The Cave

Yesterday was not my day. Then I sat in the night in between nothing. The stars bleached my skin. The holes between that light were barriers and were silent. The observation of the view, a look upward, was just one of silence. No wind, no sound, no feelings and everything is crawling slowly to no destination. This day is only a night.

Yesterday was not my day. The missing of that what animates me is difficult, it locks you up. You know what you should do, but the effort is to large. These thoughts are but little bubbles that explode in once head. Plop, plop…

Yesterday will never be my day. I know what will happen, everything will become different, everything changes. How fast does the grass grow when you know that. If only there was never a yesterday, but just a today. On that day I live often and wonder around some. I watch the animals, the people and feel their presence. I watch the trees, the bushes and the crawling in between, but never the grass.

I watch the sky which is blue now with white holes, holes in which you can look deeply, they make noises and talk with me. Today is during the day. The light feeds you, but unfortunately  also the grass.

Tomorrow I never know. I think that tomorrow is a kind of today, only longer. Maybe you are watched there and one has peace with it. Maybe one is in the sky and making noises. It has been silent for a long time. I would like to experience tomorrow. One is not as silent as yesterday, maybe one is not wandering, but everywhere at the same time. I would like to experience tomorrow, even if it just to forget yesterday.

These thoughts feed me more than the sun whose is beaming between white holes and screams with rays. From one point he screams. Yesterday he was not screaming. How else could it be. Yesterday there was to much grass. The grass that wriggles in that what it calls wind, an allay today. Yesterday is an enemy. But that he always was. Yesterday is a night.

Marco
(04 aug 1992)