When I get hurt, I struggle to find words
So I remain silent and walk away
These things I hope to never understand:
Lack of inner reproof
Words that put others down
I survived a demonic attack
I am a target of all evil people
I wish I could fight but my faith forbids
Blood of Jesus
When will it end?
I feel out of place
I'll never belong here
But my heart's not with this world
Hard black line
Moving into greys
Growing like a vine
Expanding as it strays
Picking up some colour
As it weaves its way
From one place to another
Through nightfall into day
She smiled through the unease
And accepted too much
She was eager to please
Took the unwanted touch
Until her skin grew blisters
And she cried out with shame
Too boisterous for Misters
She takes on the blame
Do not ever forsake us dear Lord
even though it does appear at times
that we all do forsake Thee
but please, be with us always,
to guide, protect and heal,
wherever we are
for we all have a need to be.
Originally written and recited in the first person many years ago and still even these days due to it being etched in my mind. I've posted it here for anyone who might find comfort and solace with in these troubled times.
She could say it if
the words would
weight behind them
like a cat shaking
the paw with
and not understanding
the real meaning
so was her
“I love you.”
Enough to make an
old boy cry
Needless to say
The deep ones all drown in a sea of uncertainty
while in the shallow pools vapid ones quickly find dry land
all this from a difference I dont understand
These young ones who are born alongside epiphany
yet long to hear deeper tones from the throats of their peers
will count away months with empty ears
The true ones are few just a dying breed rarity
you'll know when you see them wondering eyes open wide
with minds always hungry and spirit satisfied
Pages inked in memory of days which deserve no backward glance - no dwelling upon, no minutes added to their allocated twenty-four hours - except for the fact that I have breathed their air, lived their promise, and named them for myself.
‘What an odd thing a diary is: the things you omit are more important than those you put in.’
- Simone de Beauvoir, The Woman Destroyed
I would run to your arms
Like no one ever will.
Now all that's left is my tiptoes
as to not wake up the only dream that still remains.
My heartbeat is finally louder
than my own voice
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.