I have not lived a life that boasts of anything,
I don’t take pride in some of the history I bring.
The past can never be undone - that I know.
In my vulnerabilities, I unearthed opportunities so I can grow.
Pain is a pesky part of being human,
Mysteriously embalmed in a gob of trials and afflictions.
With vultures and thieves at my back,
I do lament over some fates I was unwilling to accept.
Then again, mistakes are the growing pains of wisdom,
It builds you to be that better person.
A diamond doesn’t start out polished and shining,
Do have faith in happy endings and silver linings.
So weep not for the daft blunders and forlorn memories,
We are all in this world by a greater decree.
Find hopes in every falls, every scars.
They're hidden quietly in the music of the wind, amidst the beauty of the stars.
my sister thought my mother
had died on her lap.
she walked to the bathroom;
inside that depthless hospital hotel.
the putrid smell of life and death
all through-out this concrete heaven
at the tender age of forty-four;
my mothers bones would
carry no more weight.
her gentle heart,
her forgiving mind,
her words so strong
they are forced out
by constricted wind-pipes
and angry words
i glanced down at the cot, where my mommy died
making contact with my mother's pale-blue eyes
she looked at me with the most helpless,
childish face I've ever seen. as if to say:
"he isn't here.. where is he...
where could he be?"
she lived thirty more minutes.
he arrived a few hours later, asking:
"how's she doin'?"
never take for granted,
someone's borrowed time.
you, my love, are the light of my life, and you - are ruining my writing. lately, when i sit down and try to write, all i can seem to come up with are grossly overused analogies and tired metaphors that have been recycled a thousand different times. all that flows from the end of my pen are flowers and stars and the creases that form in your forehead when you smile and how much i'd like to lose myself in the galaxies of your irises - and it's disgusting. this twilight-esque prose, this juvenile symbolism and puppy-love poetry that pours from me - is not me. i'm no Poe, no Plath, no Kerouac, but i like to think that i'm okay. however, recently the caliber of my writing has been reduced to nothing more than rainy-day romance and child's play. and god, everything rhymes. i feel like i'm sixteen again in the best way. it's because you've stayed, that you are changing everything i thought i knew about love. i catch myself absentmindedly drifting to visions of a shoebox apartment in a city somewhere and furniture shopping and even the B word (babies). that's so unlike me, that is so - amazing because nobody has ever been so serious about me and i think that maybe, baby, someday i'd like to be 80 with you - oh god. you - you are too many poems that all sound the same, but each time i read through them i somehow manage to find something i haven't read before. you are open doors and patient arms with a voice like a lullaby that resonates in the darkest corners of my mind. you are saving grace without condition and a love so deep i could go for a swim in it - and maybe that's why i'm drowning, because all i ever really learned how to do is doggy-paddle. but you are so patient. anyone else would have quit on me by now. the idea of forever has always terrified me, but the promises you make sound so real that i'm beginning to think maybe they are. baby, you, are eyes like soil and words made of rain drops, and every day we grow a little more. i adore you. i am so sorry that my meager words can't do you justice. my ineptitude is criminal, but i'm trying. and i think that i would rather be vomiting these clichés than return to the world of gray i lived in before i met you. i love you. i love you. i love you to the moon and back and every planet in between. you are the sweet to my tea and the leaves to my tree. and every song i've yet to hear but somehow i manage to follow along with. i wanna scream it from the top of a mountain or the middle of a grocery store, about this love that leaves me with butterflies in my belly and fireworks in my heart. baby, i've never been so happy to embrace mediocrity. my prose may be suffering, but my heart is soaring. writer's block has never been more welcome than when it bears your name. so wipe your feet at the door, take off your coat, and please, make yourself at home.
the sting of regret
always echoes in my head and sits on my shoulders,
wearing me down.
I've got to get out of here,
find a solitary place
where I can sit and be silent.
This town holds too many memories,
they stay with me like a ball and chain.
I fear a wasted life,
like heaven can't seem to penetrate the darkness that surrounds me
and give me a clear picture of who it wants me to be.
I fear the lonely bitter life,
one not shared with a significant other.
I fear the settled life even more,
one shared with someone I know is not right.
I fear the emptiness
of a life lived without you,
bracing myself for impact
against a wall of indecision.
Maybe one day I'll have hit it enough times to peek through the cracks
and see the other side.
But love doesn't worry me,
the future worries me.
It holds me in a death grip with its claws around my neck.
I gasp for air and flash my hands about,
trying to pull them off me
but I only cause myself to sink deeper and deeper
into this pit of uncertainty.
When did my life become a waiting game?
To see whether or not you were right about your so-called plans?
They were yours to begin with,
but now I fear that I made the wrong choice
and sent myself down a wrong, desolate road.
I once wrote of lost love,
so many times
that I lost myself.
The sweet and salty tang of ocean foam
The free smell of freshly cut grass
And lemonade made fresh from the lemon trees in the yard
The smell of glue and ink on paper
The soft sound of pages turning and coffee brewing
The thousand colors of illustrations
The quiet promise of a book missing its cover
The heavy taste of honey in the mornings
The bright, spicy smell of freshly picked apples
The tangy reward of apple cider as the nights cool
The laughter that fills the air after a long day of harvest
The love and comfortable silences of family
The chaos of a dinner table in the evening
The excitement of holiday baking
The curious wonder of a walk through the woods
The warmth of a fire during the winter
The value of a hard days work
The stories of war and childhood told during the storm
The calluses on my papa’s hands
The scars that my grandpapa wore proudly
The smile lines that my grandmamma let be seen so easily
The lessons that my mum gave us everyday
The gift of a childhood friend
The adventures only children can have
The risk of sneaking out when everything is quiet
The quiet suffering of a friend in pain
The loss of what I held closest to my heart
One stroke at a time
The image of me growing better and more detailed each day
Drawn with the experiences of family and learned morals
The Past of those who had lived life for longer than I had
Giving me depth and value
My own mistakes make me original
Feather tickled my nose.
A memorised aroma.
Carried on an aged soul.
One who once lived.
But was rarely seen.
Now ascended to join the poets.
In the land.
Where all the poet's past reside.
He was a poet too.
A patient patient waiting for his cue.
I was his leading lady.
Took him to the room of doom and gloom.
Fears potential of a dirty diagnosis.
Cancer, swear word of the day.
He was clear.
He was delighted.
So with good cheer.
I bade him cheerio.
Just one simple question.
The answer I needed to know.
His body smell of memory fuel.
My Dad the silly fool.
It was his favourite body spray.
Flicked on a memory for me today!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
i just want happiness
not the pain
and all the time i hear that rainbows are only made by rain.
where's my rainbow?
i've lived through enough rain...
Truth be told, it was over before it started. The flowers bloomed and wilted before ever seeing sunlight, fire turned to ash without a moment as a flame, and the few fleeting moments left, were wasted on the recognition of this time passing. Life had come and gone and no one had lived. We took our first steps too late, missing the last car and fell down on the third rail.
It's the being set aside
that makes me cry
It's the knowing
of being the other
makes the pain
thunder through my head
I left wishes wilted
on the bedside
viewing them from distances
as my heart shut
You couldn't know the affect
unless you lived it
You couldn't know the loss
unless you've given it
There is water
waiting to reserve my soul
until I learn to
stop leaving it in
Join me in death, come now and follow
Only then we can finally walk the path of the hallow
Honoring the life, of what we've left behind
Never before forgotten, the memories painted in our minds
At last we came to finally understand,
Like footsteps we'll remain printed in the sand
Vanishing by waves when it hits the shore
Intended to be, washing up who we were before
Now what are your beliefs? have you ever tasted deceit?
Ask yourself now...
Rather than to follow...
Rethink to remember that you,
Everything that you lived for
Just to escape how you've lost your faith
Only to know it's too far gone, It's far too late...