One, may appear to be alive -
Their blood is pumping,
Their heart is beating,

But their soul has died
A thousand deaths -
Their soul is withering away -
It is slowly, but surely, fleeting.

It becomes impossible
For one to live their life,
Constantly trying to survive,
Whilst not freely breathing,

How does one celebrate their life,
When fear of living
Has buried them alive -
When their only hope 'sanity'
Is constantly threatening
That it is leaving?

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

To continuously steal
Someone's tribal sense
Of pride and dignity,

Is the lowest act
Of narcissistic bigotry!

By Lady R.F. (C) 2017

Solitude:
It doesn’t get offended,
Nor does it offend.
It doesn’t have expectations,
It doesn’t judge or pretend!

By Lady R.F. (C)2015

With elegance,
A Wordsmith interprets
In the exquisite,
Timeless language
Of poetry,

Delicately composing
Beautiful words
Into elaborate sonatas,
Each rendition A graceful,
Classical symphony.

With beauty and intensity,
Full of raw emotions,

Each wordsmith
Extracts their most inner-feelings
And intricately converts them
Into rhythmical compositions.

And this
Is the only fluent language
Their soul is able to speak...

Each sonata they release,
With wings,
Is individually mastered,
Impeccable, and unique.

May each Wordsmith
Never miss a beat,

And continue writing,
With poetic justice,
Their heart's rhythm
On every sheet.

***

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

A little more than misunderstood
For the most-part
Of her life,

A magnet
For destruction,
Unavoidable,
Was all sorts of strife.

Made of best intentions,
A valuable, fine jewel;
Priceless and rare,

Kindness was the fluid
running through her veins;
Her heart was only capable
Of empathising,
It couldn't help
But to care.

A wounded healer,
Strong enough to know
That her pain was never in vain,

Her experiences came with lessons,
A gift she offered with pride,
Not with shame.

There weren't many
Trials or tribulations
that she didn't overcome,

She was always
A little miss understood,
A little warrior,
A champion,
Second to none!

In all of her downfalls
She was still ever grateful,
Never was she guilty
Of being unappreciative
Or resentful, whilst in pain,

As hard as it ever got,
She didn't stop to count
The numerous falls,
Or blows that she received;
She just kept on getting up
Again,
And again,
And again.

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

Kaleidoscope vision
In a merry-go-round,
Carousel-like underworld,

Roller coaster experiences
In a haunted house,
Within an amusement park -
  Feeling nauseous - overwhelmed -
Dizzily swirled.

Out of breath,
On the ground--curled,

Deep
Down
In the
Netherworld.

Bumper cars on chase,
Crashing into me,

Nightmares, whilst wide awake,
Is what I regularly see.

Curious, scary clown faces
With open mouths,
Staring at me - following me - taunting me - Constantly,

This is what living with Anxiety
Feels like;
A freak show carnival
Taking place,
Inside,
And
Outside,
Of me.

~ Anxiety:
A repetitive nightmare!
A living Hell!
One, that I know, all too well!

By Lady R.F ©2016