Words Much Like Poetry

there was once a time, when I moved through the world like a sleeper whose mind was filled with constant dreams, fairy tale lands, happy endings, and a sun that never set. then, came the awakening, like that of ice water upon skin that burns hot with fever, and my eyes flew open and have since never shut. the constant dreams came to an end and, instead of the bright, shining light of my make belief world, there’s darkness about my soul, a dark misery caused by love, or is rather the harsh consequence of love. o why, dear love, did this rude awakening have to come about so soon? o why, dear love, have you gone? the stench of my misery overwhelms my senses, and the walls reverberate with emptiness, echoing loudly my loneliness. all that is left is the pain, such pain, such pain! it floods the chambers of my heart and constricts my lungs ‘til I can hardly breathe, and the fear. I fear I am inept at that thing called love. and, so fearing, I embrace the dark misery, the despair; yet, even ...

scars, which were once naked, festering wounds, unseen to the eye, are now the visible, blatant declaration of my cynicism towards that fickle, less than savory woman that is Venus, goddess of love. and terrible temptress that she is, she dangles the hope of new love before me. in response, I run, chased by my madness, which nips at my heels like a deranged dog that salivates and foams at the mouth, and whose eyes are glazed with the delight of the chase. I run . forever running as a wind of Venus’s making whips and stings and rips open those grotesque welts of barely healed heart, so that they bleed afresh at unguarded moments and refuse to remain those faded reminders of pain so aptly named scars.

was it only last night that I was so young, in knowledge and in action? now I lay here, far older than I was yesterday, soiled and unclean with a filth that will never wash off my soul. no longer an innocent, now, I am among the damned, and I long for the sunflowers of my youth. my youth is liberally perfumed with the scent, a sweet intoxicant that made me dim of wit and convinced me of an invincibility I did not own. all too soon, the world, with all its rounded dimensions, crashed down upon me, devastating me with one mighty, unforgivable stroke, and stealing from me my youth. was it only last night that I was so young? that I felt so wonderful in my ignorance, in my innocence. oh, sweet sunflowers of my youth, I crave the carefree air that you lent me, but I no longer breathe as those who have not sinned do, and with gills grown out of necessity I continue to live, though I drown in the misery my wisdom has wreaked upon me. and for what? a love that blinded me against reason? a love...

As a girl, I made choices that have affected me as a woman. I lost my innocence to a one I did not love; I drifted on an oar less boat down a fermented and distilled river; I squandered, on demeaning tasks, the intelligence that set me apart, and took part in two miracles that have placed upon my shoulders a burden I was not prepared for. Now, shelved dreams beg to be dusted. But the bed I made, with its rumpled, tousled sheets, seems to stretch on forever. I cannot throw my feet over the edge and stand, my limbs have grown weak from misuse; I've lain on this bed too long, and dusk threatens in the distance—an eternal night, an end to all things, or at least, an end to me. I long for the rose bed, that answer to my prayers, the accomplishment of my goals and the return of my pride; the angels I was bequeathed deserve nothing less—I cannot wrong them as I was wronged. Life's lessons have taught me well, else were for naught and fool that I am, if I do not learn, should stay ...

night clear, gaze skyward, I lay upon my back. grass, crushed beneath me, scents of the earth drift over my form, comforting in this time of turmoil. my thoughts turn to you, of the way you are, bright star in the distant heavens, beyond my reach. trembling fingers touch aching lips, which long for candied kisses, desperately missed. deep tones, a man's voice, and the laughter of children, joyful, floats on the gentle wind. I shut misty eyes, sighing tremulously as realization coruscates through me: I cannot stop feeling, love, lust, guilt, I know not which, but feel I do! were amnesia a drug sold on darkened corners, I would beg, likely turn tricks for it, blissful lack of remembrance, wicked craving it has become, as contentedness remains frustratingly elusive.

o, but the stresses of being Mommy; had maternal duties been listed to me, in those days of singledom, I would have cried out, "nay! tie those tubes twixt the bones of my hips and never say them frightening words (ye should give birth to babes, and plenty) to mine tender ears again." verily, I was not forewarned, and wingless cherubims with rosied lips and cheeks were granted me, and how I love my earthbound miracles— though the stench of dirtied nappies shrivels my delicate nostrils, though chunks of soured milk are spewn on the occasion of flued seasons on My Best Suit! (sigh), though goosed eggs sprout in rotund proportions on fragile temples bumped against the corners of tables, though teensy footsies are frustratingly bared at every opportune moment (wonder upon wonder that socks and booties are not lost in that play), though bedraggled I become at times of bath (wetter I than those seated within bubbly tub), though convincing drooping lids to stay shut requires a nightl...

It's the end of another year and I feel less than satisfied. I thought I'd be further along in the accomplishment of my goals. About the only thing that I've done in the last several years that I feel have any worth are having children and the publication of my poem. I remember being fifteen and thinking that by the time I'd reached the age of 25 I would be a college grad with a good job and a published author with at least two books to my credit. Two noteworthy books. No such luck and the things I was determined to do are becoming more like wishful thinking. Everytime I think I'm on the right path with my goals, I'm thrown a curve and it takes me months, years at times to recover. I'm frustrated, I'm very nearly depressed. If not for my children... Don't get me wrong, I fully understand that nothing lasts forever and that regardless of how much I wish it would, time doesn't stand still. For the worse, or for the better, things change. My resolut...