The dusty girl quietly desires the rain
Where is the old window?
Exhaustion, action, and love.
All jackhammers desire small, dead flowers.
Why does the window gab?
Lights talk like dark powers.
Death is a rainy job.
Noise is a small street.
Dark, faceless cars calmly grab a hot, noisy jackhammer.
All flowers love grimy, faceless workers.
Why does the light shrink?
Let me take you up the mountain
I'll hold your hand if you get tired
I'll carry your bag and lead the way
We can stop and rest
While time goes by
I just want to go with you
Where the rock meets the sky
And feel powerful with you by my side
I want to stand together at the roof of the world
and let the alpine wind blow threw us
Let me take you up the mountain
So that I can show you the part of me
Let me share this with you
This sacred moment
This glorious love.
Any advice and critiques are most welcome.
Here we are our hands reaching to the heavens
Here we stand reaching down to the earth
Here we are amongst our human family
Here we lay with our creature brothers
Our creature sisters
Here are our hands clasped with another's
Taking and giving the support of friendship
So mote it be
He had the most beautiful voice. Not a singing kind of thing, the kind that would set angels gossiping, he couldn't hold a note but a doing kind of thing.
His voice had lead people to realize that they are important despite what others tell them.
His voice had sung the praises of millions who thought they had nothing to show.
His voice held reverence for the earth.
His voice talked of the mothers the the way some men talk of gods.
His voice accepted people for who they were and not who they were said to be.
His voice contained love.
His voice contained wisdom.
His voice demanded justice.
His voice spoke of peace
His voice carried a message of tolerance.
His voice chanted the names of people who died for someone they loved.
His voice contained rebellion.
His voice contained inspiration.
His voice was ripped from him and stuffed in a box marked treason.
And although his voice was now chained and mute the world did not fall into silence.
Others had taken up the call.
Other voices had broken from their monotone and busted out with their unique way of speaking.
Because his voice had contained pride.
I'm lying on my back, nestled into a hollow that the ground made.
The long grasses lean into the hole and tickle my face as if tucking me in for a good nights rest.
The grasses create a musty aroma from the past night's rain that lulls me into a state of drowsiness.
A small breeze builds up into something larger and whistles through the grass carrying new scents to my spoiled nose.
There is a muddy smell carried up from the creek beds and the sweet smell of wild flowers.
The field is wide and when standing up I feel very small and lost.
When I am lying in my hollow, it appears as if the world closes in around me leaving me protected and swaddled like a baby.
The sky however seems large from any view.
When I am lying on my back the sky consumes my vision I can feel my eyes widen on their own just to attempt to take in the enormity of it.
I've always lived in the city, a place where you are lucky to see stars, so space tends to frighten me.
The best word I can come up with when describing the sky is space, except, when there are clouds.
The clouds here are so white, not at like the dirty gray blanket that hangs over my city. These clouds are small, friendly and perfectly formed.
They are not large enough to be frightening themselves but float in and break up the continuous expanse of space.
Then they make pictures for me.
I could look forever.
It's amazing that there are places like this.
When we are young
We can see whatever we want to.
We can be whoever we want to.
We can do whatever we want to.
As infants we are taught to walk so that we might run.
We are taught to speak so that we might yell.
When we are children we run and we yell a lot.
When we are children we have an entire world of our own choosing.
It is then that we create ourselves.
Only as children are our minds open enough to allow our true selves to come in.
It is only in childhood that we can honestly laugh at ourselves.
When we are young we do not accept limitations.
If we want to fly we do.
If we want to rule a kingdom we will.
It’s simple and clean.
It’s surprising that something that had such a large impact on who we are would be so easily forgotten.
The ability to share the water,
Is something special.
To cry is healthy
But to cry with someone
Is more than anything
To be able to sit with people
And share your stories
And your fears
And know that you can trust them to remain secret
To be able to give and take comfort
To hold someone and be held in return
Say what you like.
I wont hear you.
Tell me how it’s done,
What to wear,
What to say.
I wont strive to fit into who you want me to be.
I’m not going to limit myself for you.
You have no power here.
I am stronger than I was yesterday.
I have confidence that being myself isn’t the worst thing I could do.
My morals will see me through.
For I believe in what’s right.
And I know because of that, I am beautiful.
Sometimes in life there is great darkness.
These times are tests put forth to teach us life.
We need answers.
We need the golden people.
Those who reach to us in times of pain.
Just when we feel we can go no farther.
When the last vestige of will fades away like a candle burning too low.
They share their will and push us forward.
These are our friends.
The television behind me is blaring out
The news of the day.
It fills the room with the unmistakable stench
It’s burping and belching noxious fumes all over my rug.
News of death and hunger,
Pain and terror
Creep out over my hard wood floors
Like grey slugs surging towards me
Leaving moist, sticky trails in their wake.
I open my window to clear my breath
And I look out to green.
The trees are so vibrant my eyes hurt from impact.
Outside is clean, relief
The wonder of colour stirs emotion
In the form of laughter
As I fling joy over the earth.
My eyes water from what I feel
And I leave
I rush headlong out and up
I need to be higher
Than the pain
I need to get above the death.
So I sit on a mountain top
I’m sitting on a throne
Yet some how just as miserable as the people on my TV screen
The grey returns blocking the world laid out before me from view.
And I realize that I need to move.
So I leave the visions behind me
As I fly down past the rocks and trees
Sticks snapping at my ankles
Television static filling my ears
The grey faces reach beyond the screen
watch me as I run
colours rushing past me
Blurring into a swirling melody that erupts into courage.
The trees blend together
They whisper to me as I speed past
That pity is a useless emotion
The realization that I can be an influence on this earth holds power.
They tell me that the power is a force
That pushed me up out of my chair
And into that state of mind
Beyond the barriers that pity built.
They tell me that the door in my mind marked ‘will’ has been blasted off its hinges
And I have been born anew into a being that can create change
Not the kind of change
That creates a ten dollar bill into two fives
But the kind that means something to someone besides yourself.
I have been given a mirror
In the form of wake up call
That allowed me to see myself for who I truly am
And who I am is not ok with me
So I am going to change.