Father Time

I never really understood you when I was younger. I never really noticed whether you were absent or not, but people said it mattered. I couldn't comprehend it. You always had people agitated, screaming like "AHHH Where have you gone?!" But without a doubt you would make your presence known; you would alwa

ys strike through the room and make that noise you make, every lunch time. 12 o'clock on the dot it was. Every day, with no fail just to remind us that you are still around. When I started going to school you would make sure I was awake early so I wouldn't be late and I wanted to beat you with a hammer sometimes, but I knew it was for my own good and I loved you for it.

I'd come home from school and rush to play outside. I would spend the whole day in the sun or in the mud, riding bikes and climbing trees; I'd never know where you would go, but next thing it was dark and you would let us know to call it a day. As I grew older I started losing track of you; I never paid any attention really. I was too caught up in the life of an adolescent. I would pray that some days you would slowly make your way because it always seemed that fun was over when you showed up. I knew that it meant I had to go home, but my friends and I had so much more to talk about.

Then I grew a little bit wiser and you became to matter. By then I was so far behind, I was left chasing you, and I could never seem to catch you. You always seemed so busy and just when I thought we had a moment to spend, you would keep moving. It irritated me, because I felt I would never catch up to you again. I thought I lost you for good. I started remembering when they would tell me "look at his hands", and I came to realise... not once did I ever feel you hold me.

As I really begun to understand the importance of you in my life you started flying, and I would never see you. Days would go by, and I would know you were there, even when you were not where I was. I started asking, I started getting curious and then they told me you were all about the money. Humph! I began to hate you! I started ignoring you when you tried to wake me up. But you never left my mind. Until today I think about you always, you have me running around in circles, I'm always running late and you don't seem to care. I wasn't interested anymore. I gave up on you, on life and decided to just wait, wait until it was over. Now I know whenever I would wait or delay you were passing me, but I was rebelling, I didn't care. 

But don't I regret it? I kept thinking I would always have you around and then I heard you were going coo-coo. Now I wonder if you got it in you to last one more day because you are starting to seem ancient, I used to tease that you were an antique.

That's when everybody now started thinking back on you, reminiscing on the good you, and  then we remembered you now. I shake my head as they fight over you, "He's mine!" "NO! He's MINE" by now I understand you, I just hold them and tell them, "No.... he's Hours..."

Father time

The Pain, The Spark and The Pen

It all started with a Pain in the chest, a Spark in the mind and a Pen in my hand.

That Pain; it sat like a burden in my heart. It would make me sick in the pit of my stomach, right at the bottom where you couldn't even reach it. That Pain; like a sick child, who just didn't want help, no matter what. That Pain accepted life and said, "this is what I was brought into and this is what I will be." That Pain; chose my heart as a home, covered itself with my chest and would feed off of my love. That Pain that would hurt so bad, I hated it. It tormented me and raged me but... if I released it, where would it go? who would know it ever existed? would it just roam until it found another heart to break? That Pain, was safer inside. So The Body made a home for Pain, but now what? Something had to try discipline it, had to try contain it, make sure it never reigned. *light bulb moment* The first Spark. That, that there was the first Spark. The mind, was a room to the Spark we call mother; the one with solutions, the one who reacted and responded from a child's action without even being summoned. However, no matter how big a Spark, it needs a partner, one that will implement the Spark. But who? There was nothing, just That Spark.

That Spark; was like a nurturing mother, stressing about how to feed a hungry child. Every time That Pain got worse, the mind would Spark brighter, but there was no answers. That Spark, fiending for someone to notice that it needs help. Like a single mother needs a husband; like every child needs a father. That Spark; crying and screaming in the mind; like a mother in her room on the hardest day, with That Pain; her sick child in the basement of the heart. Held captive to its own burdens that she didn't even bare. Bad fruit that was planted and grew out of the love of That Spark. But that love wasn't being watered. That Pain in my chest grew stronger and more powerful and as it got older, overpowered the house; the mind; That Spark. Pain had nobody, and that body that held him, that heart that fed him, that mind that would comfort him; That Pain controlled it. Now That Pain feeling tough like it had somebody. No. Pain was My Body.

That Spark would keep coming, but That Pain would block it, "STOP!" That Pain would be furious that That Spark wanted a way out. This started making That Pain rebellious. As That Pain was reaching adolescence it would turn to anger and control the body and throw itself into tantrums filled with rage; a terrorist. That Pain would control all the hormones and make them explode. That Pain had an army that made anybody fearful, That Pain was now King. Until one day, while Pain was asleep the hormones that had gone to war with the world came home, That Spark was free to roam for a while and decided to pick up a pen. Not any pen, no; That Pen.

That Pen; so helpless and useless without the body, just an inanimate object, but when That Spark told the body pick it up; I could feel blood rushing back into dry veins. There was magic, there was a connection. That Pen. It felt like an answer to all the solutions; like a beautiful end to a tragic beginning, it felt like a way out, it felt like... THE way out. The exit to the dark tunnel that That Spark had been looking for, that That Spark hid in the beginning just to keep Pain safe. A Pen in my hand.

That Pen in my hand caused thoughts from the Spark to intersect and manoeuvre, trying to get, no longer to the tip of my tongue, but the veins of my hand. Which would allow these thoughts to turn to words; written; marked; stained. All that stress of not knowing where Pain would go, where Pain would live, and who would know if Pain even existed could now find out. Exhausted of being spoken and forgotten or not heard, they needed permanence, something that proved they were worthy, that maybe, not today. but one day. just one, That Pain wouldn't roam free, That Pain wouldn't hurt no more, but be proof that it lived and it left a mark. A mark of ink.

That Pain woke up instantly when it sensed an exit, a way out, something that That Spark was up to... something without its permission. as That Spark started learning the power of the Pen, That Pain raged and started rushing through, organs, trying to find the vein; flowing out and spilling out on to a clean blank page as ink. Never to be removed, never to be forgotten, to forever leave a scar.

All by picking up That Pen.
WELCOME TO THE DARKEST PART OF THE BRIGHTEST MIND