Paranormality by Will Johnstone (graded readers .txt) 📖

In The Outside Of Tomorrow

Wish to speak the words of mind,
afraid, in fear, to hear and find,
so what is wisdom? Where are lies?
If done was does, then do is tries...

Time to keep, to keep in time,
life is lived, as I've lived mine,
so what is freedom? Where are ties?
In chains we live, by chains we die...

Machines that work, to work machines,
built to build, and reign supreme,
so what is real? Where are dreams?
If we brake down, is our slate cleaned?

To consume, or be consumed,
to play the game, or play the fool,
so what is madness? What is sense?
Was life too short to recompense?

Yearning something out of reach,
perhaps in - what they would not teach,
so what is founded? What is lost?
The knowledge bleeds it's depth in cost...

Indeed the end's the end indeed,
your friends in pain, while foes are freed,
so what is justice? Where is love,
and in the end... is that enough?

Days Of Fire

My time... I'll do what I want with it,
wasting my years in the fire.
Downwind... I breathe in the smoke
from the embers that used to be mine...

Don't run... but keep on travelling,
allow some more water to spill.
Don't turn... and never look back
upon freedom as if you were ill...

Don't fall... or stray from the fire,
in those days when we were uninspired.
No dreams... but a sullen disease
which had buried me deep in my life...

My town... hasn't been home
with a sense of me being alone.
Green fields... and trees somewhere far
in a life I'd forgotten I'd known...

No rain... rebuild and refrain,
remember ten years in a day.
Fires die... and our ashes rise
until scars are then all that remains...

Brain Cell Window

Solitary dissonance amidst discretional irregard,
forcing annuity across the facade.
Dispel my disgraceful, tactless approach,
encroaching upon twisted ears, the liars forked tongues hold...

Disbelief and apathy, begotten thankless hero,
bespoke the latter nameless whose knife alone shall follow,
alone with drum n skin and flame in shadows failing light,
above in dexterity, lies unannounced - that halo of late...

Within four walls of stone and iron, cracks appear my neighbours faces,
in displacement time forgot... my name... beckons my hate forward in judgemental rage.
Reactless facts that spat rats piss at this dark hollow looming fate,
disgusted with anticipation where honouring such exile awaits... to an end...

Such is forboding in mass - at once.
Forgive and fail this systems plight, become my name, in eye, in flame,
the chamber spins, and lives wherein, it now procures, itself begins,
a single object - a metaphor, I can not hold its sight, nor be introduced to fight,
preceding justice, but fell short, obtuse partition, acute remission,
only to partake or rather to refrain, this wish, and dilute with solace...

Avoiding any sense of over riding riling guilt,
disasterous emergeance of an incidental inertia of one...
A leak strewn patterned hues of crimson, sudden association of a lack in central safety,
and stark, there lies an image I can not bare...
One of stillness, horror, fear, and an ever sickening sense of despair...

Grief and sadness. Writhing hate and anger.
I burn myself out loud as the apology stings their bare hearts.
In wrongly inspired thoughts of merciless agony, the tormenting continuations expand,
irreversible, indelible, and impossible to recompense this unjustified sensless mistake...

Turn and run, then run you windless... away.
Averting sight, fleeting - retreats the glaring eyes, crooked fingers pointed, abated.
Stubborn as the grass grows long, but afar these fields of mercy,
in which one can never graze again...

Perhaps before it all was swayed,
the blade of red, should have been stayed...

A Life I Used To Live

God spoke to you yesterday,
and in the fire arisen in your mind...
You chose not to fight... me... any more...

We hold fast the ground we are given.
The stones are in place in this graveyard river.
Your food is the world that we live in,
oh but where is your water my friend?

I fought with you yesterday,
and in the time that slipped far of my reach...
You were the lesson the elders... wouldn't teach...

But I held to the stone, the buried, and the grown,
and your freedom then left you alone.
So you look at me now, and you're asking me how?
Well I built a dam, where your river once flowed down.
Flowed down...

The Re-Emergence Of Thought

Burrowing deeper into thoughts of the world as it had been.
Had been, and yet changed, as the winds of time carried us, further from our past.

I wished once that I could have gone back,
to change my time, mistakes, and crime,
I remembered these things well, which had all plagued my mind.
In the long years that now lay quietly, in the shadows of my wake through life,
an essence of truth echoed purity between my concious mind,
and the outer realms of ulterior creativity,
somewhere beyond the darkest depths of this imaginative expanse...

I delve too deep and lose focus...

The mind must regain composure, and surface within a range of thought it can handle.
While it recharges the biological batteries,
regrowth of this pathway of creation is a must!
Do not forget the details, remember the bearing of that essence,
remember... or slumber...

Where am I now?
Regain, and compose...

Yet to have awoken, to find out,
I am not sleeping... I'm fine now...

I yearn to dive...
but prohibition of mental outreach, staves my trail.
Lost in labyrinths of unfinished philosophy.
Work without tests, results without true understanding.
Where am I inside when I confront these thoughts,
unravelling my own past mysteries?

When we traverse the vastness of space,
we see the delicate yet powerful extreme ends of a few known spectra,
perhaps the same vastness exists in everyone of us...

The mind is a powerful tool, a weapon, and library of wisdom and knowledge.
So powerful in its entirety... Its fragility so poignantly vulnerable...

The ability to dominate civilisations of the world,
yet surcomes to another, in it's weakened states,
to void itself of sanity, to snap in the face of change...
To misjudge, and do wrong is beneath its peers... but which way is up?

Twelve months...
They. The months, who had borrowed more from me in ten years
than the death of a life time.
Where do i find my soul's oasis? Perhaps in awe,
as I stared long into the shadowy silhouettes of the twilight forest.

Vast, empty,
lonely mountains who occassionally met in unusual rare places, no man can go,
the somber echoes of baying wolves.
Howling on the wind into the night sky from a clearing in the trees far below,
where they too, could gaze upon the full moon.
In awe of its majestic glory.

Bitter chills cut deep into the veins of those who would remain.
I stood alone, not in sadness, not in anger,
but in choosing to absorb this time into my mind.
So I may remember the atmosphere,
and replenish my soul in its beauteous righteousness.
Negativity was sand to the sea,
filtered out in contentedness, nowhere to be seen,
unless you dive into murky depths and stir it to surface its ugly head,
where the bottom lay, covered in silt and debris...

Deeper still, the stone cold rock,
harsh and unforgiving, can remain there.
Batholithic stone traps the darkness solidly below
as an age stood still,
and as eons had passed,
I arose from the ocean again to breathe and relax,
where the ocean kisses the land,
soothing the stone's rough edge with its waves...

I thought of the ocean in the pale moonlight,
a silent breeze traversing white diamond waves,
rippling the moons reflections.
Sharp and cold, but resilient and wild in energy, I hear the sun in echoes...

Never the same, but always familiar enough to remain as one, I envelope myself...
My psyche...

Almost in silence, the waves broke gently against the shore line,
shuffling sand like croupiers fluently manipulating the cards
in varying ways with precise and balanced motions...
Always at ease, natural...

Breezes whirled.
Small uneven circles of dry leaves chased each other across the