Ornaments and lights decorate trees
Traditions that we've made this to be
Presents are generous, but to be alive
Is the gift that continues to give
Because your presence
Is a present
Focus energy not on tensions
Or frustrations, but realizing
Appreciations for each lesson
Blessing, and silver lining
For Christmas cheer, is to be kind
To unite love like peace signs
And as we celebrate his birthday
To keep the good faith in mind.
I wrote this poem in honor of Christmas, last year. It's my first Christmas poem that I can remember dedicating to the holiday. I had also written a song about Christmas, but I'm pretty sure this was my first poem about it. I hope you find something to like. ^^
I'm thankful for the time to reflect
To feel warm embraces of memories
Emotions of lighthearted joy, and
Scenes of my life that conclude with
Their own heartfelt epilogues
Thankful to shed tears
Serving as reminders
That no matter the hardship
We are one as human
Keeping internal connections alive
Breathing in this life to the fullest
I explore in self
What I can give
Back to this journey
My eternal gratitude
For moments like this
And loved ones like you.
I wrote this piece last year for Thanksgiving, but its message goes for each and every day. Let us always spread love and warmth, and open our hearts to each other. Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Cherish what you have, and remember that you are loved, always.
A simple window
A mirror of reflection
I see a balance of tension within its creation
The morning nature arose in its fresh tree pine
Shining itself upon the window's shrine
What do I see?
I spy with my little eye
A sea of independence
And a faction of world pride
Leading forth its beauty
A crack is present on the glass
What could this mean?
Was destruction awake in its past?
Was it a breach of war in its latch?
Or just a simple pile of rough, rocky ash?
A window's future
A glass stain, a mark on impermeability
To be recovered?
Could this be the open solitude of infinity?
Deer with long tracks sheer the day
Upon its past age
Or was it just a present revelation of roadkill...
That subdued its inward rage?
People withstood many triumphs, and
Most filled with anger
Some responsibility taken
Others with pain and no hope to salver
A mirror is worth an antique
Of power and immortality
Not the glass type, but
Our own view of sanity.
This was the first personal poem I ever wrote back in 2009. I definitely had a vision for this piece as I was writing it. It holds a very special place in my heart, although I may have edited a line or two for it to make more sense, lol. Always room for improvement! I hope to build upon each of my poems until they reach their final versions in a poetry collection of mine one day. That would be awesome!
Chilling, like a cold
Winter breeze, as it rustles
Sound through pine trees
Circling in repeated motions
Swaying and reflecting
Different angles, and
Gradually moving from side to side
Not faltering, but continuing stride
Against the current
Against the waves
Against the runner
Pushing him back
Almost forcing him to fall
And beckon in the tracks of another
How will he get back up?
That's the question we always
Ask ourselves, looking at
Others from a third person
View, but from the eyes
Of wind, nothing else exists
Think about that for a moment
Invisible, yet so strong
Something to put our lives
In full perspective
The thought of a force
That can break us down
In a moment's notice
And just like that
Suddenly, it's gone
Nowhere to be
This poem originally had a different ending, but then I wrote the ending shown above. It's one of my more personal favorite poems.
I spend so much time
Basking in the silence as time unwinds
Hoping for a moment where I can exhale
From these deep breaths, and focus on my dreams
Without this sharp pain in my side
This feeling of being stressed
All the time.
I've spent nights daydreaming
Howling at my internal moon
In hope that the glare that illuminated
The pitch black sky inside
Would not shed light on the wolf
Or shed tears for the boy who cried
But rather spare those crucial moments
Of wasted time, from which those tears
Left the boy's eye.
The tears that watered a rose
Waiting to bloom alive
I know it's okay to cry.
I know it's okay to not know where
You're going sometimes.
Despite the unsettling emotions that
Surround you like autumn leaves
Worried that if you step on one
They'll play the part of a sidewalk
On Friday the 13th
And someone's back will break
In its wake...
In your sacrifice...
In your hesitation to move along
As you injure your finger pressing
The replay button
As you know very well that it's not the
Memories of times wasted that haunt you
It's the regret of not allowing yourself to fail
During the times you thought failure
Was all that it would lead to.
This piece centers around how I worry myself constantly about my situation, day in and out. I try to focus so hard, but that may be the issue I'm facing that's the hardest to come to terms with; that I'm focusing too hard. Finding the balance is hard at times, but I have faith that things will work out. Music, poetry, and writing definitely help, that's for sure. The concept that is presented in this piece can go for any hard situation. I hope someone finds solace in its message. Never give up, cry when needed, and know that things always have a way of working out, one way or another. Much love!
Love, lies in our emotions
Configuring the chambers of how we feel
In our veins, nerves, and imperfections
That thread to make our curves
Around each maze
The heart senses a new direction to turn
Sensations of familiarity begin to burn
This hurts, not having anyone to love
As I sense myself running in my own maze
With only one mission
To find inside of me, the hope that lies above
Above the darkness in our hate
In the struggles and obstacles we break
And for the moments of glory
That we sometimes cease to create
So I'll swim in this dense river
A body of love like water
And rise above this surface I bleed
So I can rid the hate of this world
And find a way for us to
Truly love another.
I wrote this poem for Valentine's Day one year. Its message is to simply spread love, and cease the hate. We all can make a difference by loving each other.
Sometimes, I wish my soul
Wasn't so sensitive
I extend my exposed hand out
For others to grab
Sometimes, my reach
Is acknowledged and held onto
Other times, it's crushed
With the overwhelming and
Of being a burden and
This pain is very strong
This suffering tugs and
Drags me down
A sinkhole that I don't even
Notice I'm falling through
Until it's too late
Until I feel lightheaded
When my heart beats
In fluttering patterns
Until my chest tightens
And I feel a knot in my throat
It's hard to swallow this air I breathe
For at times, it's so dense and thick
But there's no fog, no illusion
Just allusions to the fact
That I'm tired...
A barren tree
A lot of life to give
But an abandoned seed
In my mind
That's what my demons tell me
This is my story of triumph
That I'm still writing
This is my journey
That I'm still fighting.
This poem centers around my anxiety. It's something that I struggle with, and as of recent, I've dove into writing more about it. It definitely helps chip away at the marble every time I shape it into a form of art. A reminder to anyone who struggles with anxiety and depression, that you're not alone, there are ways to cope, and you're loved, always.
A snake's tongue
To sounds of hisses
A caged bird
The spoken word
Breathe life into me
Or kick me to the curb
For I am human
I am only me
Not justified by anyone
Or anything else
You may see
Picture this, picture that
I'm not looking to offend you
Or contemplate an attack
I have seen myself
From my inner spirit
As I dream the day away
To write a song, and
Perhaps someday, hear it
For music is my passion
And writing is my attraction
And as a wonderful couple
Together, they equal my
Purpose, significance, and
My call to action.
This poem was one of the first personal poems that I wrote a few years back. It was around the time that I was getting reintroduced to poetry as another way of personally expressing myself, alongside my main method of music and songwriting at the time, still today.
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