Now,
Listen.

CAn you?

Listen.

Plead to listen.
It’s yours
It’s always been yours


No one has such power
The voice inside

It pleads
It asks
It begs

It may shake you
_____

But - dont - forget —-
The power
The poWER
It’s all yours
It’s never going to leave you.

No matter how much you turn your cheek -
You push it;
Scream;
Claw;
Burn;

It will sit quietly
Closed
Eyes...
calmly

When you open your hands.....
It will say
..gently..
Quietly .........
...............Lovingly.

“Dear, I have been waiting for this my entire life”
Listening to the voice inside.
Maybe I can - said she
The little petals seemed like crowned jewels...
And I breathed

Something more.

It felt like connection
Sense
This deepness

I have never known
And I felt I could.
The stars seemed like guides.

And. I knew — where my compass....

Directing me
Slowly

Blows my sails
When you are beginning to have a deeper understanding of who you are to you.
Leila Valencia Dec 2017
There is a time;

When All,

FallS...

A time when;
our true character-
.....
What we say we are -
Who we think we are -
Who we want to be -
What we want to do -
.....
Is tested.

The time,
When the chills.
The darkness...
Keeps us inside.

And it’s the greatest - the worst - the scariest - it can be a transformational period.

And it’s a time where loneliness wanders...
The superficiality of the summer is all but vanished.
As the daylight dims....

The time,
When
death seems
..Closer...
Than before.

The time,
When
My heart
..feels lost..
More than before

The time,
When...
When............


the last leaf falls.
An ode for the winter time. It’s a bit somber, a bit meloncholy. But, I thought a nice winter poem would be a great way to truly capture the feeling of the season.
Leila Valencia Oct 2017
Maybe never.

The sound of a bird flutters, ahhh.

Maybe someday.
Maybe someday I would tell you it's not there....
Maybe I wish I knew the never - the forever - all coming together like a crystalline kaleidoscope.

Maybe I don't know - maybe I do - I can't tell.
And if you asked me, maybe I would scream. Maybe I would laugh.
Maybe I would fall into something I would never understand.
Leila Valencia Oct 2017
Oh but a haze.....

A fog, a blow
Oh but a weariness.......

Oh but a fallacy. A curse.
Unless embraced, unless held with care.

The haze can confuse,
Lose you....
The haze, is hanging angel, a shining curse.
If torment will come -- you can allow it to.
If the haze is taken slowly, it can caress you.

There is nothing but freedom and madness.
There is nothing but darkness and pure light.

At the harbor, the docks shake and anchor.
But out at sea there is nothing to guide you.....

And the haze can be the meaning you put.
The winds will blow the direction you gear.
And the haze can be nothing but a story you tell it.
Leila Valencia Jul 2017
The moving of feet
Shaking, bustling, the chaos of the clunking calamity that passes through

And I feel my senses, the airs, the ground, the peace, the joy, in my senses.
And the tip of my toes, the top of my head - that is all I am,
I am only now, I am only this, I am only one.


But once, I realized what I looked at changed with a different pair of eyes - I felt like, I was all that is

And will ever be.
Leila Valencia Jun 2017
As I sit by the window, a blistering wind bellows
Howling at me, howling for a reason - I question.
The statue angels in the rose garden below listen in.

I close the creaking window. I shut my book on the rose colored cushion.
My reflection leaves me, alone......

The wind blows - and the window blows, open, I did not touch - anything.

Again, I close the window, the hollowing blows the trees down, but my period on sentences for myself make me shout inside me.

The written notes with scattered arrows, the massive circle in the center with a question mark - all scattered on the cushion. And as the trees shake and children scream below me, the question marks grow bolder.

My truth?

My purpose?

My intuition?

I hear a sharp shout calling my name, which does not have handed flowers in its tone. I wake down stairs. And as I close the door the paper I drew on falls to the floor,
Where dust resides
Leaving your passion and self behind to go to do something that you do not care for
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