Words Much Like Poetry

I think on recent events, all that has happened to the place once called the home of my soul, and despair. the long years have brought on homesickness and a nearly desperate need to return, even more so now, when my heart is crying out for those perishing in abominable fashion. I watch the censured scenes on news broadcasts, browse internet pages full of gore, but, both are nothing more to me than electronic nonsense. no, I want to see for myself the rage, convince my mind that my heart is not breaking in vain, that the people that I long to belong to have truly turned to murder and hate and insensible cruelty. for my mind remains irrationally logical and dismisses that such notions of chaos can occur where splendor lives. and what of those who stand between? children born half of one and half of the other? will they be slashed down the middle so that each corresponding half can fight for whom it belongs? what a tragic legacy shall be left to those who by the Almighty's grace survi...

I say to you, ask me at the end of life's road, if I love you, do not ask me now when there is so much of you I have yet to learn.

there are places within myself I no longer go, dark, murk filled bogs waiting to sink me in old miseries old, not new those that are new rise before me desert dunes the height of Everest feet grasping, never let go sand hills...

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 ...