Beneath the willow tree he lies

surrounded yet by weeping boughs

as high above a lone loon cries

echoing my silent vows



Through love and life I swore to thee

through sickness and in health

through sunny days and crashing sea

through poverty and wealth



You were to me, I was to you

as one were we from then

and as your paling lips turned blue

I swore we'd meet again



My love let me go softly now

as quick as I to sleep

my love this is our final bow

I'm with you do not weep



Soft as yonder dawn doth break

o're gently burning skies

my dreams take hold I shall not wake

of woven moons and butterflies

This is me… before me. Before I learned of the secret rules, before I broke them, and my self confidence payed the price. Before my self love was stronger than my self hate. Before I started to appreciate complements and stopped obsessing over every negative comment that spilled off tongues of those who never mattered. Before I learned the power of the word “No”. Before the boys from fairy tails blossomed into the villains I grew up watching in superhero movies and fought , but lost too, in video games.

Before I realized I had control of the names I was called. That ***** and **** didn’t define me, if I never even let them past the walls I was going to build around myself. Before I realized “friend” was not a term to be thrown around, that friends don’t throw your feelings around, that friends don’t break down your walls only to throw bullets at your heart. Then leave you alone to build yourself back up. brick by dull brick.

Before my future became the light at the end of the tunnel. That determination was the spark that changed me from wanting to be a girl from a fairy tail, into the woman in the poetry I drowned myself in. The ones who fought for the sexes to be equal and the world to be right. The woman who couldn’t sleep at night, kept up by the injustices that plagued the world she lived in.

Now I know I have a choice, Now I know I have a Voice.

Long curly hair, afloat in the breeze
short,swift glances
and a deep longing to meet yours;--
-No!
I refuse to fall for you again.
Red full lips, parted;ready to speak,
dry parched throat, denies such action-
-I said, 'No' .
Faster and faster races a shattered heart,
shards clawing on the inside; but you advance nonetheless.
and then... a deafning silence.
come hear the sound of my breaking heart,
come feel the cold raging inside,
come taste the sorrow I now hate.
Is it possible you heard?
That you felt ?
That you tasted?
Is it possible that--
Gentle hands caress me,
And a wamth engulfs what little frame i have;
silencing the screaming winds.
Deep brown eyes wander accross my still face,
finding what exactly; I'll never know.

WHAT ARE WE?

Time on my hands -
like blood at a ****** scene.

My face muscles frozen as I kneel before
the last form of belief that shall ever exist.


WHAT AM I -
But a time traveler that has but witnessed extinctions and destruction.
The last human shadow abandoned by moral values.
A forgotten and abandoned generosity at the cemetery of Existance.

I can barely remember how I got here,
As never have I imagined the world this place to be.

Never have I thought that wrinkles on the heart can tell such sad stories,
Nor did I imagine how hard it would be to keep the waterfall of words
from running over the cliff of the lips.
For, some eyes in this world have witnessed greater pain
than it can ever be fairly monumentalized.

WHAT HAVE I -
But grotesque images
And some predecessors' stories.
Nothing do I see but what world of agony wants me to see.


The energy of sorrow and despair
outbalanced the warm and bright rays of circle of birth.


WHAT ARE WE –
But soulless and narcissistic
yet self-abandoned creatures,
that criticize and worship
random crumbs and pieces of good deeds.
As for the better seldom does anyone know.
  
WHAT AMAZES US –
But our true forgotten existence -
Mystery of humanity, that surprises as a sudden shock of electricity -
That is nothing but a last sign of natural instincts that existed in
someone else's stories of what we had used to be.

Nothing to remember -
But melodramatic elegies
Of wars and losses,
Self-Abundance and social negligence
celebrated at the Inferno of wasted souls.

What do we love?
What have we become?