Wasted time
waisted time
way still (ed) time
Weigh distilled wine
waited lines
till when?
Kate Larson, Carol Ulverness--
19-year-old goddesses
I knew at college:
  
beauty so inward and effortless--
like Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus"--
that that of even the most celebrated actresses and models
seems to be contrived and self-conscious.
  
  
Like all of us, they're in their 40's now--
I wonder what they're like. . . .
  
Does some inner flame
still illuminate their faces and bodies?
  
Or were they flowers--
whose petals now have faded and fallen?
Hear Lucius/Jerry read the poem:  humanist-art.org/audio/SoF_027_goddesses.MP3 .
This poem is part of the Scraps of Faith collection of poems ( https://humanist-art.org/scrapsoffaith.htm )
The epitome on the show
is more than a dream turned true.
A timeless beauty stitched on the stone.
The first impression catches the eyeballs
it did for every star in the sky for every age
something remains forever a new Taj Mahal.
James 2d
Success was a yellow brick road
Hope was a star in the sky
Grief was a run away dog
Maturity was knowing it died
Joy was a chocolate bar
And Escape just meant to run far
Then somewhere along the way
Everything started to change

The yellow brick road was too long
The star in the sky was too far
And when the dog died it was sad
(but mostly cuz you drove the car)
The candy was not on our diet
And you can't escape who you are
So why did we decide to grow?
That much I'll never know
Billie 2d
Sitting under a glass ceiling,
watching rain pour down the sides of the cube I'm trapped in.
It's cold,
yet warm,
you can feel it radiating off of the windows.
The sides of my face feel warm.
There's no lighting,
just what's coming through these windows.
Windows.
Always windows.

Leaves are the windows of the trees,
the windows of the season.
You can always tell if a tree is good by how it's leaves look.
The windows of nature,
of being.
Or maybe I'm just looking too far into it.

You can see all these different colours in skin.
Pinks,
yellows,
blue,
green,
orange,
this delicate fabric woven from threads man-made.
The windows of humans,
our skin,
our multicoloured paint palette.
Our bodies are used,
aged rags that we cart from room to room,
weathered and cracked like old books and some cultures praise age.
Why have we decided that being alive for a long time is ugly?
That we change into these caricatures of ourselves
that we make fun of,
dreading the experience
and the life
and the love
that we have yet to discover.
Our skin is the window to our age,
our memories,
and we have deemed being open,
ugly.
There is an incredible grace associated with age.
That dance of bones,
fluid yet still,
that only people with years and years of emotions can emulate. Your brain filters out the boring,
the mundane,
and you’re left with what hit hard.
Your first kiss.
Your first heartbreak.
Every line on the skin is a memory waiting to be shared.

The windows around me are steaming with the heat of my breath. The heat of the people around me as their bodies keep them warm. They’re windows into other stories,
lives that I will never fully hear in detail.
We can never relate every single detail of these windows to another.

And sometimes, windows break.
i'm not afraid to get "old." we gain beauty.
I’m slow when I walk now.
My eyes are getting rheumy.
I get crabby sometimes.
I know it. So sue me.
I only hope, when it’s time
That you remember this song;
That you have the fun I’ve had,
That you should live this long.

Being young wasn’t always
The basket of puppies was it?
Remember the growing pains
And all the things that cause it?
It requires that we persevere
And face things less than fun.
It starts right away in life
Well before the age of one.

Every age has it’s roadblocks
And sometimes its outrages.
Some politely refer to them all
As life in all of its stages.
There’s getting back on the bike
After we tumble and fall.
Rollerskating and sports, too.
We manage to learn from them all.

Age makes treasures of memories
And gold of the brass we once had.
The thing is to celebrate age too.
Applaud this stage and be glad.
Slow down when the old must walk
And have some good words to say.
And then walk behind them and smile
Because they are showing you the way.
Ellison 2d
Someday I'll live long enough
To have lived long enough
To outlive everybody I've ever known
On my death bed.
Sometimes I would watch butterflies,
Emerald wings clipping the salvo
Between nebula and neverspace.
How delicate a sudden wind could
Sigh them all to unwilling sleep.

My father told me of such brilliance,
Crimson flares that burn intense
Only to retire scarless tomorrow.
How desperate the sudden fear could
Sing his eyes to forever slumber.

And now I lay graced upon the precipice,
Blackened hues that fall sweetly
Between memory and reality.
How beautiful the closure could
Steal my tears to forever,
An eternity,
Too late.
This poem is heavily inspired by my favourite movie Blade Runner, and I thought to put it out there. Also, I have a large holiday ahead, but unfortunately due to labrynthitis I am rather housebound, so if you could leave a reading recommendation that would be fabulous!
Pyrrha 3d
They say I am too young to understand the way the world works.
They say it as if I'm not already aware of the wars in foreign lands or violence in our homes.
As if I don't know of the fear of death.
The price of freedom.
The cost of living.

They say it as if I don't know about the shootings or the homicides.
As if I'm unaware of those making a living off of selling poisons to others
Or of the ones who sell themselves to stay alive.
They think I don't know about sex, drugs, death, fear, pain, or life itself.

Nothing is hidden in this world.
Your children grow up knowing about horror and crime.
Its ridiculous to shelter them from what they already know.
You believe they are innocent until they turn 18,
But little girls and boys grow up with pain.
There are no thoughts that you can contain.
They will find answers to the questions even if you dont want them to be found.
I have never understood why people these days are so reserved and offened by the truth. My parents raised me to be informed not to be afraid of the truth or speaking my mind.
At the age of 12 my aunt said
" No one is going to marry you if you stay this skinny."
She laughed as I felt ugly.
At the age of 13 my grandmother said
" Your teeth, they are not right you must fix it"
They nodded in agreement shooting me down with another bullet.
At the age of 14 my mother said
" Your skin is too dark, make it lighter"
She passed a facial pack as I scrubbed my skin as hard as sandpaper.
At the age of 16, my great uncle said
" Your eyes are huge, go for a reduction surgery maybe?"
My heart sank as I rushed to save every dollar, every penny.
At the age of 17, I said to myself
" You are filthy, not worthy of a second look, not worthy of finding happiness, not worthy of getting married"
I realised my worth was decided, my abilities were limited and my future was cursed at the age of 12, very young indeed.
Parents don't realise every word they say impacts their children in more than 1 way, this is just how my family has affected me. Words do hurt people, we need to be careful of things we say.
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