The city streets of Cleveland were cluttered with hate
Night skies were aglow with U.S. Steel
Lake Erie was a stagnant pond floating toxicity
3947 Wilson was the home with curb appeal.

A decade of harsh winters  I spent there
Daddy's cancer took him away at age thirty-three
Yet, in his suffering he made a plan for me
That included a move to the mountains
of Tennessee.

He must of known the mountains would bring healing
To the brokenness of girl slightly shy of thirteen
At bedtime the hills would whisper sweet comfort
Resting my anxious mind and erasing bad dreams.

Safety rested on every road and in each rolling pasture
Stars filled the darkest skies and the streams were pristine
My home rested at the end of a bending hollow
With a swing on the porch picturesquely, primitively serene.

For this, and too numerous the reasons
I cling to the hills when I've lost all sense of me
For in them my questions are answered
In them, I regain my sanity.

Struggling in the coldest of rooms. Feeling blue, saddened smiles. Empty. Bloodshot eyes and fractured bones.This is all that's left. Vacant eyes. Black eyes reddened. Everything I touch turns into stone. The whispers in my mind fade away. I kind of feel like, I am meant to be this way. That this loneliness is destiny. This sinking feeling which rushes through my veins , then leaves and trickles down like autumn has met winter and the sun has failed to shine. That the motion of nothing has given more purpose. Fading shadows and life which is breezing through my mind, through dark shadows. How do I cope? When everything goes wrong. Who do I trust? When people do wrong. Longing for purpose but closure is so far away, the hearts of those that are beating are disconnected from the smell of ignorance floating through the air, and consequences of my mind will destruct. I can't focus solely on anything anymore, and I wish I could end everything, every spec of dust which falls over the mountains and rushes down the hills, trickling through the paths of despair. I would end it all. This world has lost all meaning. I have lost track of everything.

The Fool

The grass bows in respect as he passes,
A fool so very unruly,
Spits vengeful passion,
Sets the bowing grass on fire,
Destroying nature with his smile,
Raucous,
Lashing feelings,
Eyelashes flutter in mortified shame,
Curling of their own accord,
In harmony of discord!
Disputed by speech in truth!

Love songs live ,
Castigated fool,
This lyricist,
Chastised for lack of care,
Beaten down,
Darkened magic mind,
Riling by inspiring,
Cauldron bubbles,
Images evaporate,

Eternal gossamer magic,
This fool's a clever fool!
He is such unruly fool,
Will never admit it,
Uncool fool,
Will stand in attendance,
To whims and things,
Main retorts in nonchalance!
Founded in chalice,
Full,
This fool,
Well,
He's no village idiot!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Love whispered in the breeze
I wasn’t ready made me freeze
love nudged me insistently
ignored it persistently
love tapped me on the back
refused to walk that track
love stopped chasing me
I missed its company

I realised though I declined
it was always there at the back of my mind
I opened my heart and let love in
now in front of friends and kin
I accept love’s company evermore
and share it with whoever knocks at our door

We were just boys. Trekking into the dense wood, we hadn't a care in the world. The rain began to fall.  Softly at first.  Our youthful tongues reached out and caught the delicate drops.  The rain fell harder - so hard it began to tear at our skin. The air became still.  The sounds of the forest ceased.  All was crystallized.  Then Hell struck.  Out of the sky, a brilliant bolt of lightning hit the tall elm to the right of us.  We all cowered in terror, knowing full well we needed to take cover, but there was none to be found. The sound was unbearable.  Trees exploded to the right and left of us, all accompanied with a ghostly white that enveloped everything around it.  I could hear Paul crying and I ran over to him.  I grabbed him by the shoulder so that we could take cover next to a large boulder.  We'd almost reached it when we were hit.  From the top of my head to the tips of my toes I felt a pain my young life had never experienced.  My shoes flew free as I was forced into a massive tree trunk.  My ears were ringing and dripping with blood.  I hurt everywhere.  Dazed, I ran over to  Paul.  He was on the ground.  He was convulsing and vomiting.  Not a regular vomit.  His insides were escaping from his mouth.  Blackened whole pieces of lung flowed forth, steaming in the rain.  He became still and his skin turned a bluish hue.  It didn't even cross my mind that he would die.  I was only fourteen.

What if  we had roots deep down to the centre of luck –
wouldn’t we be laughing about rain and tears
and wouldn’t we keep growing if we embroidered
our thoughts with roots and luck.
What if the fruit at the end of the twig was happiness, without a question mark.
Wouldn’t we chuckle about the empty space in our mind?
How could we stop?
What if, instead of connecting dots we overdrew parentheses and footnotes with smileys and flowers and purring cats;
What if science and pain only existed
as cuddly monsters with toothache in children's books;
What if we found a rabbit’s hole leading us into a world where psychiatrists and gurus were nervous patients
in big waiting halls without flushing toilets.
Wouldn’t we be neurotically smiling?
What if we didn’t call ourselves falling leaves,
but started feeling eons of love upon our wrinkles.
Wouldn’t death then simply be a slight breeze
releasing the heat at the end of a wonderful day?
What if our hearts went on, free of age and weight,
circulating kindred songs beyond fixed identities.
What if I was wrong and every conditional was closer
to experience than arguments and miracles –
My dear: I unlocked the universal laughter;
I turned sadness into luminous gardens, into a slow waltz
to hear the non-dancers saying: Cheers! Cheers! Cheers!  
What if we finally found the recipe for equilibrium:
Would we still be needing stock markets and currencies?
Or could we simply exchange syllables across languages
without losing the message of oneness.
What if we really had roots deep down to the centre of luck?
Yes. Roots and luck.

Ghost in my mind
Not letting me hide
An unknown ghoul
That grips my soul
With silver fingers
And words that linger
Burning deeper
Burning deeper
Leaving fright
Behind in this night
A chill, a shiver
And lips that quiver
Hands that shake
With what’s at stake
Burn and wait
Burn and wait
Hands raise
To cover my face
As I start to accept
Sway my heart to rest
And everything burns
As everything fades
The beating
The beating
Sounding further away
Lowered to grave
As I sigh to death

Janice of red beret fame
with fair hair
to her shoulders
and dressed slightly better

than the rest
of there about
invited you
(with your mother’s

permission
and her gran’s invitation)
to tea after school
in the upstairs apartment

not far away
what did you want
for eats and drink?
Janice asked

bread and jam
you replied
bread and jam?
she repeated

as if you’d asked
for caviar on toast
no you must
have more than that

she said
Gran what’s for eats?
and her gran
came into the lounge

where the cosy furniture
was set out in place
neat and tidy
with a canary

in a cage
on a stand
and her gran related
a list of things

you could have
far exceeding
what you usually
had at home

cheese and cress
sandwiches
you said
please added on

as an afterthought
and Janice
had the same
to be like you

and her gran went off
and Janice said
she likes you
says you have more breeding

than some round here
o
you said
thanks

and you pushed
your hand
through your hair
and pulled

your school jumper
in place
and tightened
the tie

we’re going
to the fairground Saturday
will you come too?
you hesitated

and took in
her fair hair
and her fine features
and prim gaze

I’ll have to see
what my mum says
you uttered
o she won’t mind

Gran’s already
mentioned it I think
Janice said
well yes then

you said
I’d like that
she smiled
and spoke

of learning French
at school
and the teacher
who took her

for that and history
she’s a dear
and positively a beauty
I’ve got Ashdown

and she’s plump
and has an arse
like a hippo
you said

Janice choked
and sputtered
with laughter
all at the same time

that’s so rude
she said
putting her small hand
to her mouth

gosh don’t let Gran
hear to speak like that
or you’ll be off
her good boy list

as swift as lightening
you sat bemused
when her gran came in
with two plates

of sandwiches
what’s so funny?
she asked
putting the plates

on the table
o nothing much
Janice said
Benedict told me

a little joke
o well as long
as it wasn’t rude
Gran said

o no
Janice said
and looked at you
o no

you muttered
just a innocent joke
from school
her gran went off

to get the drinks
if Gran heard me
say thinks like that
she’d tan my backside

and no mistake
Janice took a bite
of her sandwich
and you ate yours

listening to the canary
sing and the bell it
rung inside the cage
and her gran singing

from the kitchen
in a soprano voice
and you took in
Janice’s light blue eyes

wherein you thought
but did not say
some good part
of beauty lies.