HOMELESS - S.O.A.P.H.I.A - SONGS OF A POET - HOMELESS IN AUSTRALIA - PAGE - 27 - MEMOIRS - CHAPTER ONE - THE ECHOED MIND

 

 SONGS OF A POET - HOMELESS IN AUSTRALIA - CHAPTER ONE - THE ECHOED MIND

 

 

 

 SONGS OF A POET – HOMELESS IN AUSTRALIA                                                            Page 1 of 3 

 

Chapter One – The Echoed Mind - Page 27 - Memoirs 

 

Friday, November 14th, 2008/27

I am a Visionary Pragmatic Realist at Heart

Escaping oppression is found in a false idea, given over to me by impressions; and now I am inside a
fantasy found, staring back in compounding fears of others' misdirection
I am an evolutionary daydreamer, not of simplistic reality, but one of my own – where fear doesn't
exist, but this adds confrontation – cause it does now
I am a visionary and a pragmatic, seen in an enthusiastic dream planning into the unknown where I
must go

Situations are speculated; investigations tiring; I hesitate to think of the worries in front of me coming
up in homelessness - they are worrying, adding to the complexity …finding optimistic views though
though gives me respectability
 

I am homeless in thought tonight: on an adventure under the starry, starry lights
The moon is full, but not for romancing – I look to it for advice
I am dreaming of a life I shall probable never have, trying to accept what I can without giving up my life
In each wishful thought, I plan, I play a role unquestioned – avoid demise; criticizing myself, while
looking at restrictions, brimming my cup to gain direction
 

Some satisfaction is found in dream like ideas, with everything weighing down on me but – I have to
be realistic about the simple reality – I trust no-one
Suddenly – then I smashed that cup full of befouling messages set to dose my mind with infectious
abandonment's
The ideas of whom I am who others imply, came into my mind to obscure my truth and made me cry
Life is an endless struggle for me, with each hope dashed into nightmares, is all I really know, but still
there remains some hope
 

I designed a new role toward prosperity: I drink a glass of stolen water you see – looking for an opportunity

 

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I play a role in front of people; wherever I now must go – pretending I can cope – nodding muted,
listening to distortion reasoning by those with poorer knowledge, misreading portions
Yes, telling me that agony is only pain and pain is not real is unreal, is it not, real: asking, is it a
distortion of truth and do they play a game too?
I say yes, but it gives me no use - for if I ever heard truth from another – it didn't help me anyway
 

The people I have to meet go on, to mimic what they heard, repeating it to me fanatically, as I say to
myself quietly, I know more about suffering than you do
It is a message to my brain, pain telling me to find answers to heal the body; it is, its voice – don't
silence it, or ignore it
I go after hearing their understanding or lack of, which I find is unqualified, and I wonder why they
want me so readily to believe every word on their lips?
Asking for help, can make you flip in the waiting line of time and consciousness, coming from
administrations, pretending to be medical specialist – and first responders
 

All the while, they take parts of me, and rewrite me, as if stealing my privacy with their facts of their
own impotency, telling me their version of pain, as if it is concrete fact
It is the same role you expect to see and hear from somebody in a torturous position looking up, while
held down – pleading say, be silent, feeding false ideas into my head while I am vulnerable, is being
mislead
I am not with people to convince them, wasting my precious energy, which is limited – no, I need to
heal me, and rely on me as always
Yet they make me perform, till grief discerns, and I am weaker – sinking into their reality as if it is the
only voice reason, I have to learn
 

How could I understand what is happening – I don't know them – I can see, I can guess, and then find
I am right – but, they keep saying saying the same thing until I cry
I have never been in this situation before – I am learning as I experience it - so far it is one bore after
another who is condescending and making me relive it
I come away from each person and wonder who was really there inside – then wonder, if I am alive?
I waste my time asking for help, when all they can give is suggestions which add up to nothing but
more misdirection, and I lose myself
                                                                                                                                                 

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I have my faith: we walk together brushing tears away strolling down my cheeks
I allow the words to come into my thoughts in cues from my body
Moreover, when another, for what I must do, criticizes me and causes confusion: I turn thinking, who
are you – and what's your delusion?
My dream is rewritten again away from other's views – and I feel only paralysed in your mind
 

I am frozen in nature and in that emotion stuck inside a body, trying to function in solitary - qualified to
repair myself if my mind is allowed to do its job
Chilly nights are easier than the rain, stuck inside my car, I say – I shan't complain
Lonely days are spelt in gloom and boredom – I can barely think – when everything seen is in slow
motion, examined
I plan to rehabilitate: knowing I cannot stay in any one place without paying a cost and – I shall be
seen, I suppose as a repose
 

Only I shan't fight with what others think – so I write it in here, to get rid of it !
I cannot afford to be distracted from healing my body;
I need to think outside others enclosures;
My mind is full of their parasites worded by others biased unqualified penetrations – questioning
everything
 

My role is to act strong and allow no one to uncover my ill-being
I must push myself to drive, then find places to recoup and survive in homelessness
I look to the stars above and speak the truth, asking them for help; what else can I do?
What else can I – support as such is a very dear price, it plagues this mind with the wrong results
 

It is - a calamity plagued by pellets firing off bad advice, listening to discharging scorn for asking for
support
I heal my body, hearing to its advise, understanding know-how – I am aware of how
This is my body, not yours; I am sensitive to how, and follow the cause – aroused by the wake-up
I am wiser than customary thoughts – I must be, and I must trust myself beyond others' belief – trust
me!
 

By Sussan Z. Best