ignoretheness

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Steven and crew - simply inspiring

“Ancestral”

Reason never seems to come to guilty men
Things that meant so much mean nothing in the end
That function is dysfunction and to hide the truth
Distracted by their faith, ignoring every proof

A bicycle
A garden wall
A mother’s call
A love is born
And after all, the sleet that falls on me

In this city there are those who’d live alone
Twilight brings them from the gloom into our homes
And hiding there among the wreckage left behind
They see things that aren’t there when they close their eyes

Come back if you want to
And remember who you are
‘Cause there’s nothing here for you my dear
And everything must pass

When the world doesn’t want you
It will never tell you why
You can shut the door but you can’t ignore
The crawl of your decline

You can try if you want to
You can try…

Come child
Go back if you want to

The INTP Lyrics

Dominant Ti

I live to function
On my own is all I know
No friends to mention
No distraction, nowhere to go

Auxiliary Ne

There is so much more
that beckons me to look through to these infinite possibilities

Tertiary Si

I’m a collector and I’ve always been misunderstood
I like the things that people always seem to overlook
I gather up and catalog it in a book I wrote
There’s so much now that I forget if I don’t make a note

Inferior Fe

When the world doesn’t want you
It will never tell you why
You can shut the door but you can’t ignore
The crawl of your decline

Ti - Si Loop

Though all the cogs connect with such poetic grace
Time has left its curse upon this place

Icarus

i shared this poem with @janecrockerofficial the other day, and we both agree that its a very good poem in its own right, but it hits an even deeper chord for those who are fictionkin.  it perfectly captures the state of having been someone powerful, strong, and even mythological in a past life, and now feeling weak and worthless.

its pretty cathartic.  ive cried over it three times now.  so anyway, icarus by edward field.


Only the feathers floating around the hat
Showed that anything more spectacular had occurred
Than the usual drowning. The police preferred to ignore
The confusing aspects of the case,
And the witnesses ran off to a gang war.
So the report filed and forgotten in the archives read simply
“Drowned,” but it was wrong: Icarus
Had swum away, coming at last to the city
Where he rented a house and tended the garden.

“That nice Mr. Hicks” the neighbors called,
Never dreaming that the gray, respectable suit
Concealed arms that had controlled huge wings
Nor that those sad, defeated eyes had once
Compelled the sun. And had he told them
They would have answered with a shocked,
uncomprehending stare.
No, he could not disturb their neat front yards;
Yet all his books insisted that this was a horrible mistake:
What was he doing aging in a suburb?
Can the genius of the hero fall
To the middling stature of the merely talented?

And nightly Icarus probes his wound
And daily in his workshop, curtains carefully drawn,
Constructs small wings and tries to fly
To the lighting fixture on the ceiling:
Fails every time and hates himself for trying.
He had thought himself a hero, had acted heroically,
And dreamt of his fall, the tragic fall of the hero;
But now rides commuter trains,

Serves on various committees,
And wishes he had drowned.


Cracks in the Door

looking on through
to where you used to be
there are many things there
I did not want to see

the bedroom door
the bathroom floor
the hairbrush
that I’ve tried to ignore

the toe nail clippings
you left by the sink
the bottle of wine
that you didn’t drink

the rug you didn’t
want me to buy
your picture that brought
a tear to my eye

the pile of laundry
you left by the stairs
blouses and socks
and lacy brassieres

the remnants of dinner
you left on the table
I would have cleaned up
if I were able

when you left that day
I didn’t know
it would be the last time
I’d be watching you go

now I don’t know
what I’m living for.
life,
seeping out
through the cracks
in the door.

to the shadowlands where I do seek
things of which I cannot speak

where I can hear the silence roar
and know that I cannot ignore

the pain I feel each time I see
the shadows of our destiny

for they as well do seek us out
and in the silence they do shout

in a voice only some can hear
though what they say is never clear

and thus we must embrace this dread
of all things thought but left unsaid

and wish somehow we could forget
all things that haven’t happened yet

for it is then that we will see
that I am you and you are me

looking on through
to where you used to be
there are some things there
I did not want to see
the bedroom door
the bathroom floor
the hairbrush
that I’ve tried to ignore
the toe nail clippings
you left by the sink
the bottle of wine
that you didn’t drink
the rug you didn’t
want me to buy
your picture that brought
a tear to my eye
the pile of laundry
you left by the stairs
blouses and socks
and lacy brassieres
the remnants of dinner
you left on the table
I would have cleaned up
if I were able
when you left
I didn’t know
that would be the last time
I’d be watching you go