It seems I always break silences with poems

I've been writing in my own journal lately, filling it with my thoughts. I don't know if it's more selfish not to share my thoughts or to share them without being absolutely sure they're accurate. I don't know. Anyway, I wrote a poem tonight inspired by my own thoughts coupled with Donald Miller's newest book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. In it he talks about the idea that we remember those things that are exciting or different or the days we went the extra mile to make special. I don't remember a lot of my past. I wonder if it's because I've lived a really boring life. Comfortable, yes. But boring. I've dreamed of living an exciting life. I have all these visions of what I would have done if I was one of those people who live life in real boldness. Anyway, that's what the poem's about, and I thought I could share this.

I want to live it out loud,
Drink in deep.
Remember the times we waited
For the world to fall asleep
Then we ran, farther than allowed
Knee deep in darkness,
Drowning in life
Hoping we weren't dreaming
Under this glittering sky.

Oh, I can’t remember.
I can’t remember.
Maybe it slipped away from my grip
But I know that if I wander too far I will trip
Into that memory, as false at as it is,
Fabricated in a desperate half-attempt to live.
Boring, it’s so boring.
I’ve forgotten it all,
No real memories to hold on too
So into false ones I fall.

Standing up, standing out.
Blacktop gleaming, wetness stenching.
Rain dripping, dropping, drenching.
Tongue out, unashamed.
Washed by the holy springtime rain.
Remember when we danced in the streets?
No shoes, no worries, no thought of the memories we’d create.
Oh, how we laughed and cried as we sang
Hands outstretched, scolding the rain
As it fell and splashed in our mouth.
Such beauty we became as we danced in nature’s well.
Rebirthed, restirred, renamed.

Oh, I can’t remember.
I can’t remember.
Maybe it slipped away from my grip
But I know that if I wander too far I will trip
Into that memory, as false at as it is,
Fabricated in a desperate half-attempt to live.
Boring, it’s so boring.
I’ve forgotten it all,
No real memories to hold on too
So into false ones I fall.

So, Write me a story
Of meaning and truth.
Something more than this life stuck on mute.
Dear scribe, write me a song
Then let the sirens sing
And let me drink in that music
Let it sink in and sting
Till I’m drunk on the words,
And I crash this old boat.
Let my false memories burn in the back of my throat.
Cling to these rocks and pray for new life,
Speak to me hope in those beautiful words.
Then we’ll break from our cage, love,
And take flight like the birds.
We’ll break from this cage, love,
And take flight like the birds.