I’ve searched the world for a comfortable place to rest and never found it. Sought recognition from others where I knew I didn’t belong. Of course, it was temporarily granted. But you know when you're drying up inside and your purpose is dying. You know when there aren’t enough fumes to run on any longer. It all comes down to which voice I listen to. One voice calls me a fraud. It plays freeze tag with my life. God calls me to step out of my fears and go to the place He created for me. There is no time to brood. Keep moving. Breathe at least.There is much to write about. My rest will ever be in Him.
Filtered sunlight exists beyond another leaf.
Lingering in the musty smell of wormwood
thoughts, regrets, permeate parched veins.
Amid tenuous crackling the mantra persists.
While glassy gaze and fingertips move feverishly
oils pillage to dismantle fiber and ink.
Aimless memories fall apart unglued,
unbound by desperation's white-knuckled grip.
Chapter two is an inkling, a slip of the tongue,
a pasty hand reaching for the curtain's leading edge.
A give, a break, the playful breeze
slipping a tendril beneath the foliage to steal your breath.
An ending without a reader,
sunken eyes or wizened lines,
without a face--never lives.
Living is every page.
If a delicate heart is placed within a strong grip,
It will never break.
But it is only once we see said grip released,
That we may witness how strong it was to begin with.
For those pesky shaky hands are always imitating,
What they could never be,
Just to get what they could never hold.
sometimes threatens to invade
to wrap its proverbial fingers
around my neck
until my heart explodes
within my chest--
you arrive on the scene
of fear, angst and regret--
with your eyes,
and remind me
from the depths
(so long ago)
of my dark despair--
so when it happens
when I become
so unbearably aware
that life and love and sorrow
are all intermingled
into one and the same--
I will know then
raise my voice
with true determination
and call out
unto the universe
©Pamela Rae 01.17.2017
oh, this grip, what seems to be
the power you hold over me
a hold that I cannot escape
like syrup within a tasty crepe
like old shoelaces, worn and ripped
like fries in chocolate shakes are dipped
or flapjacks on a stove are flipped
perhaps a moonlit serenade
perhaps some homemade squeezed lemonade
or simply lying with you in the shade
you see, these simple things, to me
perhaps are what our love can be
not allowing them
from their cuffs
giving up the
never to be
released out of
Please don't take me away,
I never wanna leave,
Home can be the place,
A place for me to let go of all the things,
The flustered razor blades,
Hoping we can mend these battle scars,
See my naked eyes,
Clearer than you'll ever be,
Wait until we die,
You pretend you've known me,
Drinking drops blood,
On bloody gloves,
Sharp like spikes,
Sadness grips again,
Shove the screams back down so low,
Silence takes the place,
Taste the hollow catacomb,
Sweet like honeysuckle ,
Sucked between your cold lips,
Pretend to die forever,
Hate to know you've never lived,
Love so little never give,
Back your bones to shallow streams,
Naked in the water,
Skin that peels forever,
We're waiting to be swallowed.
A summer solace wind storm,
Blowing against my face, ripping against my clothes,
Out here, on the edge, thinking of you,
Imagining your face, in this abyss trying to swallow me.
It creeps against me, holding me to the ground,
I didn't want to move anyway.
But the shards of rain and ice pelting my skin,
Causes pain, causes me to tear up.
I hold your memories in my arms,
I hold your gentleness in my breath,
One last time, I hold you close to me,
Then I let you go.