We are all Zebras

Author's Note- I was thinking about how sometimes we don’t realize how things really are, or how we really are. We may think we appear one way but we really are something different. I'm not exactly sure how but I connected this to zebras. Maybe in the way that we think our stripes look one way, and when we see our reflection in the water this is what we see, but really nobody else sees our stripes this way. Sorry if you didn’t follow that at all, but this is what I came up with. It is almost like a closed poem, in the way that it flows together and it has a pattern but not really because there are sentences and more complete thoughts. I wasn't sure how to end it so any recommendations for that would be appreciated. Well let me know what you think of it. Thanks

We are all Zebras

What if we were really all zebras? Having no idea whether we have white stripes or black, or if we are really fitting in or sticking out. At one place we would be camouflaged  in our surroundings but in another we are sticking out, the center of attention. Although we really aren't camouflaged at all, because the only one searching for us is color blind, so we are safe, hidden by the color of life. Now by the waters edge, we look in to see our reflection. Only seeing the faded black, and off-white whites, that put us together. Not seeing though that these shades, might just, complement each other.

What if we are really all colorblind? Looking out into the world only seeing the blacks and whites. Not knowing that we are missing out on the rainbow of colors that we haven't yet discovered for ourselves. Happy with just the bases being covered and nothing in-between.

What if we were really all zebras? Believing for a moment those around us are just copying the stripes on your back. Then looking back into the water, now you’re the one colorblind, not the predator searching for you. You are the lion. Hunting down yourself, until you are just part of the scenery. Now, though you don’t have to be afraid that you will be seen or get caught, but just lying low in the grass of your desert.

What if we are really all living in the safari? Searching for water, when you wander too far away, although lost at sea when you are too close to "home." Sometimes gazing into the distance is seems to be a desert, deserted by nothingness, but other times it seems to be a jungle filled with the vines of life to just grab onto.

What if we were really all zebras?  Galloping through the world, like it doesn’t matter, like there are no worries, like there are no lions. But there always are, and always will be. Maybe just created by our mind, although maybe really there. Never  knowing for sure. Looking into the shadows created by the sun, and finding another zebra, seeing the faded blacks, and off-white whites of their stripes, but finally seeing complete.

 

Expectations

Author's Note- This is a response to The Memory Keeper's Daughter. The first part is more in relation to the book, and the second part is more of a journal entry.

We all have expectations for our lives. Of where we want to be in a month from now, of who will be in our lives forever, of the success we will achieve, of the happiness we will experience. Caroline now 30, not meeting any of these expectations for herself, looking back and realizing that she is not who she always wanted to be. She is alone. She has no family that loves her, like the man loves his lost wife. She never had that, although always expecting this love would just come. This success, this happiness would just come without first.

We always put everything off until a moment from now, which turns into a minute, an hour, a day until they all add up to equal months and years and a lifetime slipping away from our grasp when a moment ago we could have just gripped hold. Not realizing that the rope of life was just in our hands but now believing that the rope has slipped now. Although really it is just burning away coming at us from the other end, but we really still have it right in our hands, and all we have to do is hold on. Hold on to it whipping us around in the spirals of life, to create a final picture eventually put in a frame if someone else has seen the creation, but only if that happens.

The Memory Keepers Daughter

Author's Note- In this book, a man has twins. The son is normal although the daughter has down syndrome and he gives her away as though she is nothing. 

What if you were one of two

But in the mind of another

Only half

A half which doesn’t matter

Although it does

Because a half plus another

Equals one

A half though

Somewhere else

or here

Could be someone else's

two

This Long Road

Author's Note- One day we did a journal entry as a class starting out with this long road. I took this long road as the road of life with no ending, but writing in literal terms of a road. When you read it don't think of an actual road though, think of your life. Please give me some feedback to make it better, thanks.

Staring ahead

Eyes looking down into darkness,

darkness of the pavement.

Then looking

an inch away from the tip of your toes,

to the bright yellow dashes of happiness and glory.

Although only coming in dashes,

Broken up in the eternity of black

Still surrounded on both sides by a white pureness, keeping you in line,

so you don’t get off track.

 There is no end to this road.

Going on in both directions, for forever.

Not remembering the absolute beginning,

Not knowing an end

Not seeing the end of the path ahead,

If there even is an end.

We have gotten this far already, its not like you can just veer off to the side, over the edge,

as the adventure is almost over,

or possibly just begun.

The sun smiling down over head,

but could turn into a frown at any moment,

But seeming as though that is impossible,

as though the only thing left for this days walk, is the blue sky, and puffy white clouds.

But maybe that is just what I see;

although all that matters, is how I perceive it,

 to get

 where I am going.

When where I am going is no place at all,

 just a race, with no finish line

now I am just at a pit stop, for this moment

along this long road

Truman Show

We are all the same. To some extent, by which we all are programmed the same. We each think everything is just for us at times but then we each think that we are part of some other master plan, which technically we are. Each of us are just a little part of something bigger, but still each of us are that something bigger.

The only way to win is to make it all the way to the top, but that’s not even winning because all of the fun is in getting there. It doesn’t even matter where you end up because you are there, and that’s where you are, and it can change, because your life is always changing unlike in his world. When life isn't moving anymore it really isn't life. Its like its on the path of death, because life is being alive, and the world changing creating something new from moment to moment. Sometimes there is routine but nothing ever is exactly the same, and if something is too perfect it isn't real. Although that is now what our lives are. They aren't real.

The end is only a new beginning, a completely new beginning in this case. Although a new beginning isn't always better. A new beginning contradicts everything from before and you don’t know what is real or not. Also a new beginning is reaching the top, even though there is always a higher point which you can reach, but you might just not be able to see, like the wall of clouds. Things sometimes seem different from where you are and you cant always see the whole picture, but when you do all you see is a picture and you aren't in it anymore. 

Dreams/Odysseus

Author's Note- My poet is W.S. Merwin who wrote Odysseus. Odysseus is about history repeating itself over time, tricks, hope, loyalty, traitors and becoming one. I wrote about dreams. Dreams being dreams, of what you can become or being stories you have thought of, with "What if?" beginnings and endings. Dreams from long ago that are forgotten and later rediscovered and remembered. I tried to use the same line patterns as W.S Merwin, so please let me know how I did. Thanks for reading.

Dreams

Never having any limits to break,

No restrictions, no story dreamed unwritten

As it had never been thought of before.

Later forgotten over time

Then remembered, by something

That triggers a memory, and keeps living

Recreating the fantasy. There were the people

Each important in their way through your story

To be created, and one to be "real"

Everything that could have happened

Imagined into being real

Or not. Although its not. But sometimes thinking

That it is life forgotten

Which is really just a story actualized

Adventures that will never happen,

And considered, alive, reality, and lies,

Is there ever an awakening?

Odysseus

Always the setting forth was the same,

Same sea, same dangers waiting for him

As though he had got nowhere but older.

Behind him on the receding shore

The identical reproaches, and somewhere

Out before him, the unraveling patience

He was wedded to.  There were the islands

Each with its woman and twining welcome

To be navigated, and one to call ``home.''

The knowledge of all that he betrayed

Grew till it was the same whether he stayed

Or went.  Therefore he went.  And what wonder

If sometimes he could not remember

Which was the one who wished on his departure

Perils that he could never sail through,

And which, improbable, remote, and true,

Was the one he kept sailing home to?