The storm clouds rolling in feel like a comforting hug. The small rivers of water on the sidewalk guide me home. There are loud crashes of thunder but the breaze will always land me on my feet. The whistling of the old leaves still clinging to the trees is like an autumn song with the melody of rain dripping on cars and old trash cans. The air smells fresh and alive as if it has washed everything away and made the city new again. What beauty the rain is.
I saw a nun today,
Weary eyes and a struggled sway
A model of Mary, mother to all,
Where did her children sprawl
Oppressed by the church vows of poverty, below wicked "fatherly"
Lost faith in the system but not the Lord, morals cut by a sword
Her children were hurt by her superiors in secret, her colleagues in sisterhood conscience regretted appeasement
The sister walks the streets alone,
Hurt by which she was devout
How can she love what brought this about
Her whole life under the organization, in her heart she knows under the Lord not the church
Maybe God isn't in people at all
We can't be worth such a call
love does not fuel evil acts such as these, the church is no longer somet...
I take a vow to you to hold thy name above all else. To return to chastity and think not of him only of thy self. Here I am your humble servant begging you to return to my heart. Let me do your work in this world and help the others. I'll find what it is you want me to do and bring joy to others as best I can this is my promise to you my Lord, here I am.
Contracting thoughts of morphing faces
Changing to gruesome human traces
Described in writings as horrid
More tranquil like a stemmed orchid
An image of ones true skin
No outer stains or marks of sin
No more to us than common blood
Thoughts of these begin to flood
I can't believe your hand isn't in my own
Is it all just chemical
Your words don't leave my heart alone
Companionship with a friend
Everyone says is more
Maybe friends is good enough
As long as you stay with me some more
We're all puzzle pieces but none of us fit quite right. We can try to fit together molding our edges but in the end you realize you changed everything you represented. Some believe there is a piece that fits them perfectly but compromise is key to seeing the full picture. Someday your puzzle will be complete with those who attached along the way the image they create is ultimately up to you.
The off putting look in her eyes caught my attention. She was looking in mine but it felt like she was looking at something else. Maybe it was because of their crystal blue color or maybe it was the evident confusion she had. I hadn't seen her in many years and when I did I was too young to remember. The countinuous pain of her misunderstood mind ruined but there was no saving. Looking into her eyes getting no response how I hope to understand her.
Anyone could write a love song
Write down what they feel
What they imagine
What they hope for
Write of their attraction
Their hearts desires
Anyone could write a love song
But not everyone can live one.
The moon above us provides the only light that we need. Laid back looking at the stars all we can hear are crickets and the faint sound of our own breathing. Your fingers slowly wrap around mine. I think we fell asleep there. It was just too peaceful, too safe, to stay awake.
I can't control my mind
Hurt is a flood
But water a blessing
It will never stop
The clouds will never part
Thank God clouds are beautiful
Looking at the disfigured form beyond my eyes that wallows in shame. Afraid to show itself. Afraid of every inch of skin it bares. Believing every angle is grotesque. Changing everything about itself down to it's very morals to please surrounding beings. Missing the old ways and reaching for the new ways counterpoductive in ever way. Saddened by looking at glass. Telling itself everything is wrong and then reassuring itself that you have to love yourself. Is loving yourself and body positivity just another societal trend that I'll never understand. How can I love the form I'm looking at when everything they tell us is wrong is present . How did I become this.
Your voices sound like waves crashing
Your demands rediculous
Yelling over each others
Pulling me Every which way
My face is red and wet with tears
No one seems to notice
I guess they're used to the
Horrible things that they yell at each other
I was holding onto hope
But I'll hold on no longer
You say your leaving so just leave
You say you give up
Then why do you still torture each other
And leave us in pain
She no sense of compassion
Or no sense at all
He a temper working in vain
I guess that you love us
But can't recognized it's worse this way
Or else you can't seem to remember the pain you cause each day
The lioness of the earth
Rooted in the ground
Looking up to the sun
Sturdy and strong
Wind and rain
The perfect flower
Until it loses it color
It's petel's disappearing power
Left with weak pail arms
Showering the Earth
Had protected from harms
One gust of wind
Can hold on no longer
All it's hope
Up in the air
Beneath the smooth skin of a human being is blood and muscle, other things that you might call grotesque or even frightening. Shielding us from who we are is a layer , a disguise, convincing us we are different. We are all humans despite differences on the surface. Why is it that we want a beautiful disguise rather than a beautiful soul for within the skin is our beating hearts, our thinking minds, our loving spirits.
A river of love can't cease to flow
It's warm Waters welcoming
Sweeping in all that surrounds
Can't keep from drowning
The perfect storm
Strong and fateful
Don't get caught in it
For love can be fatel
Romeo a lesson
Love isn't worth it
It's only a game.
Hold on tight
Love is contractable
Where has my hope gone
My innocent dreams
To hold your hand
To feel you breath
Down the drain
Love disappears quickly
Becomes the past
Walking down the beach I'm thinking of you. How sorry I am that I left you. How foolish the reasons for leaving you were. I recite the act of contrition over and over again. I look down at a shell I have now past 3 Times. Many shells were taken away by the waves but this one remained. Here I am Lord washed off on the beach ready for you to take me home.
I don't want to play the game of love you make us play. Lusting for heights unreachability thirsting for him each day.
I don't want to play the game of wealth you make us play.
Working for an abundance of luxury begging for pay.
I don't want to play the game of indifference you make us play. I will speak my opinion and tell you what I need to say.
I'm tired of your games.
Your brown eyes gazing into mine melt me. Your hand tapping on my shoulder gives me butterflies. You're laugh is what I live for. I long to feel your soft lips pressed against mine. I long for your hand to be In my own. For your eyes to adore me the way mine adore you.
As it rains in the early morning and the trees appear more green than ever the wind gusts through the streets where cars rush to work. The city feels calmer in these times. People seem to forget the trees planted in the sidewalk until they are shook by the rain. Some walk faster to escape the wetness others embrace it. It is undeniably beautiful.
A voice is something that most naturally have but situations and fears can restrict it. Young hearts often lose their original voices before finding another, stronger one. This can happen by an infliction imposed on souls that could not have been predicted. Vulnerability is often a factor at play as another creeps in playing games with young minds, abusing the weakness brought by the newness. This weakness can cloud the ability for one to speak, and these games were not the innocent ones the young hearts knew, they were manipulative and threatening. They could not speak of it because they didn’t want to display what had been done. It was known what should be done, how to bring an end to thi...
It seems two paths that have run parallel for quite some time have finally collided,
The interaction brought by the intersection left both completely blindsided.
And although we see this everyday as our paths overlap with that of others,
We know when something special hits as we are aware of life’s constructors .
Buy once these paths separate which can happen awfully quickly,
you can only hope that they are brought back together brought safely, brought swiftly.
Young souls can make so many dangerous mistakes because they are guided by young hearts. Not to say that they haven’t been marked with heartbreak and pain before but rather that they are hopeful that such things will cease. The young heart is more forgiving to those who have hurt it. Most of them, whether they are aware of it or not, are in the process of being hurt. Others see this so they try to intervene, but a young soul will not listen to ration . They will learn for themselves and when the hindsight developed in post naivety developes, wonder why it was they didn’t accept help. It is part of maturing, for some, to make these detrimental mistakes. To get hurt so they won’t be hurt again...
Young souls can make so many dangerous mistakes because they are guided by young hearts. Not to say that they haven’t been marked with heartbreak and pain before but rather that they are hopeful that such things will cease. The young heart is more forgiving to those who have hurt it. Most of them, whether they are aware of it or not, are in the process of being hurt. Others see this so they try to intervene, but a young soul will not listen to ration . They will learn for themselves and when the hindsight from post naivety developes, wonder why it was they didn’t accept help. It is part of maturing, for some, to make these detrimental mistakes. To get hurt so they won’t be hurt again, To tak...
I hear voices merge with traffic noice in a song we call this city.
A beautiful attempt at piece we find in the park that's truly pretty.
To my shock you grab my hand and we begin to run.
You leave no time for me to think and I get swept up in the fun.
You look at me as I think this is it the first kiss of two young hearts.
But you turn away leaving me to wonder if I've mistaken this adventure's parts.
But as this day seems to run on what is truly magic,
You press your lips to mine, missing this would be tragic.
New, Bright, and unharmed. Gathered at the bottom, satisfied with what is seen. Nothing. But the nothing is everything. The Climb will be made soon. Many wouldn't make it but nevertheless all would participate. The Climb is begun. The top can't be seen and there was a struggle to get feet off the ground. The ground had held them in safety for the most part only failing when members of the Climb fell imposing the only danger that was ever seen.A hundred yards up is the first hurdle. The scene still promotes Serenity but it won't for long. Most make it though some slip just as they reach the top being caught by the ones that they left behind. They are sent up again though they have drifted from...
Deep within every storm that overtakes all it surrounds is a tranquil moment where despite the dark dangerous clouds everything is clear. In the eye of the storm the confusion is lifted leaving you to see your world for what it really is or rather what it has become and yet you find safety in the moment because you are no longer feeling the storm's effects. But this moment is brief because as the storm continues on you realize the worst is still to come.