, adjacent to the room…. I stand there, looking at the moldy, wooden bench; memories we shared there, songs we sang there, quiet nights we cried there…. We didn’t cry enough…. I gently step towards the once beloved bench, my feet squishing the sickly green ground beneath them, almost grasping my shoes, as if it meant to never let me go after each step…. I wipe the seat off gingerly, and slowly pull it across the soft and wet floor. Muffled as it slides atop the aged wooden boards, I stop about a foot away from the pedals, take a step around and in front of it, my other leg follows, and I slowly bend to take a seat. As I do so, I notice a small fly has found itself stuck in a puddle of water, twitching and seizing, unable to free itself… I thought about helping it... or leaving it to drown... but instead, I calmly crouched down, and with my right index finger gently pushed it, like a button. Like a light, it’s life, gone from this earth… I then went to my knees and began to sob, wishing I had saved it, it had more time I could have helped it but instead I took the easy way out I thought I did it a favor but she just couldn’t see that I had no choice….. Suddenly I’m staring at my hands. They’re drenched with blood, dripping onto the floor, my tears dropping into my hands. The fly is gone.
By Noah Adam Busby4 years ago in Poets
🅼🅸🅳🅽🅸🅶🅷🆃 🆂🅽🅰🅲🅺🆂
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