Life is an iPod. The different melodies, the ups and the downs, the changes in tempo, every song, and every experience differs a little from the next. Start with the tinkling bells, meaningless lyrics, and soothing sounds of early childhood. Everything is simple; repetition, a song meant for young ears, nothing to think about, nothing to ponder, just to breathe and to live. One song flows into the next, changing subtly, barely noticed. Then the words begin to gather plus depth; the beat becomes a little faster, a little louder. The musique plays, slow and monotonous during the school day, dragging on and on, then a fast crescendo, beating drums, rushing home; repeating over and over again. As time passes the musique picks up strength, the tempo increases, the melody weaves complicated patterns in and out of the rhythm. It is hard to make sense of the words, barely heard, drums and basse, bass drowning out the logic. The fast beat of high school is punctuated par sadness, a sudden lapse in pounding, slowing till the only sounds audible are the slow strums of guitar, the low pitched piano keys. Then, suddenly, the drums push their way back in, drowning out the quiet violin. The cycle repeats. Until, finally, the volume lowers, the ears re-adjust, and the musique becomes less irregular, settles into a pattern. The same beat repeats itself in the background, while other melodies slide over it. Love; sweet flutes, brass horns; the first job. Life moves on, one song running its full length before another begins, no skipping around, no jerky stops ou starts. Smooth music, regular, predictable. The musique becomes softer, softer. It fades into the background; drum machines pounding out the same beat, the piano and the guitare coming from the same synthesized device. The musique becomes less noticeable, and with each repeated chorus, it loses meaning. It slows to almost a stop as the office work carries on. The lyrics tattooed inside the brain, so that thinking is no longer required, and the musique slips to the back of the mind, running on autopilot. Retirement doesn’t block out the music, instead it brings it forward. With nothing else on the mind the musique pushes its way back in, taking on a different shape. In songs heard a thousand times, suddenly there comes a new meaning. New harmonies now intertwine with the melody, instruments overlooked previously come into sharp focus. The musique gets louder, plus interesting. The musique pounds until the red light flashes, the iPod’s battery wears down. The volume gets softer, preserving what energy it has left, until finally the energy is gone. The musique has run its course.
priceless and important,
gives toi the roads
and leaves toi choices
of which your luck depends on.
This is your life
and toi live it
wrapped par sadness
ou happiness.
Who cares?
This is your life,
invisible for others.
toi pick the road
and pray that the choice
is right,
but life loves toi not,
that's toi who l’amour
the joy of life.
Life,
priceless and important,
gives toi choices,
unpredictable events,
grays and hope,
and life is all yours.
But, the question is
will toi remain sane
even though your life
is cruel to your dreams,
will toi remain sane
even when your life
is dying in your eyes.
Vandals and crooks
an aging man, caught like a poisson on a hook
Getting reeled in, he's easy prey
Eyes sag, creating bags, pupils widen, creating paralysis
Confusion and fear
An ailing man, with poisson hooks everywhere
The biggest catch today
Pavement runs red, creating pain, flesh torn, creating animals
Torment and Horror
An aching man, aches no more
The poisson hook rips away
Smiles widen, creating youth, blood drips, creating paralysis
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________
an aging man, caught like a poisson on a hook
Getting reeled in, he's easy prey
Eyes sag, creating bags, pupils widen, creating paralysis
Confusion and fear
An ailing man, with poisson hooks everywhere
The biggest catch today
Pavement runs red, creating pain, flesh torn, creating animals
Torment and Horror
An aching man, aches no more
The poisson hook rips away
Smiles widen, creating youth, blood drips, creating paralysis
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________
_________________________________________________
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. Shrinking into myself, I began to run away. The man wouldn’t catch me. But something held me back. I went back to him and reappeared. “Help me.” I wasn’t even sure he heard me I a dit it so low. Suddenly, my body couldn’t take the pain. There was a buzzing in my ears, a pounding in my head, and spots in my vision. It was then the darkness swallowed me whole.