Who you were in smaller clothes

Where did it come from,
this great big alarm?
This inside crucifying,
doing my personality this harm?

It bore from things outside of my control,
and now it gnaws at me like a hungry troll.
I never asked it to be a crutch, or a need for the pill,
so why does it taunt me so, from the window sill?

It makes me forget, about the magic I see,
it depletes the oxygen from the fire in me.
By forcing me to focus on so much else,
replacing my personality with grey ghoul of ghost.

The flickers of my greatness sit behind steel gates,
kept away from me by that same spate of hate –
that links me to my past and debilitates my now,
refusing me by I to allow myself to grow.

They say it is only I who holds myself back,
they might be right and I’ll try to learn from all that.
But I confess that I may still have my doubts,
they live long in the darkness and depths of the cuts.


They don’t just breeze away like clouds in the wind,
it takes a lot more than that, to truly and fully mend.
It can take notepads and music and books to find the fire,
and even more of all this, to no longer walk the wire.


But I hope I find the key to those horrible big gates,
because I’m bored of this constricting, anger and hate.
it lets up at times feeding us glimmers of hope,
but then it simply giggles at me, and then tightens the rope.


It makes me want to ask…


Do you really think that we have time?
While we plot this map to a fanciful sublime?
A place where Tink walks ink footprints on a map,
where we never grow old, or we ever agree to that? 


Where your head actually clears and you can smell the air,
when you forgive the baggage and let go of despair?
When you remember who you were in smaller clothes,
without forgetting where it is that you still want to go?


When you think about playgrounds and music forever,
those are the same thoughts that you always promised to treasure.
But getting caught up in today is the hefty price,
a bigger risk always than just throwing the dice.


So maybe just go back to the pure and the simple,
to innocent moments and that juvenile dimple.
to a time you know you exhibited honest love,
when you felt that satisfying warmth on your heart like a glove.


That place that you know, you know still exists,
on your palm, for your life and in your heart’s history books.
It never goes away or really forgets about you, 
it’s only you who needs to know, what you want to do…




Dylan Balkind ©

The Reincarnation Gift

I believe in reincarnation... sometimes.


I believe I can be incredibly cantankerous and then happy again the next day,
And being at the whim of my bite is simply the price you must pay.
You’ll be warm again and even love me once more,
or you can choose to walk out yet another slamming door.

Or, I might be at the end of your mood and selfish delight,
and passionately profess to hate you with all my might.
And the rebirth of our love is yet another swift mood change-gear,
and together we go on in an honesty pinky-promise swear.

But...
We should know that existing again can come at a high price,
and the gamble we play is so much more than just rolling a dice.
So be kind to this place and leave a light on for yourself,
and decibal dewey your thoughts in your mind library shelf.

Reincarnate yourself with frank meaning to what you say,
to yourself over and over in that head of yours each day.
New lives can exist in many ways and very different states of being,
they’re there for the taking and your seeing will be your believing.

It’s funny how we can hate tomorrow what we cherished today,
but isn’t this simply the reincarnation way?
Starting again in a good minute on this day,
is very much a way of your soul saying ‘Happy Birthday’.

Our popular reasoning is just like a creative line-up screening,
we pick the good from the bad and leave the experience somewhat teeming -
- because ‘popular’ is subjective and will also reincarnate itself,
from memories on your dewey decibal mind library shelf.

So then, falling off the rail is ok when people can’t be bothered to listen,
because their ugliness today will be their beauty in tomorrow’s glisten.
And we will surely all be happy, eventually,
Like the immortal leaves on the charming reincarnation tree.

And so the sun shines brightly through the very darkest of clouds,
reincarnating your happiness, and erasing all your doubts.
And starting again in a good minute on this day,
means we’re grasping the gift of the reincarnation way.



© Dylan Balkind 2008