I was once a castaway
Of an unforgiving sea
I made a castle in the sand
To ease the pain in me

I made the ramparts ten feet tall
The walls were four feet thick
I filled the moat with lots of sharks
I built it brick by brick

I walked the walls most every day
No rescuer about
But I did not want folks to come in
I wished to keep them out!

The sand was cast in hate you see
The mortar my foe's blood
I repaired the walls quite often 'coz
My inner tears would flood

Within the walls, a prisoner,
My anger was my meat
My only water my own tears
They washed about my feet

Finally the water rose,
From weeping, o'r my head
Their waves erroded at the walls
And the SEA was fed!

Whilst the walls were quickly shrinking
A tide, like floods, came in!
All the sharks went out to sea,
My destiny was grim!

I made a fine, tall castle, yes,
Of sand & shells & grout
To shelter me within? Oh no!
To keep my loved ones OUT!

And others unforgiven.
And the ones I hated.
And other prejudices, yes,
That went on unabated...

And so I found a Mighty Rock
Upon which I stood.
I finally found life's meaning, YES!
I finally understood!

Forgiveness? A DECISION.
To put pride on the shelf.
And freeing up your fellow man
You  become FREE YOURSELF.

Though for years, I drank my tears,
My thirst was never slaked.
And hatred's fused & melted sand

Does not a DIAMOND MAKE.



SoulSurvivor
(C) 4/3/2017

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

my dog is kinder
than most people

my cat too


SoulSurvivor

Cats are sure a crazy race
They softly pad on paws
Then they turn their other face
And sharpen hidden claws!

Dogs have the minds of 3 year olds
They wag their friendly tails
They are brave, but foolish bold
And love unbeaten trails!

Cats are snuggly... then aloof
They're an independent lot
They eschew the ground
But love the ROOF
Unlike silly Spot!

Dogs wear their feelings
On their sleeves
(If sleeves are what they had)
They look baleful & they grieve
If chastised when they're bad.

Cats just go their merry way
When naughtiness addressed
You can SHOUT til end of day...
They could not care less!

Dogs lift their legs when they ***
Cats are WAY too grand.
Dogs love hydrants or the trees
Cats just dig in sand.

The thing about these pets is that
People have polarity
Either they like dogs
And can't stand cats
Or LOVE a cat's hilarity!

But I find each creature special
As they do life's dance
Dog's are WAY more social...

... but Vive La difference!

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
11/27/2020

He flew, child of stardust
                  in the image of gods
          a being that inspired
                  the Greeks to bring him to earth.
    Springing from the blood of Medusa
beheaded by Persius, the horse of
                    the wind blew as a feathery, incarnate zephyr
      to Bellerophon who attemted capture
                                  what was never
                                      meant to be tamed.

Bellerophon sought to
                  fly with the ethereal beauty...
    like the wax-winged
          Icarus who soared toward
                            Apollo's chariot - The SUN

More arrogant than even
                                Icarus, misguided fool,
            Bellerophon launched himself
                              on Pegasus' back toward
                                                the very STARS!

Like Icarus, he fell.

            Zeus made his wing'd stallion
                  a constellation in the firmament.

Now we make Pegasus a topiary.
                          what, do you suppose will
                                                Zeus do to US?

The Witches stir a cauldron
Encased in rust and mold
In it is burning fire
And many screaming Souls

They do not see the witches
They do not smell the stench
They only fight each other
With words that make me blanch

There are higher powers
Who constantly make war
They love the low emotions
And Thrive when there are more

The Witches stir The Cauldron
And laugh when they do see
Their victims fight each other
As they do continually.

And they may keep on fighting

Into ETERNITY.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/6/2016

The Dragon's Egg

To understand my addiction
You have to know the
Back-story.

I was born in the dead of
Winter. Wednesday's child...
Full of woe. I was a preemie.
Mom fell on her stomach while
On a chair trying to change a
Lightbulb. As unpreposessing
A child as ever was born...

I won't go into my childhood
Difficulties too much, as they
Might prompt your judgment
Upon my parents. They were
Not really at fault. They did
The best they could based
Upon *their childhoods and
Limitations....

Mom was sick.
A great deal. The victim of
Horrific migraine headaches
And an undiagnosed (therefore
Untreated) bi-polar condition.
She had aspirations of being an
Actor. She really should never
Have had three children. She
Simply couldn't handle it. I was
Born only 16 months after her
Firstborn, my sister Chris. This
Definitely didn't help matters.
Then, because my little brother
Mark was born just as her
Acting career took off, she had
Much less time for my sister
And I. She had a newborn, a
Career, a husband and
Postpartum depression. Chris
And I (and eventually Mark)
Were neglected. Not really
Mom's fault. It was what
It was...

Dad was a complex man.
A hot-tempered stoic. A hard
Worker who hated manual
Labor. A war hero who also
Became a runner (he would
Become a severe
Alcoholic - an addiction he
eventually overcame).
A generous miser.
A cultured plebian.
A spiritually minded atheist.

I don't blame him. But the
Last dichotomy was our
Downfall. We were
disallowed from church. Went
To an atheist Sunday School.
We learned about all the world
Religions save Christianity.
Or maybe I missed THAT lesson.
But as a result I had no real
Moral compass to live by. My
Parents tried to teach us
Ethical behavior, but because
Jesus and the Holy Spirit weren't
A part of the equation it was
Doomed to failure. One can't
Simply be "moral" or "ethical".
Without Jesus, we are all
Rank sinners. Sorry if this
Offends some of you. But it's
TRUE. Jesus paid the price.
Only faith in Him can make
A person right with the Father.
All else is vanity. My father
Spent his lifetime trying to be
A "good" man. He tried to
Be a "good" husband. A "good"
Father. But his efforts
Always stymied by lack
Of the essential puzzle piece....

JESUS**.

I was never the hero of
My own life. Nor did I try to
Be. I ran. No Red Badge of Courage.

No Olympiad. No laurels to be placed
On a head bowed in humility. I ran...
In the wrong direction. I had a Dragon
To chase, you see. No St George,
However. I wanted to embrace the
Monster, and take it home. And in
Doing so, i was severely burned
In the process.

I've spent a majority of my life
severely addicted to drugs and
Alcohol. Anything. ***. Amphetamines.
Acid. ***... Anything that could
Alter my pathetic state. I was the
Walking Wounded. Dead. My drug
Of choice was *******. Crack. It did
The job better than anything else
I tried. The euphoria a road to
That fabulous beast unlike any other.
That pipe and lighter its flaming maw.

But, ironically, the rock of my shame
Lead to the Rock of my Salvation.

And I finally ran... into Jesus's arms.

The Dragon Hatched

Baby snakes are always
The most dangerous.
They have not yet
Learned how to release
Their venom. I was a
Horrible little girl.
A terrible tease. I had
(And still have) a
Samurai tongue.
I know just where
To cut where it
Hurts the most.
And just like that
Baby snake
I struck out at
My baby brother.
Poor Mark. To this
Day he bears the
Marks of my fangs.
I'm being brutally
Honest. I was an
Unholy *terror...

I wish for your
Compassion however.
Hurting children
(People) hurt other
Children (people).
There's a incubator
For bullies. Mine was
In an incident when
I was 3 years old.

My sister and I were
*****. Not molested.
*****. By a child
Predator on a train.
My mother was sick
With one of her
Blinding migraine
Headaches. She
Couldn't watch us.
So we ran around
The train
Unrestrained. The
Obvious happened.
My sister, only 4,
Always felt guilty
Thereafter that she
Couldn't protect me!
My SOUL cries out
As I write this!
That little girl was
So wounded that
She withdrew from
Me for her guilt...

And *doted on my
Baby brother.

This absolutely *slayed
Me! and my sweet
Little baby brother
Received the brunt
Of my brutal anger.

I WAS ANGRY!!!
At everyone and
Everything. And the

DRAGON HATCHED...


SøułSurvivør
5/21/2017

Dungeons and Dragons

The world of my childhood
Was so bleak as to be
Untenable. There *were good
Times, yes. These were as
Gems set in clay. A black
Muck that oozed from the
Dungeon of despair.

I was so demonstrative
In my need for acceptance
And love the other children,
As kids do, smelled the
Blood in the water. And,
As children do, they attacked.
I was dog meat. Which
Made me all the more
Vicious toward my poor
Baby brother. Which
Made me feel more
Guilty. And so went the
Spiral of despair. Finally
I found the "cure" for
My angst. Fantasy.

I have no idea how
To even begin to tell
You about my fantasies.
I began to rock myself
To sleep at a very young
Age. A self-comforting
Action I acquired from
Babyhood. I also bounced.
On our springy couch, I'd
Rock myself back & forth
So as to bounce myself
From the back of it. I'd
Listen to music while
Doing this, and fantasize
Of being in lands beyond
My ability to describe here.
It would be too time
Consuming. But I was
Heroine of my
Daydreams. Beautiful.
Wise. Immortal. Like
One of JRR Tolkien's
Elves. I loved his books.
I devoured fantasy
Stories. And absolutely
Loved dragons.
I started drawing
Painting at a very young
Age. And the dragon was
My greatest source of
Inspiration. He was the
Catalyst which brought
The fantastic brew to life...

...and nearly destroyed me.

There's an upside to all
This, folks. The dragon is
Satan. He's the author
All addiction, pain and.
Suffering on earth.

Well. I know his secrets.
And I aim to expose them

One... by... *ONE!*


SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/27/2017

Enter the Dragon

I didn't start with my addiction until I was 13. It was at that point that I found alcohol. "Demon ***". And a terrible scourge it was for a majority of my life.

I want to preface this next segment by saying that I love my father dearly. He is now sober and has been many decades. But at the time my story is being told, he was an alcoholic. Of the first water. A "responsible" drunk. He held down a job. A job he hated. And so he ran away from life when he could. And both my parents liked to throw parties. There were always mixed drinks. Martinis. *Lots of them. After a few my father could no longer maintain. He couldn't mix the drinks. So guess who was recruited as bartender? You got it. And I began to imbibe in my own creations as I had to "test" the taste. They were good, alright. And my customers got plowed! I would have also, but God had His hand on me, even then. I somehow knew better. I got tipsey. But my REAL alcoholic behavior would come later. At that point I began raiding my father's liquor cabinet. The drugs came later, too...

... enter a little girl named CRICKET.**


SøułSurvivør
6/3/2017

The Dragon's Apprentice

When I left off in my last segment I mentioned Cricket. That's NOT her name, but none of the people in my tales of woe shall have their true names revealed (save family members).

Cricket was a flibberty-gibbet. The modern definition (and the archaic) are applicable. She was flighty. And an irresponsible gossip. But more than that, the girl was evil. A "fly by the gibbet" feasting on the rotting corpses of the convicts slain there. I don't believe she *meant to be evil. She was (and is) an irresponsible person. She's a gypsy who lives life by the seat of her pants. She was a crack ******* addict. She was one of my suppliers later on in my life. But more on that later. Right now I'm going to tell you the dynamic of our relationship.

Her father and mother (and sister) targeted her sexually. She was a "problem child". So she moved in with us. She was 2 years younger than I. I was 13 when she moved in. We got along fine... at first. But I was an overweight teen. Not terribly attractive. After I lost the weight, due to illness, she became extremely jealous. We'd have terrible rows, some even physical fights. She'd "borrow" my clothing, and appropriate it. When I'd demand it back, she'd "somehow" stain it, or put holes in it. She'd tell her friends (especially male friends) awful things about me. But her worst attribute was her penchant for drugs. She was my supplier even back then. My mom has yet to forgive her for this, and her wayward ****** ways, which influenced me as well.

I'll never forget one incident. She brought home a couple of good lookin guys, a 1/2 ounce of very potent marijuana, and a brownie mix. Yup. She talked me into letting her make Alice B Tokeless brownies in my parent's home! I was afraid of the repercussions if my parents found out (though, quite honestly, the ethics of doing such a thing eluded me). But Cricket and her friends talked me into it. So the brownies were made. The whole house was permeated with the smell of baking chocolate & ***!

We each ate one brownie, and were so high we got lost on a hike around the neighborhood! I lived on an old ranch in the desert. The Tucson Mountain foothills. Anyway, we were good n ******! Well. We returned to find my brother and his little friend had returned from hiking, also... and had eaten half the pan!

This may, on the face of it, seem humorous. But it was not! Those two little boys were high for three days! They were obliterated!

Now, granted, i didn't know my brother & his friend were home. I thought they'd gone to his friend's house. But, NO! They'd just gone on a hike and were nowhere in evidence when the brownies were made. But I got in SO much trouble! Cricket did, too, but because SHE was YOUNGER the brunt of the punishment was on me.

And that pretty much sums up our whole relationship. I was the cat's-paw. A role I was to carry on well into my adult life.

There's more on Cricket in my next segment. But I want to introduce another character in my comedic tragedy of errors also. Another girl who I will term PILL**...


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/17/2017

Look at the dancing dragon
He puts on quite a show
He lifts up high into the air
As the wind begins to blow.
A wind of change is whipping
Round & round it goes
As it becomes a hurricane
Or an EF5 tor-na-do.

China's at the wall, my friend.
To scale like a flood
Question why their banners fly
Red as flowing blood.
Red, with pretty little stars
A fallen angel brood
They will come a-marchin'
We'll be DONE for GOOD.

Ever wonder why, ye fools
They buy up to the south?
You don't hear THAT on the news
But it is TRUE, by oath!
The dragon's near. Yep. It's HERE.
WE ARE IN IT'S MOUTH.

They don't NEED to buy US.
Think not? You'll find you're WRONG.
They have surely purchased us
And did so for a song.
They don't NEED to fight a war...
It already could be WON.
The Chinese have not marched without
They've conquered from WITHIN.

What will happen to U.S.
Only God can tell.
But the Red Chinese are waiting...

AT THE GATES OF HELL.

SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
11/8/2020

---

is it the forest or the trees
where the real truth lies?
is it in elephant graveyards
where a true heart dies?
and how can sages ask
the wherefores and the whys?

there's only One who measures
the circumference of the skies.


soulsurvivor
(C) 8/26/2015

Summer 1986 Sunday 5:30AM

Misty morning in Malibu.
Seagulls stitch the sea to a subtle
silver sky. They sputter stridently.
Each elegant gull hovers effortlessly.
Entreating each other. Echos bounce
off the sound of the surf into eternity. The screeching of many a
soliloquy akin to silence.

I sit on the pier. The water before
me washes onto the staccato legs
of tiny waterbirds who wander
in and out of the surf. Little
windblown ***** of ecru and grey
wool. I worship in the womb of
the great goddess ~ nature. I wasn't to know the Creator was watching patiently...

6:30AM
I make my unhurried way up the
pier to my car. A cheap but
comfortable convertable. Nobody
walks in LA. I punch in a tape.
Don Henley. Boys of Summer.

I take PCH up to the incline that
takes you from the beach. Pushing
the pedal slightly as I slide by the
colossal bleached cliffs of
Palacades Park. There the homeless
sleep under the benches dedicated
by friends and family in
rememberance of loved ones.
Small plaques attatched for
posterity.

My hands are on the steering wheel
at 7 and 12 o'clock.I look at the cast
I wear on my right wrist. A token
of rememberance from an angry romance. He and I parted
respectively, if not at all
respectfully. I drive.

7:00AM
Venice beach. Not yet boysterous.
But never boring. The young people
(and old) still bundled together in bed. Saturday night hangovers will
be had by most of the denizens of
Venice beach boardwalk. A grainy
eyed few wander around abstractidly. Shopowners enter
their buildings, their storefronts
almost as small as booths. Graphitti
and giant works of art grace walls
everywhere ~ Jim Morrison and
Venus in workout leggings much
in evidence.

I smoke my cigarette and drink my
hot coffee carefully in the open cafe'.
I consider the eyefest of the crowd
that will congregate here to enjoy
the clement weather.
The cacophony and the clamor.
Touristas and Los Angelinos alike
drawn In by calculating vendors
and coyote souled street performers.
I look forward to seeing the
non conformity usually. But not
today. For now I sit in the quiet cafe'.

Venice beach. Vulpine. Vacuous.
A strangely vunerable venue. The
***** and the beautiful. The talented and the ******.

A street performance pianist trundles his acoustic piano on
casters out onto the boardwalk.
I ask him if I may play. He looks
at my cast doubtfully.
"I can still play..." I tell him.
He ascents and listens thoughtfully
as I play my compositions. He really
likes them. I ****** the ebony and
the ivory with insistant fingers.
The smile on his face is irrepressable. I smile back and we
flirt in self conceous, fitful fashion.
Time to leave.

9:00AM
Radio is on in my car now. A cut
from the musical Chess. One night
in Bangkok makes the hard man
humble... I like the driving beat.
I'm going up I-10, a single blood cell
in the main artery that brings life
to the flesh of this mamouth town.
Traffic is tenuous. A boon here in
this conjested city.

I drive to Fairfax and Sunset, where
I lived with in a tiny one-bedroom
apartment with my mom. An
ambitious actress. I an ambivalent
artist.

Sunset. The Roxy and Whiskey-a-
Go-Go. Cartoon characters Rocky
and Bullwinkle casually cavort on
the top of a building. Billboards
as tall as the Hollywood sign. The
street of broken hearts for many
an actress -slash-model. They
wander about on street corners
looking haughty and haunted.
Waiting for who knows who to
honk. Their dreams have flown
away like the exhailation of smoke
from the mechanical lungs of the
Marlboro Man. Schwab's drugstore
and diner. The place where some
famous starlet was discovered.
Delivered into the arms of the
Hollywood machine. I opt to go
to the Sunset Grill.

11:00AM
I'm walking down Hollywood Blvd.
Perusing shops and persuing
pedestrian pleasures. Everyone
talks of the star-studded sidewalks.
To me they look tarnished and
filthy. Stars from a sultry smog
laden sky come to earth. The names
of some of the folks honored on
them I don't recognise.

I'm here to view movies today.
I'm definitely not going to
Grauman's Chinese Theater.
Been there. Done that. Gave the
very expensive T shirt to
Goodwill. I look around at the
proud and the plebian. The pedantic
and the pathetic. No prostitutes
out yet that I could see. Probably
toppled into bed to sleep
(for once). Deposed kings
and queens of the monarchy of the
night. The homeless hobble along
with their hair matted and askew.
Shopping carts with stuttering
wheels de reguer.

A couple of tourists with Izod shirts,
plaid shorts to the knee and deck
shoes sans socks gaze in a shop
window. It's borded by tarnished
and faded silver garlands... tinsel
Christmas tree.
"Want to buy a mood ring today?"
One of them querys his buddy,
laughingly.

I find my small theater and enter
the air conditioned lobby. I purchase
a soda and pass on the popcorn.
As I enter the theater's modestly
plush, dimly lit cocoon sanctuary
I notice very few patrons are here
for the matinee. GOOD. I finally
watch the premiere product of
Los Angeles. Movie after movie
slides across the screen. The callus
morally corrosive corporations
conspire with the creative to produce
the culmination of many art forms
in one. Cinema.

LA. Languid. Luxurious. Legendary.
Rollicking, raunchy rodeo.
Seaside city. Sophisticated. Spurious.

SPECTACULAR.

8:00PM
I wend my way up Mulholland Dr.
Another tape is playing in the deck.
One of my favorites. David + David.
Welcome to the Boomtown.

I pull over at a deserted vista. From
this viewpoint I can see the city
spread out like a blanketfof brilliance. The gridiron of LA.
Glitzy and glamorous. Generating
little gods and goddesses. A gigantic
gamble for the disingenuous and
gouache. Tinsel town. Titillating.
Tempestuous. Only the very brave
bring their dreams here... or fools
rush in where angels fear to tread.
All but the fallen angels. They thrive.

Oh! If this place could be bottled it
would be such sweet poison. I
look up at the auburn sky and back
down at the breathtaking panorama
The metropolis that is LA with awe
and angst. I carefully stub out my
cigarette and flip it irreverantly
toward the lagoon of lights.

I get in my car to drive home.
Home?
Could this imposing, inspiring,
impossible place be called home?

Well. Home is where the heart is.
And I live in the heart of a dream.
This is the city of dreams...

CITY OF ANGELS.

Soul Survivor
Catherine E Jarvis
(C) 2005

We are barely civil.
In fact it's a war!
I'm about ready now
To knock you to the floor!

I'm a blue-clad Yankee.
You're grey-Johnny Reb.
This fight may not be over
Til one red heart 💔 is dead!

Chorus
Collateral damage, Civil War
Please don' you come 'round no more!
No lady here, no gentleman
Was it just a one-year stand?
Call it Providence or Fate,
All that's left of love is hate.

We don't square off in a duel
We wait in the weeds!
Each of us a Devil's tool
We shoot until we bleed!

You the caustic sarcasm
Me the Samurai tongue
We won't bend, but in the end
Which of us has won??.

Chorus



SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2022

you do not have to ♥
you don't have to repost
you do not even have to read this

By posting dedications and tributes
I AM NOT:*

Trying to raise my stats
Recruit new readers
Impress ANYONE

I'm not hired by Eliot to
promote his site

REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOME
OF THE MORE CYNICAL MAY THINK
I GENUINELY CARE FOR POETS.
I'M INTERESTED IN YOU.

There are some who have
POISON in their mind and
INJECT IT INTO THE MINDS OF OTHERS... STOP IT.

We grow old like watches
The hands are stiff from work
Correct time reflected twice a day
A fact which leaves us erked
Having regularity
Becomes a real perk
Hearts left too long in the sun
Become completely ******

We grow old like plumbing
Springing lots of leaks
Number 1 is hourly
The other once a week!
There's orthascopic searches
The plumbers take a peek
While the polyps and fistulae
Really have us freaked!

We grow old like locks & keys
You know, the skeleton kind
We can't unlock our hips & knees
We can't unlock our minds
We can't unlock our senses
Eyes & ears go blind
We can't get out of fleshy jail
We're really in a bind!

We grow old like vehicles
Our wiring starts to burn
Odometers spin like crazy
While our wheels refuse to turn!

We grow old like parchment
We pour out like a cup
We count the beats of clicking bones
The old want to be pups
While the crazy youngsters of today

Can't wait to grow up!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/13/2017

in their bed of ash
lavender-grey and sultry

slowly reassemble into
a bed of coals
salmon and fuchsia

stretching
and
torching
the
morning
star


soulsurvivor
(C) 20/10/2015

In colored glass the prisons
In windows on the wall
Saints look uo to heaven
Jesus looks so tall
Piercing eyes look into hearts
Convicting, calling... all.
Weeping through the window
Shifting up the wall
The sun approaches painted hills
Sun setting leaves a pall.

All the congregation
Modern in the light
They follow "the Savior"
Thinking they're "upright"

Position, proposition,
Privilege in their pores
Matriarchs & patriarchs
Always wanting more.

The Saviour dies a pauper
Assigned to pour red gusts
Put in a rich man's private tomb
To turn to maroon dust

Now, O, hail the Pastor!
His preaching & his price!
He gathers up the windblown tithes
To practice every vice....
He's the one they come to
To give His Glorious advice?

The Mesusa in Their membranes
Giving Themselves airs
They turn us all to colored glass
Snakes writhe in Their hair
But batten down the Bible
WE AREN'T THAT UNAWARE.

The Saints look up so pious
Jesus scans the pews
He sees ALL the "Pastors"
He sees me & you
He's looks down so sadly

As the light weeps through.

SoulSurvivor

^¡^

Color me be a cymbal
Let me be a gong
Color me Coyote brown
Let me limp along
Color up my faltering voice
Let it come out wrong
Color me a blackbird
A deep & moody song.

Color me a minstrel
Let me be a knave
Color me a sinner
Who is yet unsaved
Color me a'weeping
Let tears come in waves
Color me a raven
Perched above a grave.

Color me a cloudy day
Color me the rain
Color me a carousel
That ol' circle game
Let me be a priest of straw
Let me see bloodstains
On songwritten pages
On my Christian name.

Color me a kite in flight!
Color up the strings!
Color me an angel
A rusty golden thing!
Color me a blackbird
Cuz, man, those birds can SING!!
Yes, even a blackbird has
Red & yellow on its wings...

^¡^

by Catherine Jarvis
Dedicated to Joni Mitchell.

~~~

Is zero a number?
Is numb a feeling?
Is comatose slumber?
Is sleep now healing?

Is why a question?
Is try a verb?
When you can't shake
The ***** and herb?

Is static music?
Is silence screaming?
Is nighttime cursed...

is daytime dreaming?


SoulSurvivor
Rewrite (c) 5/12/2015
Written 2014

we all appreciate getting them...
please give some in return!

commenting on the content
will give as well as earn!

reading is a joy!
there's so much we can learn!


SoulSurvivor
12/13/2015

I create.
I compose.
I don't compare.
I don't compromise.

I'm compulive
On my little computer.
I don't consider.
I don't compete...

I create.


Soul Survivor

I am a poetry site addict.
I get on a site, and I just
Don't know when
To stop writing.
I'm not kidding.
I'm serious.

I'm also a people pleaser.
I want people to like me.
So I overwhelm them
And try too hard.

I love to bless people and
Make them feel good
About themselves.
But it can get to be
Too much of a
Good thing.

I have a thyroid condition
And slight bi polar mania
At times. I'm medicated,
Which helps. But I can't
Sleep when the writing
Bug hits.

You may be saying to
Yourselves, what?!
That's great for a
Writer! But it really
Isn't. Cause I alienate
People. I really would
Rather read and
Leave the writing
Alone for a while.

Please forgive me.
I'm truly not trying to
Overwhelm. I just love to
Write so much.

Thanks for understanding,
And for all your inspiration.
All my comments, etc
ARE SINCERE!!!


Soul :)

as they soar
They course the winds and roam
They care not for snow nor rain
They make the clouds their home!

Consider the badger in his den
He worries not for gold
He will fight till his last breath
To defend his hole!

Consider the lion and his pride
They suffer want and lack
But they care naught or give a thought
They will be bouncing back!

Consider the fish within his pool
He worries not for drink
He won't beware for lack of air
He's stronger than we think!

Consider the wildflower
The bravely climbing rose
She will, in gloom, put forth her bloom
And cover trees in floes!

Consider the canine!
Consider the mighty horse!
They don't amend the name of friend
they're better ones of course!

Consider kingdoms of the wild
Do you find it odd?
They worry not. Give nothing thought

They just depend on GOD.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/19/2016