The heavy patter of the rain
Reflects the pattern of my heart
In weariness
In longings last
How I've waited for this storm to pass
Most patiently
Slowly pouring out
With a cooling voice
Till I calm myself
And yet so much more than the afterstorm
Which I must create
Everytime I've felt
The need to be
More than this old me
This rainsoaked version of the self

*the sound of rain*

And then I realized
that after many years
of blurry visions
you were the glasses
I'd been missing

Some days my heart feels heavy with it
The distant want
The growing fear

The way it is but will not stay
For the remainder of these
More youthful days

My heart is this
But not at last

Instead how it wanders
Through fields of idealism
And lets you pass

With every conscious moment
In this
How I dream of you and let you pass

Which is why I'm so good at distracting myself. Who isn't really?


And stone

And wax unwound

How all will melt
And all will burn
Long before his heavenly throne
Reveals itself forever more

Because we are the human
And he is the God

He reveals himself in ways
Most unknown

His structures are that of pure existence
Carved out of matter we cannot imagine

He is unlike us
He is everything
Beyond our frail and fragile bones

Because he is omnipotent and all-powerful.

Would you find me a girl with the bravery and boldness of a Coraline Jones's heart?
Not someone who demands my attentive love or the backing of a musical score.
But someone real.
Someone who knows every deep and dark and shallow fear.
Someone particular and peculiar.
Who perhaps I can make a cheese omelette for.

Love that book. Kinda hate that movie.

When it comes to fire
Within my arms
I will crash and burn and rebuild myself

Because I am
Because I was
And because I have yet to become someone else

All that I can be
All that I wasn't
All that I do is because I must

Its not owned by this
The want or wont
But because I will regret it if I don't

Below my average... But I'm trying something new.

I have been focused and growing
I have been strong
But now I see it's not the time
Nor the place
To build you a house
Or a home in which I belong

I'm his timing. Not mine. But that doesn't make it any less difficult. To stop trying. At least the trying therein becomes demoralizing.

my mother always told me
that blue eyes were dangerous
and I assured her
that I would be careful
that I would never get addicted
and yet here I am
lost in yours
and unable to find home

Sean Scribbles Apr 18

In this world of socialness and social media there can only be one God. And he does not share, comment, like or retweet.


Written a long time ago in a fit of honest rage.


Well... Not really rage. Call it annoyance at how things are.
Sean Scribbles Apr 17

My ears are open
My eyes are to the sky
God I will try
But help me let this go
If I must

For she is more fair than everything. But she is not mine. No words... Just the sight. That would say it all. If it were possible.
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