Gorgeous Girl of the Meadow; A Sky Crying For Us.

Written long ago.

Gorgeous Girl on the Meadows, on the Clouds.

29 August 2011 at 15:58

Hey there, gorgeous girl in the sky where the sun shines on the clouds from above,

 

white meadows of freedom, the home of peaceful doves,

 

you're dancing, girl, you're smiling, like

 

you've got no problems right now and the future is still far away,

it' morning and there's a new world waiting to be seen,

 

another gathering of flowers where long lost love lay

waiting for a dancing girl to hear what they say

 

as they whisper in the wind;

 

 

"You look everywhere for an answer to a question asked

in desperate voices by many before,

 

men and women looking for words

 

when silence is the key, the Golden Mountain, the only way to explain;

the answer is the question, by asking you know already,

 

 

Beyond the trees walks a man with red hair flowing in the wind, a narrow path followed without missed steps or regret, call him over, call him to you,

he will come, just call, call him to you and say;

 

"On a meadow like this two people can dance, there's moonlight over the trees in the east and the morning is coming with light and life and love; let's dance together at the crossroad of time, dance for the eternity of the moment, dance and smile together with me, you with your guitar on your back and the weight of ages in your eyes, dance until morning come!"

 

His flaming hair is waving in the wind as he stands close, close, listening;

as you speak you see the the roads, they left their mark, his shoes are torn in a way only time can explain; his clothes speak of the night in sorrowful silence; the cold winds and the hard ground; of walking to survive.

At your first word he closed his eyes, sat down next to a single rock; stone amongst life, an outsider just like him; rolling stones always find others of their kind. Now, now he opens his eyes; slowly, gently, like he's looking for the last word of his thought and turns to look at you; his eyes a dark green, with a hint of silver when the light of the morning finds the way to his face; eyes that passed through the Lands of Sorrow; through the Mountains of Regret where old men go before their time has come; over the Sea of Madness that can only be sailed once; if you try to return you face the Storm of Tears blown into a frenzy by the wind coming in from beyond the end of the line; from where Chaos was born prince-to-be-king and Order sailed for new lands to call his own; by ship to kingdom.

 

He speaks; in a slightly hoarse, weary voice, a tired man with too much love in his heart;

 

Gorgeous girl on the meadows, loneliness is not your word, no, a lonely flower might bloom but you are not meant for solitude, so take the guitarmans hand and lead him out on the green, the blue, the red, the yellow, and tell him of how flowers whisper in the wind, the same wind he feels on the road, and teach him how to listen, to see what is unseen, sing to his mind, a song to open eyes, sing for his heart and mind, yes

sing a song for the whispering flowers, for the morning coming, sing of night, of farewells, sing of how you searched for an answer; of how when you got it you had known it all along; out here on the meadows with the first light breaking through the trees in small rays that make diamonds of dew I want you to sing for the world and dance for love,

talk of dreams and feel your skin wet grass underneath but fire in the sky, 

 

You still got time.

 

You still got time before the dice is cast, tumbling on the green cloth of the table to the sound of rolling thunder coming down outside; a game of chance for the ones who live in order, chaos under control, statistical and planned by men in black suits, black shoes that worship money at the altar of the dice, imagining themselves in charge of their life; the Generals and Amirals of Conformity Army, at the top of the pyramid;

not realising the slaves and the Unseen Ones constructed the building on which top they stand watching a world they call theirs; gratitude is dangerous and so is generosity; humanity is a weakness they cannot allow;

So they look away from the blackening clouds and turn their thoughts to how they can make much be more, more, more, more, always more, never enough, black suits with black shoes walking down the hall - not hearing the flowers chant "Dead man walking".

 

She says;

 

I do not wish for a revolution, I do not wish I could change the world; no, I just wish I could make one person happy every day, for me my dream is a smile peeking forth under the edge of an umbrella a rainy day; a child singing; a sick girl waking up and the pain has gone so she gets up and gets dressed in her favorite flowery dress; walk out into the garden and sits on the swing, rocking back and forth with the wind; wondering why the flowers look like they're talking softly to each other; that deeply felt relief of your soul when you made it through the darkness alive and well.

The men in black suits and black shoes and portfolios under their arm; they will not understand these things because they don't want to, not because they can't; free will does not burden itself with right or wrong; good or bad; sorrow or love; no, free will is exactly what it says - the ability of man to try anything he can think of; it does not guarantee success and does not apologize for failure; without reason free will is a free fall into the dark, muddy pit of consequences, of chains, of despair; for when they ask "Why? Why did this happen to me?" they will not understand the answer; and therefore throw the blame on a world that can not respond; therefore thinking they are on the right path once again; controlling the illusion; something out of nothing; but it's the other way around, their path is one of no return; and if we say goodbye with sorrow in our voice they will laughingly walk away; another lost soul on it's way to Rock City, where hope finally lies down to die. I refuse to lose hope but it's hard to hold on.

 

He say;

 

All we need is love, it's all just another brick in the wall, change can not be forced upon people; neither will a revolution ever be a solution, never will words alone open minds and eyes; people guard their hearts behind locked doors and rockhard walls, every man and every woman is a builder, from birth you are taught to hide your soul on the inside where no one can see, secrets is the currency of this Age of Information, where one wrong word can live on forever but an act of charity is quickly forgotten;

a compliment spoken truly often carries less force than eyes looking away; in this Age of Conformity too much is stepping over the line; the normal and the weird; we create pariahs in our living rooms, in school corridors, at coffee machines in breakrooms; we name them outsiders and consider us lucky it's not our name spoken with disdain; all wired to the Master Switch.

Walking down the roads of the cities I am surrounded by the blue-tinted shine of the television; the world brought into your home; filtered and censored, of course, the suits and shoes can't let people in on the secret; free minds is the bane of governments - they hunt us down and lock us away for the good of the people, they say.

 

She says;

 

Forget about your thoughts for now, dance with me, the meadow is warm and the sun has broken free of the trees, it's a beautiful day, dance with me, and sing! Tomorrow will come whether or not we want it to but at least we got today. So come, be free with me, if only for a while. Your road can wait, as can mine, it's been there for a long time; dance with me, sleep with me, sing with me!

 

He say; My road will wait, as will yours, this morning is for you and me and tonight we walk together, free minds on their way to anywhere. Rise and brush of the grass on your dress, and run out on the meadow with me, dance to the song of flowers and wind; like I saw you do before.

 

(The guitarman and the girl on the meadow danced and sang and talked; and as night came they walked the road that had been his and had been hers but now is theirs; free minds on the way to anywhere).

Reviews

[The Lazy Layman]

This is extremely beautiful! I love you style and your ideas about life. It's a very interesting piece that speaks about getting the most you can from experiencing life. I love it!

[Jethro del Cielo]

I actually posted this earlier this morning as a gift of sorts to a girl I just started speaking with in what seemed to be a random way. Turns out even if I wrote it a few years ago, it was to her I had written every single word. Whether or not that takes away or adds to the admittedly dreamlike beauty of this piece is up for anyone to call for themselves. To me, it just makes me a little bit happier to have made it come alive in the way it has.

Your comment is much appreciated, too, little one. I'm glad you enjoyed it! :)