A quiet walk in the sun,
Step one step two step three
I love you
Warmth and comfort run through my fingers and toes
Stop and take a breath
Laugh
I think, I feel, I am
Alive
Heat on my skin
I close my eyes
Step on step two step three
Don’t think, don’t feel, just be
Peaceful
A slight warm breeze passes; Goosebumps
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
I'm In A Mood...
“This is my wish for you: Comfort on difficult days, smiles when sadness intrudes, rainbows to follow the clouds, laughter to kiss your lips, sunsets to warm your heart, hugs when spirits sag, beauty for your eyes to see, friendships to brighten your being, faith so that you can believe, confidence for when you doubt, ..."
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
...Yet I am so small.
Have you ever wanted to stand for something, anything and everything? Do you ever wish you could partake in something greater than yourself? Something so extravagantly life altering, moment-making, soul-defining that it humbles you to your core? I feel that way every day of my life.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Dover Beach- Matthew Arnold
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;--on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the {AE}gean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits;--on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanch'd land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.
Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the {AE}gean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.
The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth's shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furl'd.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.
Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.
The Buried Life- Matthew Arnold
Light flows our war of mocking words, and yet,
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!
Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity--
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves--
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well--but 't#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only--but this is rare--
When a belov{'e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.
Behold, with tears mine eyes are wet!
I feel a nameless sadness o'er me roll.
Yes, yes, we know that we can jest,
We know, we know that we can smile!
But there's a something in this breast,
To which thy light words bring no rest,
And thy gay smiles no anodyne.
Give me thy hand, and hush awhile,
And turn those limpid eyes on mine,
And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul.
Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal'd
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal'd
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick'd in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves--and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!
But we, my love!--doth a like spell benumb
Our hearts, our voices?--must we too be dumb?
Ah! well for us, if even we,
Even for a moment, can get free
Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd;
For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!
Fate, which foresaw
How frivolous a baby man would be--
By what distractions he would be possess'd,
How he would pour himself in every strife,
And well-nigh change his own identity--
That it might keep from his capricious play
His genuine self, and force him to obey
Even in his own despite his being's law,
Bade through the deep recesses of our breast
The unregarded river of our life
Pursue with indiscernible flow its way;
And that we should not see
The buried stream, and seem to be
Eddying at large in blind uncertainty,
Though driving on with it eternally.
But often, in the world's most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us--to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
And many a man in his own breast then delves,
But deep enough, alas! none ever mines.
And we have been on many thousand lines,
And we have shown, on each, spirit and power;
But hardly have we, for one little hour,
Been on our own line, have we been ourselves--
Hardly had skill to utter one of all
The nameless feelings that course through our breast,
But they course on for ever unexpress'd.
And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well--but 't#is not true!
And then we will no more be rack'd
With inward striving, and demand
Of all the thousand nothings of the hour
Their stupefying power;
Ah yes, and they benumb us at our call!
Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn,
From the soul's subterranean depth upborne
As from an infinitely distant land,
Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey
A melancholy into all our day.
Only--but this is rare--
When a belov{'e}d hand is laid in ours,
When, jaded with the rush and glare
Of the interminable hours,
Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear,
When our world-deafen'd ear
Is by the tones of a loved voice caress'd--
A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast,
And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again.
The eye sinks inward, and the heart lies plain,
And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know.
A man becomes aware of his life's flow,
And hears its winding murmur; and he sees
The meadows where it glides, the sun, the breeze.
And there arrives a lull in the hot race
Wherein he doth for ever chase
That flying and elusive shadow, rest.
An air of coolness plays upon his face,
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.
Take What You Will.
I suffer from broken hearts looking for a place to stand amongst it all.
Living one day at a time, enjoying each breath
Striving to reach a goal of obtaining happiness,
While treading through the waters of life trying to solve the mystery
Of why we try so hard to be one with another
To be close with another
To love another.
While at the same time trying to figure out what is right and what is best and what is meant to be verses what isn’t.
The direction of our lives is so complicated. So chaotic.
Yet so simple.
We all just want and deserve to be happy.
This blog use to make me happy.
I use to want to share with the world what my heart felt and what I found to be beautiful.
I feel as though I have lost sight of that.
I have lost sight of creating an environment, a space to call my own where I can express myself in whatever fashion that may be.
I have lost sight of creating and expressing.
I have allowed myself to worry about the eyes of others and not the eyes of myself.
My pieces are my own voice and creation.
I took down a lot of my favorite pieces in an attempt to salvage something I was not able to.
And now, I have attempted to piece back what I once took apart.
Now it is nothing but a fragmented time line of what was meant to be a linear progression of my thoughts.
For this, I apologize. Not only to my readers, but to myself as well.
As a writer, I have not been true to my craft. I did not stand by it when I should have and now I feel as though I must begin all over. I will not delete what is already up, but I will continue to move forward with my intentions.
Living one day at a time, enjoying each breath
Striving to reach a goal of obtaining happiness,
While treading through the waters of life trying to solve the mystery
Of why we try so hard to be one with another
To be close with another
To love another.
While at the same time trying to figure out what is right and what is best and what is meant to be verses what isn’t.
The direction of our lives is so complicated. So chaotic.
Yet so simple.
We all just want and deserve to be happy.
This blog use to make me happy.
I use to want to share with the world what my heart felt and what I found to be beautiful.
I feel as though I have lost sight of that.
I have lost sight of creating an environment, a space to call my own where I can express myself in whatever fashion that may be.
I have lost sight of creating and expressing.
I have allowed myself to worry about the eyes of others and not the eyes of myself.
My pieces are my own voice and creation.
I took down a lot of my favorite pieces in an attempt to salvage something I was not able to.
And now, I have attempted to piece back what I once took apart.
Now it is nothing but a fragmented time line of what was meant to be a linear progression of my thoughts.
For this, I apologize. Not only to my readers, but to myself as well.
As a writer, I have not been true to my craft. I did not stand by it when I should have and now I feel as though I must begin all over. I will not delete what is already up, but I will continue to move forward with my intentions.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
"....liberty, equality, and the pursuit of happiness."
Liberty in the eyes of you.
Liberty in the eyes of me.
Liberty in the eyes of Hobbes.
Liberty is you, liberty is me
Liberty is freedom
Liberty is the freedom from you and me.
It is our natural condition
Our expression, our want, our drive, our desires, our needs.
It is our equality.
Our equal. Our equal ownership of the world and space, ourselves and one another.
The equality to want. The quality in wanting.
It is satisfyingly chaotic.
Satisfyingly harmful, threatening, fearful.
But can it be peaceful?
Why must it be harmful?
We desire happiness.
Not chaos.
Not fear.
Not death.
But peace.
Peace- and- happiness is what we need.
What we need is to breathe.
What we need is security.
--But at what cost?
Our cost.
A piece of our liberty,
A piece of our equality
For our happiness.
Happiness is security.
Happiness is the security of our liberty and equality.
Liberty in the eyes of me.
Liberty in the eyes of Hobbes.
Liberty is you, liberty is me
Liberty is freedom
Liberty is the freedom from you and me.
It is our natural condition
Our expression, our want, our drive, our desires, our needs.
It is our equality.
Our equal. Our equal ownership of the world and space, ourselves and one another.
The equality to want. The quality in wanting.
It is satisfyingly chaotic.
Satisfyingly harmful, threatening, fearful.
But can it be peaceful?
Why must it be harmful?
We desire happiness.
Not chaos.
Not fear.
Not death.
But peace.
Peace- and- happiness is what we need.
What we need is to breathe.
What we need is security.
--But at what cost?
Our cost.
A piece of our liberty,
A piece of our equality
For our happiness.
Happiness is security.
Happiness is the security of our liberty and equality.
The Wants of A Man
Every day he comes home to his family,
Steps through the door, gives his good wife a kiss
Safe in the space he helped create from dreams.
The life of a man full of hopeful bliss
All based on attainment of these, it seems:
Of success, respect, appreciation
And power. The countenance of all men,
To love and provide. A confirmation
Of self and purpose proven again
And again by the men of history.
In simplicity lies the wants of man
To each woman it was not a mystery.
Woman to woman, we share what we can- -
Knowing well of good humor and of play:
“A good woman, good meal, and a good lay.”
Inspired by "The Wife of Bath".
Steps through the door, gives his good wife a kiss
Safe in the space he helped create from dreams.
The life of a man full of hopeful bliss
All based on attainment of these, it seems:
Of success, respect, appreciation
And power. The countenance of all men,
To love and provide. A confirmation
Of self and purpose proven again
And again by the men of history.
In simplicity lies the wants of man
To each woman it was not a mystery.
Woman to woman, we share what we can- -
Knowing well of good humor and of play:
“A good woman, good meal, and a good lay.”
Inspired by "The Wife of Bath".
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
5-5-10
Hope for me
Pray for me
See through me
Hold me
Love me
Fill me
Be me
Stay with me
Don’t leave me
Cry for me
Sing for me
Dream of me
Dance with me
Touch me
Be in the present with me
Be absurd with me
Be crazy with me
Be crazy for me
Take a breath with me
Scream with me
Jump with me
Fly with me
Be with me.
Pray for me
See through me
Hold me
Love me
Fill me
Be me
Stay with me
Don’t leave me
Cry for me
Sing for me
Dream of me
Dance with me
Touch me
Be in the present with me
Be absurd with me
Be crazy with me
Be crazy for me
Take a breath with me
Scream with me
Jump with me
Fly with me
Be with me.
5-1-10
I don’t care to talk
I would much prefer to listen
I want to listen to the sound of your voice as it rises and falls with each breath that you take
The context of your words are nothing more then a sweet melody of a distant dream
A song so dearly missed
The way your mouth moves and eyes glisten
They way the corners of your smile turn up and down
As I sit and just listen
……
Actually, I lied
I do care to talk
But I would much prefer to listen
I seem to be out of words and you seem tell the stories so much better.
I am out of words because you have them all
Locked away behind your tong
That help explain the language in your mind
That I could not begin to find
So I just sit and listen
I would much prefer to listen
I want to listen to the sound of your voice as it rises and falls with each breath that you take
The context of your words are nothing more then a sweet melody of a distant dream
A song so dearly missed
The way your mouth moves and eyes glisten
They way the corners of your smile turn up and down
As I sit and just listen
……
Actually, I lied
I do care to talk
But I would much prefer to listen
I seem to be out of words and you seem tell the stories so much better.
I am out of words because you have them all
Locked away behind your tong
That help explain the language in your mind
That I could not begin to find
So I just sit and listen
4-26-10
Sitting, staring, wishing, thinking.
She sits alone, she sits well
Nothing but peace rests in the eyes of a green eyed, pale faced brunette
Alone at the coffee bar
Alone like always
She walks alone, she eats alone, she lives alone
Glances from strangers leave an aftertaste of displacement
But nothing disturbs her position.
She sits with her coffee to the side and pen in hand
Scribbled notes of tangent thoughts that lead no where
She looks up and sees a boy. The boy?
No, not him. It never is.
Just another impersonating stranger.
She settles back into her table for one.
She sits alone, she sits well.
She sits alone, she sits well
Nothing but peace rests in the eyes of a green eyed, pale faced brunette
Alone at the coffee bar
Alone like always
She walks alone, she eats alone, she lives alone
Glances from strangers leave an aftertaste of displacement
But nothing disturbs her position.
She sits with her coffee to the side and pen in hand
Scribbled notes of tangent thoughts that lead no where
She looks up and sees a boy. The boy?
No, not him. It never is.
Just another impersonating stranger.
She settles back into her table for one.
She sits alone, she sits well.
4-15-10
The woman on the bus holds her belongings so tight
With hair wrapped up in a cloth atop her head just right
She sits and waits for her time to come
When she can march back out to the beat of the cities drum
She brings out her newly purchased Bible
And begins to read the words that move her to pray
Just like she does on every other day
She sits and prays so deep in thought
Envisioning everything the simple words have brought
Eyes sealed shut with her Bible clutched in hand
So tired and weary, she gives in to sleeps command
For she does not wake during the time that I watch
As the Bible slowly slips from her fingers
Sitting, watching as the thought lingers
Will she wake up? Or will she stay
On the bus to pray?
To dream of salvation or to pray for the day?
On the bus the woman stayed just a little longer
Knowing that each moment of prayer made her just a little stronger
Then came the time for her prayers to end
For her stop was coming just around the bend
She woke from her dreams with a heart full of prayers
And gathered her things averting the stares
Her time had come
Her stop was here
And as the bus continues forward, I watch her figure slowly disappear
With hair wrapped up in a cloth atop her head just right
She sits and waits for her time to come
When she can march back out to the beat of the cities drum
She brings out her newly purchased Bible
And begins to read the words that move her to pray
Just like she does on every other day
She sits and prays so deep in thought
Envisioning everything the simple words have brought
Eyes sealed shut with her Bible clutched in hand
So tired and weary, she gives in to sleeps command
For she does not wake during the time that I watch
As the Bible slowly slips from her fingers
Sitting, watching as the thought lingers
Will she wake up? Or will she stay
On the bus to pray?
To dream of salvation or to pray for the day?
On the bus the woman stayed just a little longer
Knowing that each moment of prayer made her just a little stronger
Then came the time for her prayers to end
For her stop was coming just around the bend
She woke from her dreams with a heart full of prayers
And gathered her things averting the stares
Her time had come
Her stop was here
And as the bus continues forward, I watch her figure slowly disappear
1-19-10
We are all misunderstood creatures roaming the earth, searching for ourselves.
We pray that we roam with purpose hoping for meaning behind the insanity.
We suffer greatly for our beliefs and opinions that formulate us into individuals.
Who we wish to be are simple portraits that hang in the walls of our minds.
Who we are perceived as by our peers are nothing but blurred reflections in an altered state.
Who we truly are, are beautiful and complex works of art that stand before a Creator.
Through a simple gift, each individual is given a chance to build a world.
Each world is unique yet similar. Simple and abstract.
Our lives can be complicated and barbaric.
Many struggle to find acceptance with the reality they are given.
Searching for proof in the facts, and solidity in the ground.
Many times we feel as if we stand alone.
Other times we feel content.
And some times we feel blessed.
Our goals and standards of normality range from conservative to provocative.
For many, life’s thrill is in ones ability to be humbled.
For others, it is in the shock value of their actions.
What defines life is held in the breath of each lung.
One’s stress related to “valuables” can be taken with a grain of salt or the weight of the world.
But due to our common source and mutual end, I believe we are all the same.
We search for beauty in every soul; living or not.
We crave to be touched on every level; both physical and spiritual.
We long for peace to be found in every heart; in the common and mislead.
We expand in the direction of knowledge; through education and experience.
We require Love. Acceptance. Guidance. And Growth.
But above all things that we search, crave, long, expand for, and require is to know what it is like to be understood.
To be Understood is to be Loved.
We pray that we roam with purpose hoping for meaning behind the insanity.
We suffer greatly for our beliefs and opinions that formulate us into individuals.
Who we wish to be are simple portraits that hang in the walls of our minds.
Who we are perceived as by our peers are nothing but blurred reflections in an altered state.
Who we truly are, are beautiful and complex works of art that stand before a Creator.
Through a simple gift, each individual is given a chance to build a world.
Each world is unique yet similar. Simple and abstract.
Our lives can be complicated and barbaric.
Many struggle to find acceptance with the reality they are given.
Searching for proof in the facts, and solidity in the ground.
Many times we feel as if we stand alone.
Other times we feel content.
And some times we feel blessed.
Our goals and standards of normality range from conservative to provocative.
For many, life’s thrill is in ones ability to be humbled.
For others, it is in the shock value of their actions.
What defines life is held in the breath of each lung.
One’s stress related to “valuables” can be taken with a grain of salt or the weight of the world.
But due to our common source and mutual end, I believe we are all the same.
We search for beauty in every soul; living or not.
We crave to be touched on every level; both physical and spiritual.
We long for peace to be found in every heart; in the common and mislead.
We expand in the direction of knowledge; through education and experience.
We require Love. Acceptance. Guidance. And Growth.
But above all things that we search, crave, long, expand for, and require is to know what it is like to be understood.
To be Understood is to be Loved.
1-15-10
We all have it in us.
This creative serge.
Many do not know what to do with it, or how to express it.
I do my best to project out into the world and show everyone my potential… although I could do better. I could be more vocal. I hold myself back a lot mainly in fear of how others will interpret my writing or what they have to say about it. I fear judgment. I judge myself a lot. I am my biggest inhibitor. I want the world to know my voice, my words, my thoughts. Yet… I hold back and restrain myself. It is what every artist suffers. I have this incessant need to share but every time I go to take that step, I fall back in fear.
The words pile up and the creativity becomes lost in the pile. Sometimes silence is the best way I know how to express myself. I feel so much but yet can channel so little.
What to do, what to do?
Do I voice my opinions or cling to the silence?
This creative serge.
Many do not know what to do with it, or how to express it.
I do my best to project out into the world and show everyone my potential… although I could do better. I could be more vocal. I hold myself back a lot mainly in fear of how others will interpret my writing or what they have to say about it. I fear judgment. I judge myself a lot. I am my biggest inhibitor. I want the world to know my voice, my words, my thoughts. Yet… I hold back and restrain myself. It is what every artist suffers. I have this incessant need to share but every time I go to take that step, I fall back in fear.
The words pile up and the creativity becomes lost in the pile. Sometimes silence is the best way I know how to express myself. I feel so much but yet can channel so little.
What to do, what to do?
Do I voice my opinions or cling to the silence?
Dear World,
I close my eyes and try to let sleep wash over me
I close my eyes and all I see is darkness,
I hear the trailing voices left in my mind from the day
It’s tonight that I can not silence them.
They roam around and around, forbidding me to sleep.
They howl like the coyotes outside my window
They run with the wind through the trees
Although they turn and spin circles in my mind,
They leave me still, silenced in my bed with my eyes wide open.
So again, I find myself writing letters to the world that will never write to me.
I close my eyes and all I see is darkness,
I hear the trailing voices left in my mind from the day
It’s tonight that I can not silence them.
They roam around and around, forbidding me to sleep.
They howl like the coyotes outside my window
They run with the wind through the trees
Although they turn and spin circles in my mind,
They leave me still, silenced in my bed with my eyes wide open.
So again, I find myself writing letters to the world that will never write to me.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Now What?
I look at my old writings and realize, this is not me any more… I am in a completely different place in my life and now it is all irrelevant to how I currently feel. I am not quite sure what to make of that or how I should feel.
I don’t even know what my writing style is any more… it is so bizarre. We will just have to come up with something, now won’t we?
I don’t even know what my writing style is any more… it is so bizarre. We will just have to come up with something, now won’t we?
4-5-2010
With the rain against my face and the sun against my back
I walk forward in a stead pace
Unsure of my connection
Found lost but with held direction
I walk forward in a stead pace
With love in my heart and change in my shoes
I seek my future hoping to ignite the fuse
The fuse that sets my soul on fire
To acquire the life at a constant desire
I walk forward in a steady pace
With my head on right
I am ready to put up the fight
To continue to walk forward in a steady pace.
I walk forward in a stead pace
Unsure of my connection
Found lost but with held direction
I walk forward in a stead pace
With love in my heart and change in my shoes
I seek my future hoping to ignite the fuse
The fuse that sets my soul on fire
To acquire the life at a constant desire
I walk forward in a steady pace
With my head on right
I am ready to put up the fight
To continue to walk forward in a steady pace.
And So I write.
Something new must always be written.
Something new must always be said
Found.
Discovered.
Dreamed.
Conceived.
Resurrected.
Continued.
Written...
Something new must always be said
Found.
Discovered.
Dreamed.
Conceived.
Resurrected.
Continued.
Written...
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