There that one word
I cannot face
It teases me,
A mock embrace.
So perfect this,
For poems I write,
But still no words
That rhyme in sight.
"There must be one!"
I tell myself,
But where is it?
On the mystery shelf
Where no mortal can see
It hides all alone
There's no word to compare
No words sure as stone.
Anything is, and anything does
Is that the phrase we say?
Cause if anything is, and if anything was
There's no words that rhyme with it today.
so many of them
no longer can it be seen
where does it all go
my path like a maze
to many walls
so few doors
my mind like a puzzle
one peace at a time
can it be solved
or is it lost forever
by scarlet rose
i feel less creative when im happy, i guess its because i can feel everything around me
when im in 'the moment' i feel confident, un confrontational and like my opinions matter
dont get me wrong there is a certain level of argument that goes into each thought..
but for the most part i am listening and adjusting my own thought accordingly to what i feel is right
then i speak freely with little anticipation of negative repercussion, if said negativity greets me..
i try to analyze it, rationalize my opinion(s), see their point and discuss
i guess i really dont have a point, but if i had to pick
i want to follow a passion
a passion that makes me happy
but im less creative when im happy
and this passion leans on creativity
so where does that leave me
They brought me into a dark room with but only one window and layed me against the cold, concrete wall. The room had nothing but solitary confinement for me and it poured rain for days, the pattering of the droplets hitting the window was the only thing that kept me sane. I would look up at the window as it sat there on the ceiling and gaze into the night sky for hours at a time, trying to convince myself that God could see me and hear my suffering and that all this was happening as a test of my faith for the greater good. I did not pray for my hands were bound and my soul was weighted by my captor.
After some odd days, 3 men came into my confinement and breached my reflection. They released me from the cold concrete wall and brought me over a bucket of ice water. Without warning, one violently grasped my hair and flung my head into the water for many minutes it seemed, only pulling me out when I released my breath and then immediately putting me under once again. This would continue for hours over a period of several days.
For those of you with faint hearts and an optimistic conscience, this is not a story with a glorious ending in which justice is served and the faith prevails. This is the story of how I became a martyr. After a multitude of days of this torture proceeding, one of the men had asked me, "Why do you still have faith in this God of yours if he does not save you? He has either shown himself to be false or does not care for your life."
Solemnly, I responded as simply as it came to me. "Because God has power, God is the essence of all of our beings and what we are bound to. I do not love God because he is kind, because he is forgiving, because he is gentle and there for me always. I love God because he is something I do not know, and I can not change. God is omniscient because humans can not overpower God, whatever we learn, God knows, and that is the way it has always been. God is not a being at all, God is an idea, God is a motion, God is a thought with the power to conquer everything, God is a feeling that creates all emotion, God is the blueprint for everything that exists, God is everywhere. How do you not acknowledge what is so present and alive within you? God gives me determination which fuels willpower, and where there is a will there is a cause to which I am guaranteed to succeed. All so through the power of the universal spirit present within me and all of us."
The man was absolutely bewildered and obviously confused, and continued to comply in my test of faith. "But if he has the power to set you free, as you are somewhat saying, why has he not?" And without letting me respond he once again interrupted. "Is it because your God is not present? He can not be with you in your confinement. Where is your God?"
This was a question I was on the verge of discovering the answer to myself. If God could set me free, why had he not? But the answer was simple as it swept through me. With the grace of an angel, a raindrop fell from between the seams of the window and landed on my cheek. I looked up into the night sky once again and understood. God is in the rain.
How fitting it was that in the rain, I would be made into
but if you and I
equal us then
why does it feel like
Someone should rewrite the fairytales
To teach young girls,
Who haven’t yet had their heart broken
By the frogs they deemed to be princes,
The handsome prince
Is the one handing us the apple
That slowly poisons us from the inside
And that when the poison sets in
We might wish to sleep until
Prince Charming kisses us awake,
But that we might be stuck within a nightmare
That will only end
If we stab this prince of ours, instead of the dragon,
And realize that
The happy ending does not always mean
Riding off into the sunset together
Because sometimes the happiest ending of all
Is a girl walking away on her own
Realizing that she can one day be queen
A prince by her side
do you still check up on my words
to see if i've written anything new about you
like you did not long ago
or have you forgotten about
my hidden sentences
that i whisper onto the glowing screen
i can hear the wind chimes and the song
they sing to me is so sweet
my heart has been aching lately
for reasons unknown
the only thing i can think of
is that my soul feels too grounded,
this is not where i want my roots to be
cravings for adventure and the outside
world is becoming stronger each day
trying to fill the holes in my organs
with sweet nothings does nothing
new flavour is needed, for this is a new craving
please satiate my needs, i do not want to leave
if nothing else i want to stay
for a hundred years by your side
but please give me this
Why is the concept of being forgotten so paralyzingly terrifying to me?
Before the expanse of time,
none of us stand a chance of being remembered.
We will be swallowed up,
only be known as a statistic, a point of reference.
The thoughts we think are paramount
Quail before the laughing face of Time.
God will remember me,
so why do I care about what those on earth think?
Why do I care what people think?
What kind of sick bastards are we that we derive pleasure from others' pain?
Schadenfreude is alive and well
Unlike you and I
Why don't I throw up my hands
And succumb to the ravages of an indifferent Time
And an indifferent society
Why not let them win
Who values a game which is purposely weighted to one side
If not those who have waged something dear upon the outcome
The Ender inside me rejects the faulty system.
Why do I persevere for a "humanity"
which will never improve
the more we evolve and know and comprehend,
The more apt we are to be heartless
Because why do we need a heart when we have a brain, Tinman?
Why do we care what we look like
Our bodies are merely
borrowed from the earth
And in the blink of eternity's eye
what we call ours
will belong to another
Why do we live in a world overflowing with bodies
And entirely lacking with people
Why can we satisfy any part of ourselves
by draping on borrowed emotions
Why is the false more alluring than the truth?
Show me an honest person
And I will show you an attractive one.
I am not you
you are not me
And we will never be
Despite the pervading effort of our society
I will not be assimilated.
If we let people in,
They wouldn't hate
So why are we terrified of doing that
Is it because,
If everyone is in,
No one is
And in ceases to exist?
Why do we feel the urge to gloat about things we did not earn
Why does 1
Make more money than 2
Because his nose is straighter,
His hair is curly rather than straight,
Because 1 spends an eighth of his time in the gym
While the less attractive 2 spends 7/8 of his time
At a society which has cut off its own ears that it can't won't hear.
Why are random genes a judge of worth
While character is a word so overplayed
It folded its hand long ago
Why is the face of a beautiful liar
To that of a plain truthteller
And a world which whispers
Cradle me with your honeyed lies
Assurances of past lullabies
How do I trust what the mockingbird cries
When even it runs from the skies
Why do so many see ourselves as bound and controlled by manipulated strings
When those strings are nothing but ropes with which we can escape
Why do we live on top of one another
Without deigning to know our prisonmate
Without so much as a spared thought
For the dead flailing beneath us
Why do I hold dearest to my heart
Counting them as the tiny, insidious proofs
That I am a good person
Because good does not exist without the bad
Relativity is the grip keeping us from sliding
Why is it that words spoken can never be taken back?
Simple. We can never reclaim what was never ours.
You think you are original in your menial thoughts
What have you done but regurgitate the thoughts of your predecessors?
Rearranging the same letters
To form the same tiresome conclusions.
We are the worst type of plagiarists.
Why is the only thing propelling you a sense of duty
Why are you devoutly loyal to objects rather than the people who happen to hold them
Why do we invent reasons to hate one another
We take solace in the loopholes which justify our hatred
That we may not be like the "monsters" we condemn
Why are "we" and "they"
Not just markers of distance?
Why must they be very real, ubiquitous mentalities?
Why are somber topics the common stuff of jokes
Because we have grown numb enough to empathy
To shun it in favour of a laugh?
Why is suffering so prevalent
When we have an excess of affluence
Are such extremes what define us as a race?
Why is a white lamb the symbol of pristine innocence
When innocence is slaughtered day after day?
Why are sharks abhorred creatures even though
Our vicious attacks
Far outnumber theirs
Do we idealize them that we may have a reason
To assert our dominance over yet one more
To feel the joy of crushing them underfoot
Why do we focus on certain images
When the true image of our society
Is the person who occurs each day,
The answer is because we know
Are at fault.
Why when confronted about the tiniest aspect of ourselves
We rear our heads in defense
Backing up against the corner of idiocy
The walls built upon the truths we have fabricated
Why are the swirling armor of falsities so comforting
And when pierced
With every bit of the person we have built
Lashing out as does a dog chained its entire life
But even a dog
Which is after all "just an animal"
Is not fool enough to delude itself into loving its chain.
Tangled in my sheets,
Curled up in a ball,
Willing it away,
Praying it will stop.
But it does not stop.
It never does,
The screams, the shrieks,
Only I hear them.
The fire and flames,
Only I see them.
Am I crazy?
Or are they oblivious?
Welcome to the dawn of a new age,
open up the book and turn the page,
Be amazed by what you see, it's only the evolution of humanity
Who has the answers?
Lets ask the question,
it's as if no one is even paying attention.
Is it money? Which was created by man,
it does separate people, now are you starting to understand?
It's a trap, set by death, it wont stop,
till we breath our last breath,
That's right! Not even death is free, is money the mother of poverty?
overpopulation, segregation, a messed up nation, usually leads to mass anialation,
wartime, many battles rage on ,
Is it about hatred? Or is it a politicians song?
Time and space,
are they our final frontiers?
bombs explode and people run in fear,
a culture wiped out, to the future they are unknown,
will aliens from space ever invade our home?
Will we pledge allegiance to their flag?
Whatever may wave, whatever they have,
science there's the fiction and the fact,
but sometimes it is hard to believe all that,
Who will do it? Who will find the answers?
Prophets fall but not from cancers,
Who will stand up? Who will be the one?
To bring about change without firing a gun?
Every generation builds off the back of the last,
Sacrifices made but ignored,dooms us to repeat the past..