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Rachel Brainard Jan 2013
It's 3:45 and I feel like it's
time for bed.

Lectures filled with people in
artificial white coats
with the hope of someday
wearing them truthfully.

It's 3:45 and I feel like it's
time for bed.

The piano plays softly
fabricating a calm, peaceful atmosphere
of Christmas
in the cancer center.

It's 3:45 and I feel like it's
time for bed.

She sits a lone on a big, comfy couch
in a tall, cold room
trying to make sense
of it all.
Rachel Brainard May 2012
the hum of engines grows louder and louder like a swarm of bees in an angry hive
dotted lines **** past
tilting backward
aiming for the sun

                 -Ascent


white shelf stretches beneath
light streaming like a flashlight in a bright room.
“Would you like something to drink?”

                 -Flight


stars above, clouds beneath
a world of ant-like people beyond
a blur.  Lights flash to reveal flurrying droplets
the glow of city lights illuminates civilization
a bump.  A rush of wind.

                 **-Descent
Rachel Brainard May 2012
The blue moon
rises
to greet a
mash of a crowd
enjoying the company
despite being strangers

Waxing and waning it
slowly.
Slips.
Away.

until next to no souls
remain
and the blue moon
fades and
reappears
on the next
table
Rachel Brainard May 2012
Part I


My soul is tattered.
I long to be taken from this world
and yet I can’t let go.


My father’s closet
Third shelf on the left
Chilling metal.

I’m searching
for a place where I belong
to no avail.


The casing slips into the barrel
easier than
flipping channels

Day after day
I run tirelessly
in circles.


Down the stairs and out the door
No one can hear
my blunderings.

Is up a direction?
There is none
in this hopelessness


Click.
Ready.
Am I?

What is focus?
Shapes and forms
All is a blur


The metal is cold on my tongue.
finger on trigger.
Ready?

I am nonexistent
and the world goes on
without me.




Part II


I am here.
A whisper,
but existing.

Bustling crowds
are blind
to me.


Blood has been spilled,
across a splinter collection
for me and you.

A whisper
striving to be less
and let him seep through.

Backwards philosophy
permeates my thinking
I.  Must.  Become.  Less.

Once bold.
Now faded.
Soon lost in
the chalk dust

I LIVE for Him.
This poem is meant to be included in separate parts as part of a collection.  For example, the first part might be in the first third of the collection and the second part in the last third.  This is to allow the reader to digest the first part of the poem before continuing as well as allowing each part to stand alone as a separate poem.  The actual poem also has many different fonts which I'm not sure how/if I can include on hellopoetry.
Rachel Brainard May 2012
In the name of the Father
A trickle of cool seeps through sparse black hair and reaches the scalp.
A cry as the sinful nature begins to drown.
*And of the Son

Screeches and screams as the demons’
fear becomes more vocal and the clear liquid dribbles down the raging face.
And of the Holy Spirit.
Eyes flash open as the infant sees the world in new light,
belonging to it no more.
*Amen.
Rachel Brainard Jan 2013
Arteries, nerves, veins
Gaze upon them
day after day
piercing muscle, bone
and fat (but we won't talk about that)
Blood and electricity
constantly coursing
keeping this collection alive.

One part is altered and you may be ok,
but his heart broke
and he was forced
to leave all behind
with only the memory
of a beloved
grandfather remaining.
Rachel Brainard Oct 2012
Sunrise to sunset
and beyond
working
longing
yearning
never attaining the simple goal
I just want to be
**enough
Rachel Brainard Jan 2014
The flowers have long been wilted
over your charcoaled remains, but
every time I think of you
I cannot refrain from asking
"Why?"

And I am torn - angry -
that you were ripped so violently away.
My mind says I need to let go, but
my heart may not ever be ready.

**FORLORN
Rachel Brainard Jan 2013
I want to,
                                                    but I can't.
She wants to know,
                                                    but then it will be over.
I'll start.
                                                    She's­ still listening.
I shouldn't continue.
                                                    Sh­e still wants to know more.
I'll keep going.
                                                    Is it ok to tell her everything?
I guess I'm in this far.
                                                    Wow.  S­he's not shocked.
I think she might actually
still want to be friends.
                                                    No.­  There's no wa-
                                                             ­                             *
"I love you."
Rachel Brainard Jan 2013
Stiff, colorful
tumbling over and over as the wind
pushes me on to
places
and things
I've never known.
Over mountains and
across plains on the
neverending interstates
the white-black-gray callous and
compacted from the multitude of trampling
feet, cars, souls.

I know not where I will go-
wherever the wind pushes me
On and on until
I am finally caught and
new life is forced into my
veins before I too can be
overwhelmed.
Rachel Brainard May 2012
And life brings together
Sing.  Dance.  Love.  Listen.
Feel the rhythm.  Feel the ride.

A roommate previously unknown
begins to unpack,
curiosities scattered across the speckled dorm floor
unsure whether friend or foe mirrors her actions.

A match is lit as a friendship is kindled
starting slow and beginning to grow
until a towering flame outgrows the pit built
it thunders into all areas of existence.

A deluge drops
the wood is separated,
but the flames roar on.

And life tears apart
Write.  Call. E-mail.  Visit.
Clinging to the joy etched in memory.
This is also a draft that I would appreciate feedback on.
Rachel Brainard Oct 2012
and I stop
beginning to turn
when your smooth, warm hands
find the curves of my back
warm breath falls on my neck
a soft voice filling my ear

I searched for so long
only to discover that I just needed
to be still
and let you
find me
Rachel Brainard May 2012
from the flat, scorched fields of Nebraska
to the rugged, snowy tops of Alaska
we danced a jig - no, a rap
swaying beautifully to the beat
of a one-two step
loving and fearing and trusting
and listening

Threads twisted and crossed
until a beautiful know came into view, untying impossible.

Ups and downs and a deluge of life
produced permanent stains on the separate strings
playing a harmony never equaled or paralleled.

It began as a single note
and quickly progressed to chords and
talented fingerpicking.

A unique song
that echoes  off peaks, across the plains, to the valley.

And life came again
separating the melodies
tearing them apart.

And they screak in protest
knowing that they will play together again
and decorate the terrain
with joy.

Memories alone let them
spread their wings and

SOAR
This one is a very rough draft that I would really like some feedback on.  I still haven't come up with a title.  Please give suggestions.
Rachel Brainard Nov 2012
You try to wipe yourself
from the table of
my heart, but somehow
you always miss
a spot.

GO!  Or...sit down again.
Bring a mocha
or a latte.
and a warm rhubarb cake.
Stay awhile.  Or...
forever.

the spot always missed
eternally remains
in the center of
the table of my heart
permanently etched.

Because
A colorful centerpiece covers
your spot
concealing it from all eyes,
but felt
daily.

A pinprick
in the center of
the table
of my heart.
This is a draft!  Any and all comments and suggestions are wanted and welcome!
Rachel Brainard Oct 2012
OPEN
A bald man with
a beard like Santa Claus

Coffee?
Please.
Ya need a menu?
Please.

Stares from
men and women
with glasses and
overalls and
straw hats.

Chalkboard green walls
plastered with
all kinds of
Elvis.

One by one
their gaze shifts
just a little.

Who's that youngster
in the corner
with the hat?


Scrutiny
Rachel Brainard Jan 2013
so hard
yet with certain ones
so easy

This fragment of my life
a puzzle piece that
wedges itself in
attempting to appear to fit

Sometimes I think
it does,
but I'm reminded that
only He can make me whole

Those that are easy are
hard to find because
they speak truth amidst
a swarm of lies

I'm nothing,
worthless,
better off dead

And truth rushes in
in the strangest forms
speaking
love
Rachel Brainard May 2012
ends in screams of silent tears
for those that are going
and those that have gone.

They once ran through lands
of meadows and streams
tricking teachers into believing they were deathly ill
just so they could go fishing on a sunny afternoon.

He was drafted
leaving her behind
hoping to return with more than a box
to call his own.

They got married
without a proposal
knowing it would
“just happen.”

Together they raised
a girl and a boy
and soon they had children
of their own.

I followed them
like a newborn calf
follows its mother

riding in the combine
running through fields
sitting patiently on ten-gallon buckets
waiting for the bobber to be submerged.

Tonight I, their granddaughter, scream silent tears
because
she is going and
he is gone.
Rachel Brainard May 2012
fast
slow

never stopping
always going

can we catch it
without slowing?

on the face that's always
glowing

can we pass it without
growing?

at times we feel like
it is towing

us behind it
never knowing

what it is that lies ahead.


here it comes it's always
beating

bringing laughter
sometimes weeping

wanting you to think it's
leading

to a hand that's always
feeding

your sore heart that's ever
bleeding

but you never are content.



now it's here it's got you
thinking

looking sly with tempting
winking

and your heart is ever
sinking

down into a black abyss.


and your heart is always
leaking

‘cross the pane your blood is
streaking

yet you still are always
seeking

something else to fill that void.


In the sunset you can
see it

all creation 'round you
be it

hope inside begins to grow.


you know inside you know
for sure

you know that you have found
the cure

so you answer that tugging
lure

knowing that it will
endure

forever and all time.
This is a piece I wrote quite awhile ago.  I know it needs some changing, but I'm not sure how or what.  Any feedback/critique is greatly appreciated!
Rachel Brainard May 2012
The flag is down
the box is open.
A sense of fear
A moment to collect thoughts
Open. Unfold.
A heart plummets like a fishing sinker in the ocean
Dread and worthlessness approach hand in hand
Will you ever be good enough?

                   -**Rejection
Rachel Brainard Sep 2012
through a menagerie of leaves

                  red

                                orange

                                                   yellow

against a deep blue sky, the moon a

                  bright

                                white

                                                  shadow


                                                                       I'm

                                                 falling

                                 for
        
                                                                  you

— The End —