A dream

A dream of Paris. or Tokyo.
A snowy cold night, the lights are yellow,
the place is dark, someways away from
the heart of the city, it appears so.
I look out from a window, i am alone.

Its late but the image is too haunting.
The chill, it creeps into me,
the sodium vapor light lamps illuminating
a forgotten driveway, forgotten and overused
i see a bit of snow drip off the roof to the snow below,
the night is dark in the distance, snow fading to gray
and the people, they have turned in to sleep.
two electrical wires move occasionally, there is no wind.
there is no noise, silent and foreign

The yellow upon the snow
The hint of sepia haunts me. The is just enough
tone to convey tragedy. or something that should not be lived
but only seen from afar.

It is as if i have stumbled into the corner of a dream
away from the bright happy center,
becoming a sad member of the audience,
who drives home after watching my moment
and goes on with life. There is no fire here to see.
but i am me, this me.

lets say, this a small road on the way.
take a picture and it floats away
go to sleep. Wake up another day.
Perhaps when im old and gazing at the wall.
you will awaken and take me back.
to the yellow feeling of sadness.loss.
i felt it. its real. it was truly yellow.

perhaps. no not perhaps.
Its true. i just felt it climbing my back.
hello you feeling. thank you for the message.
the picture itself is a message
it said simply:
make more memories.

I realize the complexity of explaining
a simple feeling. it long, not hard.

make something of yourself.
do something. be something.
you are not something.
how can a picture say so much.
its not even real.

i guess its the potential of it,
perhaps it could be my view,
just before i leave to a evening of laughter
wine and warmth. but its not.
its me looking out with nothing to do,
alone, in a place that reeks of solitude

perhaps its my view after a day of achievement
and i long for the sun rise to travel
to a place of happening and fullness
perhaps i already made plans and i withdraw
back into the room.

i ve been avoiding. avoiding the room.
i don't know whats in it. no.
its my loneliness, my old friend
its whats there for me when i turn around
it does not greet or smile,
its just there. like me.

I look at the common and see the real
its where the magic happens i think
normal is wonderful. can i not be
happy looking at events from the sides
appreciating and assigning value
learning and feeling

but im so lonely. Sometimes
i want to kill myself. what are you asking of me?
are you asking me to shine?
why should i be so bothered?
i could look at this yellow picture
for ages and ages. Even till i die.
and not see the end of it.