Returning to my academic career is an idea I have been seriously toying with for a year now. When I was laid off at SSI, I was overwhelmed with the sense of opportunity. My window had been presented…
This upcoming holiday is something that has always eluded my grasp. I understand the sheer euphoria that can come with Halloween and sometimes, I look at costume parties and the gory glee a little…
I keep meaning to write here, I do. The urge strikes and a topic illuminates itself in the dark recesses of my addled mind but all the energy seeps through my fingers, spills into less fruitful…
I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.(now read from bottom to top.)
Brilliant.
The Bell Tolls For Me
It beats at a low volume and still I hear the slow ominous pounding of the inevitable disarray drumming from deep below and far above. It keeps its rhythm and establishes order, similar to the militant march of enemy soldiers that are tired and inhumane. It, too, is sad and dreary and I feel as if I alone am aware of its play.
I lay in bed, awake still in the early morning hours and I listen to the endless droll, to the incessant sound that plagues my ears. My feet, hanging off the bed, sway to the sad refrain as if conducting this orchestra emitting these sounds of solitude and pain. My mind is not as carefree as it once was and so it recognizes, all too well, the sound of the weary. The sound of the hopeless. And sooner or later, before the sun that preserves breaks over the very bottom of the horizon, even the ticking of time catches up with the melancholy music of oppression and disdain.
And as that wealth of bright light travels over the sky, it never leaves me, regardless of where I travel. And neverthemind what I do or say, I feel it reverberating against my skin as if I were the instrument, as if I were the drum line. I herald the anthem of failure and regret and though I know it only follows me, I feel as if I would play it well on a vessel of my own. I know these ghosts of noises come from around me instead of within, though I feel as though I am the composer and this is my song.
As such is my right, when I pull up my hair and slip back in between the sheets to wait for another sleepless night to pass me by, the simple and tragic beat lumbers on. A deep mournful toll of baritone bells marking the persuasion towards the tragic and the sullen. Becoming not a lullaby that pacifies the mind and steadies the heartbeat but instead a deafening, and even terrifying, metronome that measures out my demons and my defeat, one second, one beat, one note at a time.
Written by Isaura Ledo @ 6:57am on September 7th of 2009
