Life is vast folks. It's a flooded valley with a million ways to cross it.
I used to divide my life into chapters by year, then it changed to the locations I lived in. But now? Now I've tossed everything I've ever done up until this point in one big chapter. My mark is so small thus far and it bothers me. It's always touching to hear about the people I've affected, painful to revisit moments where I've done others wrong, but no matter what I've done it isn't enough. Memories are grounded; I find comfort in the sense that they are a small collection of things I am assuredly capable of. When I peer into the future frustration creeps up on me and a narrative of unsure thoughts ensue. I have to constantly remind myself of what my mission is, I am the only source of my own inspiration now. This is no longer school, no longer a place where positivity is spoon-fed to us. Now, we're shrouded in the negative, constantly pushing against a violent wind as we leap across the valley of life.
I guess my point is simple; as I stand on the very cusp of the next chapter my hands are trembling, my eyes are shut, my lips are thinned, and all I hope is that this story will end exactly how I wished it.
Apologies for it being all over the place.
-Andrew
Monday, July 12, 2010
Unda Tripudio
Rolling zig-zaggedly,
stumbling quite rigidly,
and random undoubtedly.
The amorphous shapes,
the spherical drapes,
the warped image
of one bored face.
It's hard to believe,
from the sky conceived,
and the glass received,
my ending bereaved
before a blase audience.
I wish for no one the same,
a fate which only gravity is to blame,
that is one wrapped in hapless shame.
And here, the end of my dance
across the glass expanse,
a short finale to a long romance.
I ready for my life to cease,
everything to end in unsweet release,
it is the time I make my peace.
Unlike my menial life,
the downward fall
of obscure strife.
My end is splendid.
I join others to be amended.
And the sky from
which I was expended,
I shall return to be descended.
stumbling quite rigidly,
and random undoubtedly.
The amorphous shapes,
the spherical drapes,
the warped image
of one bored face.
It's hard to believe,
from the sky conceived,
and the glass received,
my ending bereaved
before a blase audience.
I wish for no one the same,
a fate which only gravity is to blame,
that is one wrapped in hapless shame.
And here, the end of my dance
across the glass expanse,
a short finale to a long romance.
I ready for my life to cease,
everything to end in unsweet release,
it is the time I make my peace.
Unlike my menial life,
the downward fall
of obscure strife.
My end is splendid.
I join others to be amended.
And the sky from
which I was expended,
I shall return to be descended.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Free Verse Poetry #3
The Soldier
There is something eerie about this man,
something unsettling,
in the way he carries himself.
As if all of the weight in the world
were bestowed
upon his encompassing shoulders,
this man stalks around
a blank gaze set into his stolid head.
Such a gaze...
Composed of two blue eyes,
eyes which we believe to show exceptional ability and hope.
He betrays this hope.
It is obvious he is no stranger to battle,
hundreds if not a thousand scars decorate his muscular form
as a mere testament to his experience.
This massive man is only swift in battle,
otherwise his heavy feet crash upon the earth,
like thunder to a drum,
leaving only the stale air of intimidation in his wake.
Old, he likely is.
Or at least beyond the prime of a regular man,
yet it seems he betters
each passing moment.
His methods of discipline,
a tragic life spent suppressing emotions,
have molded this once gifted scholar
into a cold, supreme warrior.
The evidence lies in his now expressionless face,
deep lines of pain and anguish
are inscribed into his mug;
this is but a lasting memory of what he used to be.
Settled in his blue eyes
is a preternatural wisdom
made exaggerated by his deep, resonating voice.
This voice moves slowly through the air,
letting each one of his words be heard.
His logic is infallible,
and his tone..
It suggests a keen analysis of any situation proposed,
whether it be past,
present
or future.
This sharp, boundless knowledge
is borrowed into life.
This is the soldier,
a man who sweats blood,
and cries bullets.
There is something eerie about this man,
something unsettling,
in the way he carries himself.
As if all of the weight in the world
were bestowed
upon his encompassing shoulders,
this man stalks around
a blank gaze set into his stolid head.
Such a gaze...
Composed of two blue eyes,
eyes which we believe to show exceptional ability and hope.
He betrays this hope.
It is obvious he is no stranger to battle,
hundreds if not a thousand scars decorate his muscular form
as a mere testament to his experience.
This massive man is only swift in battle,
otherwise his heavy feet crash upon the earth,
like thunder to a drum,
leaving only the stale air of intimidation in his wake.
Old, he likely is.
Or at least beyond the prime of a regular man,
yet it seems he betters
each passing moment.
His methods of discipline,
a tragic life spent suppressing emotions,
have molded this once gifted scholar
into a cold, supreme warrior.
The evidence lies in his now expressionless face,
deep lines of pain and anguish
are inscribed into his mug;
this is but a lasting memory of what he used to be.
Settled in his blue eyes
is a preternatural wisdom
made exaggerated by his deep, resonating voice.
This voice moves slowly through the air,
letting each one of his words be heard.
His logic is infallible,
and his tone..
It suggests a keen analysis of any situation proposed,
whether it be past,
present
or future.
This sharp, boundless knowledge
is borrowed into life.
This is the soldier,
a man who sweats blood,
and cries bullets.
Acoustic Thought #2
I'm getting awful scared of the future. My family has been spooking me out because I chose not to go to school. But meh, you know what? I can't do it. I can't waste their money being institutionalized for another year, let alone four.
But that's not what I'm scared of. I'm not terrified of lacking a college degree or anything of that sort, I know I'm intelligent enough to function in society and I possess the right social tools to survive in the big sea of life. What I'm scared of is not being able to do what I've labeled as my passion...
I love acting, it's my life. Drama isn't a cornerstone, it's the keystone to my life and that makes it that much scarier if I don't get to pursue it. Sometimes, I truly feel I'm good at what I do. I've worked hard at my skills and surrounded myself with other very talented people; the competition was extremely healthy. Honing my own talents has been a challenge, but it pays off. I've yet to be called bad and I'm usually labeled the best or one of the best in each cast I work with.
The fact of the matter is: soon I'll be out out there with the people like me, I'll be on the next echelon of acting. Soon, I'll be surrounded by other talented, hungry actors wishing to make a leap with the same part I'm going for. I'm scared I'm only good for the level I'm at, maybe I'm not good enough for the real world.
On the other hand, I've been told by people in the business that I possess the right mindset for this. I guess I'll just have to stay persistent and hold true to my calling.
- Andrew
But that's not what I'm scared of. I'm not terrified of lacking a college degree or anything of that sort, I know I'm intelligent enough to function in society and I possess the right social tools to survive in the big sea of life. What I'm scared of is not being able to do what I've labeled as my passion...
I love acting, it's my life. Drama isn't a cornerstone, it's the keystone to my life and that makes it that much scarier if I don't get to pursue it. Sometimes, I truly feel I'm good at what I do. I've worked hard at my skills and surrounded myself with other very talented people; the competition was extremely healthy. Honing my own talents has been a challenge, but it pays off. I've yet to be called bad and I'm usually labeled the best or one of the best in each cast I work with.
The fact of the matter is: soon I'll be out out there with the people like me, I'll be on the next echelon of acting. Soon, I'll be surrounded by other talented, hungry actors wishing to make a leap with the same part I'm going for. I'm scared I'm only good for the level I'm at, maybe I'm not good enough for the real world.
On the other hand, I've been told by people in the business that I possess the right mindset for this. I guess I'll just have to stay persistent and hold true to my calling.
- Andrew
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Free Verse Poetry #2
Heavier than Heaven.
The first memory of you
is a dust-drenched window pane
lit up by the rising sun,
you, laying in a pool of light,
accented by the enveloping
white sheets and pillows.
Your feathers surround you,
hazy in the intense light,
but visible nonetheless.
It's hard to breathe,
hard to tell
whether or not
these feathers come from the angel
or the pillows which surround her.
Regardless, she's celestial
wings or not
a seraphim.
Finally you open your eyes,
I'm nearly blinded
by the shining azure.
Flames surround your head
as the sunlight shifts
away from the clouds.
How can I not love you?
When you finally speak,
your plump red lips,
your voice,
all of it speaks to me.
No words are worthy of your voice
and yet my ears are blessed by it.
Hark, angel.
I love you.
The first memory of you
is a dust-drenched window pane
lit up by the rising sun,
you, laying in a pool of light,
accented by the enveloping
white sheets and pillows.
Your feathers surround you,
hazy in the intense light,
but visible nonetheless.
It's hard to breathe,
hard to tell
whether or not
these feathers come from the angel
or the pillows which surround her.
Regardless, she's celestial
wings or not
a seraphim.
Finally you open your eyes,
I'm nearly blinded
by the shining azure.
Flames surround your head
as the sunlight shifts
away from the clouds.
How can I not love you?
When you finally speak,
your plump red lips,
your voice,
all of it speaks to me.
No words are worthy of your voice
and yet my ears are blessed by it.
Hark, angel.
I love you.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Acoustic Thought #1
This is long overdue, but only because it's taken me months to really let it settle into my stomach. I'm tired of moving around. I've lived in three different states for my High School career, moved around before that, had to make decisions between parents. I'm just done.
The constant pulling and pushing done to every aspect of my life is starting to wear me thin. I'm enveloping myself in bitterness because of it, bitterness I try hard to dress in sarcasm to soften the blows. It bothers me that I can't get along with anyone here in Florida despite the fact that I've no one to blame but myself. But this is my new home and I need to cope. Cope like I did when I was the new guy in Virginia, cope like I did when I had to sever myself from Pennsylvania.
Coping is all I can do now. It occupies most of my time and forces me to mature, forces me not to be bothered by the little things. Or maybe that's where I have it wrong? Maybe maturing is laying it all out on the table? Peeling away the layers of an onion until tears are had.
Regardless of what it may be, I've developed a thick skin because of my unstable living arrangements.
It really hurts me when I realize that my education and emotional stability has been sacrificed so my parents can pursue their own device on different fronts. In doing so, they've spread their second son thin and caused a lot of damage.
I don't resent them though. Their selfishness has rubbed off on me so it makes me the same; I even catch myself being selfish, but I don't stop. It's a lot like watching yourself behind a one-way mirror, there's nothing you can do.
There has been a lot of negligence in my life, forcing me into the company of classmates, friends, and even enemies. I strive for approval from my peers, strive to push buttons, get laughs, shed tears... I just want to impact people. I want people to remember who I am, rather than let me fall into a crowd of faceless memories.
I have a name and I have mission. God-given or not, my purpose is my own and I will carry it out in spite of my own problems.
I'm extremely good at getting people to talk to me, but I've always boarded myself up when it came my turn to do the same.
I love you, I hate you, I know you, I don't know you... Whoever is reading this, consider it a collection of my thoughts as they cross my head. Try to sort them out, try to profile me. I need your help on this one, thanks.
- Andrew
The constant pulling and pushing done to every aspect of my life is starting to wear me thin. I'm enveloping myself in bitterness because of it, bitterness I try hard to dress in sarcasm to soften the blows. It bothers me that I can't get along with anyone here in Florida despite the fact that I've no one to blame but myself. But this is my new home and I need to cope. Cope like I did when I was the new guy in Virginia, cope like I did when I had to sever myself from Pennsylvania.
Coping is all I can do now. It occupies most of my time and forces me to mature, forces me not to be bothered by the little things. Or maybe that's where I have it wrong? Maybe maturing is laying it all out on the table? Peeling away the layers of an onion until tears are had.
Regardless of what it may be, I've developed a thick skin because of my unstable living arrangements.
It really hurts me when I realize that my education and emotional stability has been sacrificed so my parents can pursue their own device on different fronts. In doing so, they've spread their second son thin and caused a lot of damage.
I don't resent them though. Their selfishness has rubbed off on me so it makes me the same; I even catch myself being selfish, but I don't stop. It's a lot like watching yourself behind a one-way mirror, there's nothing you can do.
There has been a lot of negligence in my life, forcing me into the company of classmates, friends, and even enemies. I strive for approval from my peers, strive to push buttons, get laughs, shed tears... I just want to impact people. I want people to remember who I am, rather than let me fall into a crowd of faceless memories.
I have a name and I have mission. God-given or not, my purpose is my own and I will carry it out in spite of my own problems.
I'm extremely good at getting people to talk to me, but I've always boarded myself up when it came my turn to do the same.
I love you, I hate you, I know you, I don't know you... Whoever is reading this, consider it a collection of my thoughts as they cross my head. Try to sort them out, try to profile me. I need your help on this one, thanks.
- Andrew
Free Verse Poetry #1
Scars.
Entertainment doesn't end until
the audience is bored.
Beauty exists only
in the presence of scars.
The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"
Because we are special,
we exist in tragedy,
we shroud ourselves in depression,
forgetting the grass is greener
on the other side.
The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"
Because life is like a skinned knee;
we won't ever let it heal.
We'll just keep picking at it until
the blood refuses to spill.
The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"
Because we're human and
beauty only exists in the presence of scars.
Andrew Mousouris.
I can jot down my thoughts
in a vault of secrets.
Letting only those who can read my code,
read my mind.
But the truth is
I forget the key.
Letting myself sojourn in a place unknown
until memories shift back to remind me
of who I am.
But the vault is empty,
packing its self exponentially tighter
until it exploded.
I've left too many pieces of myself
scattered about,
left too many masks sitting around.
Now I can't even find
my original face.
I'm torn between different dreams.
I'm misunderstood by the masses,
but only because I misunderstand myself.
So dig with your silver spoon,
send your hounds after me,
please keep searching for
Andrew Mousouris.
For the truth is
I've yet to find myself.
Entertainment doesn't end until
the audience is bored.
Beauty exists only
in the presence of scars.
The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"
Because we are special,
we exist in tragedy,
we shroud ourselves in depression,
forgetting the grass is greener
on the other side.
The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"
Because life is like a skinned knee;
we won't ever let it heal.
We'll just keep picking at it until
the blood refuses to spill.
The question remains,
"Why must we learn it the hard way?"
Because we're human and
beauty only exists in the presence of scars.
Andrew Mousouris.
I can jot down my thoughts
in a vault of secrets.
Letting only those who can read my code,
read my mind.
But the truth is
I forget the key.
Letting myself sojourn in a place unknown
until memories shift back to remind me
of who I am.
But the vault is empty,
packing its self exponentially tighter
until it exploded.
I've left too many pieces of myself
scattered about,
left too many masks sitting around.
Now I can't even find
my original face.
I'm torn between different dreams.
I'm misunderstood by the masses,
but only because I misunderstand myself.
So dig with your silver spoon,
send your hounds after me,
please keep searching for
Andrew Mousouris.
For the truth is
I've yet to find myself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
