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Nadia DeLevea Mar 2017
Strong on my own.
This is my song.
Yeah, I can fight the world.
Used to think I couldn't stand,
Didn't yet know who I am.
My knees used to shake,
Never really wide awake.
Lost with a map in my hands,
And I never even needed it.

Yeah, I don't need the sun to see.
Let go of who I used to be.
I don't need anything to be me.
So this is who I am.
Take me or leave me,
I don't need your hand.
I stand tall on my own,
My light shines from within.
I'll walk through this shadowland.
Make the world sing hand in hand.
Dance with the shadows,
Cuz they won't bring me down.
I'll light up this shadowland,
My body like a disco ball,
My soul brighter than the sun.

Strong on my own,
I'll find my own way,
Through the dark,
Through the shadows.
When I broke I shattered.
I saw how frail I was.
Frozen by my own fears,
I didn't recognize myself.
So low I couldn't even see,
This beautiful world around me.

Yeah, I don't need the sun to see.
Let go of who I used to be.
I don't need anything to be me.
So this is who I am.
Take me or leave me,
I don't need your hand.
I stand tall on my own,
My light shines from within.
I'll walk through this shadowland.
Make the world sing hand in hand.
Dance with the shadows,
Cuz they won't bring me down.
I'll light up this shadowland,
My body like a disco ball,
My soul brighter than the sun.

I was a candle in the rain.
A shooting star under the sea.
A snowflake on the sun.
I was invisible and unseen.
Just another body in the shadows.
Now I step to my own beat.
Speak words from my heart.
Write my own script.
Sing my own song.
Because I'm stronger on my own.

Yeah, I don't need the sun to see.
Let go of who I used to be.
I don't need anything to be me.
So this is who I am.
Take me or leave me,
I don't need your hand.
I stand tall on my own,
My light shines from within.
I'll walk through this shadowland.
Make the world sing hand in hand.
Dance with the shadows,
Cuz they won't bring me down.
I'll light up this shadowland,
My body like a disco ball,
My soul brighter than the sun.
I don't need anything to be me.
This is who I am.

I stand tall on my own.
Light bursting from within.
Strut through this shadowland.
Make the world sing hand in hand.
Dance with the shadows.
No one brings me down.
Yeah, no one brings me down.
No one brings me down.
Shadowland™ By Nadia DeLevea
Fooling clouds cross my view
passing hurts and pleasures,
blue on white on white on blue.
'till black has broken through.

I dreamt that it
finally died last night,
that it was truly over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away.
Until I could no longer see
that place I started from
and I no longer knew
the place I was headed to.

Now, I gather stones
for the tomb,
while with wilful eyes
study my peers.
Lips pursed tight...
they have closed their hearts,
closed up tight to my falling tears.

Yes, it is I,
it is me I cry,
feeling condemned
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.

Heavy as the Christ's cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

Then I stumble and I fall,
as I carry my burden upward
to Golgotha of the Skull.

If to think is to act
then burning after the crash,
the fire's orange glow
brings forth the desire to let go.

Letting go,
why does it have to be so
hard     to come by.
Leaving me to feel
so    hard    done   by.

A selfish act,
done not from class,
no more from strength
than from some weakness.

An action out of chaos
in the absence of bliss.

The Shadowland,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person.
Asking of today
to stride with a limp,
and of yesterday
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be the task at hand.

A ticket for
some far and
distant shore,
safe passage away
from Shadowland.

Bent, but unbroken,
while the pain of its death runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words of kindness
are spoken,
will forgiveness  be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be completely.
Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything else
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so, it remains
that for me to be free,
I cross the threshold of forgiveness
standing ready to turn the key.
Fooling clouds cross my view
passing hurts and pleasures.
Blue on white on white on blue
'till black has broken through.

I dreamt that it
finally died last night,
that it was truely over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away
until I could see no longer
that place where I started from
and I no longer knew
that place I was headed to.

Now,
I gather stones
for my tomb,
while with willfull eyes
study my peers,
lips pursed tight
they have closed their hearts,
closed up tight
to my falling tears.

Yes,
it is I,
it is me, I cry,
feeling condemed
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.

Heavy as Christ's cross
responsible for all souls lost.

Then,
I stumble
and I fall
as I carry the burden upwards
to Golgotha of the skull.

If to think
is to act
then burning
after the crash,
the fire's glow
brings forth
the desire to let go.

Letting go,
why does it have
to be so
hard    to come by.
leaving me so
hard      done      by.

A selfish act,
done not from class,
no more from strenght
than from a weakness.

An action out of chaos
in the absence of bliss.

The ShadowLand,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person,
asking of today
to stride
with a limp,
and of yesterday,
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be
the task in hand.

A ticket for
some far
and distant shore.

Safe passage away
from ShadowLand.

Bent,
but not broken,
while the pain
of its death
runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words
of kindness
are spoken
will forgiveness
be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be, completely.

Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything less
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so it remains
that for me to be free,
I stand at the threshold
of forgiveness
and stand ready
to turn the key.....

© 1999

All Rights Reserved
Fooling clouds
cross my view
passing hurts
and pleasures.
Blue on white
on white on blue,
'till black has
broken through.

I dreamed that
it finally died last night,
that it was truly over.

Waves of guilt and fear
to carry me away,
until I could see no longer
that place I started from,
and I no longer knew
that place I headed to.

Now, I gather stones
for my tomb,
while with willful eyes
study my peers,
lips pursed tight,
they have closed
their hearts,
closed up tight
to my falling tears.

Yes,
it is I,
it is me I cry.
Feeling condemned
by the unspoken lie.
A lie to weigh heavy
on my bent back body.
Heavy as Christ's Cross,
responsible for all souls lost.

Then,
I stumble
and I fall
as I carry
the burden upward
to Golgotha of the Skull.

The ShadowLand,
where grief clings
to my name
and to their person.
Asking of today
to stride with a limp,
and of yesterday,
to crawl and beg.

Forgiveness
would be
the task at hand.
A ticket for
some far and distant shore.
Safe passage away
from ShadowLand.

Bent,
but unbroken,
while the pain
of its death
runs deep.

Not until
hatred is spent
and words of
kindness are spoken
will forgiveness
be complete.

Only one way to forgive,
that would be completely.
Only one way to live,
that would be completely.

Anything less
misses the mark,
comes from the head
and not from the heart.

And so it remains
that for me to be free,
I cross the threshold
of forgiveness
standing ready
to turn the key.
Ian Beckett  Nov 2012
Shadowland
Ian Beckett Nov 2012
Trees whisper with a lazy-leafed murmur,
Starlight strange in this shadow-land stark,
At night window-watching, wanting, wishing,
Empty black winding road, without you.

Wind moans soft and branches knock,
Ceiling alive with my shadow nightmare,
An acre of bed, listless, lonely, longing,
Soft white sheets unruffled, without you.

Rain rattles like a rasping smoker’s cough,
Spot-lit droplets make snail shadowed walls
Staring solo awake, alone, alert, alas,
Boredom-struck insomniac, without you.
A Reading from the Book of Puppets

Her
Ventriloquist venom is never ending
engineering every word I should say


Pity me as her words drip down from my mouth
Look to me... my paralyzing awkwardness admonishes all attempts at paucity  

the ***** of vernacular continues
Manifest as a million babble born words
look at her and you’ll know why
Would you sell your soul
if you spoke staccato and she smiled sadistic?


And when she’s not there
I lay prostrate on the railroad tracks
of her impending presence

restrained
and retrained in the tailisman rope of your arrival
Look there now, a Tongue tied in knots, a mind firing (shots)
I am reduced
she is labyrinthine, in both style, and substance,
a sapiosexual maze, a soothing syrup mixed with
biter bile


why then does
nothing feel better than to see her smile
Why validate her pleasure
with my defeats?
Stuck and ****** into a singular melodious smile, the tune of which I can’t help but dance to

Why? Because at the end of the day

your eyes jut out
candelabras in defiance the night
notifying the world
of all you want but have yet to receive
a shallow existence .... a marked man... a million morbid motifs
made of mucus and stuttered star beams

You are that rare being, a glimpse at myself both wretched and alluring
A soul already tainted::: still I seek to embrue, the boredom
I am voiceless
in this decaffinated life

a tendril of hair
a woman domestic
a shadowland chaser
a light that’s poetic
The addictive tape worm of my soul

cdh
Bruised Orange Jan 2012
i had not gone fishing that night.

the sun was down, with dark clouds hovering low.
me, in my rudderless boat, staring at the sky.
was i thinking of fish?  I think i was just lost at sea.

i was thinking, (well, i don't remember exactly)
caught up in a brief break in the clouds.  the stars
were out, shining their shining.   i saw them,
but didn't.  i was looking for the moon, her full, hovering
beauty imprinted still on my mind.

but this night, the moon was but a sliver of light, and i...
i was without remorse.  i had come to that place of understanding
that the moon's light neither waxes nor wanes within the confines of
shadow.  she becomes invisible in this shadowland, and perhaps this
is for the best, for who can take the beauty of the moon on a starless
night and call her their own?  she was not mine to have.

and the tide, it pulled me in, it pushed me out;  this motion set about
by the moon. (oh, my moon!)  

i looked out, saw the waves come lapping gentle onto my boards.
the crash and slap, the rocking of my boat, shook me from
my reverie.  i looked down, saw these dreams gasping at my feet.

oh, beautiful dreams born of moon and tide, how did you land here,
and why?  i saw your gasping, your grasping at calming waters.

who was i to return you to your sea?  
i was only a lost and rudderless boat.  
i had not gone fishing that night;
i was no fisherman.

yet i took you home, slipped you into my
warm, salty waters and called you my own.

— The End —