ruins

Your eyes are like two warring countries, for you have set your feet on a place of perpetual desolation.

Your spirit makes a diligent search for anything remaining in the ashes of your sanctuary.
And because you yourself welcomed in the flames, your tears will fall into the dust, unnoticed.
Your hands will reach out all night for what you are searching for, but you will never find it… Your own thoughts have become the daggers that shed your blood.
So laugh not, nor cry.
These are for the living.
And you have sold the life once in you… so you are nothing.
You wish for someone to glance down and pull you up…up from the ashes and soot.
The thoughts that plague your mind run ever faster, twisting into thorns and brambles.
I reach through, and the thorns pierce my skin and my blood drips slowly, sadly, into the ash.
I cry and plead in desperation to find a way through…
To the hope that is beyond this desolation.
Who can speak to me but my own soul, my own heart and mind?
It is from there I must flee.

Lost again

I feel her absence, as though a shadow had stopped dancing on the wall. It is a soft pain, not sharp or shocking, but rather poignant and peaceful. Why so often the best leave us to struggle through on our own, is an irony to me. Those that hold us together, suddenly gone. Their strength no longer there for us to fall back onto, and we fumble to stand and walk alone. Their whispers in our ears, encouraging yet remote. We are left behind for a reason…time. We need each hour to prove our worth. Certain souls come into our life to grow amongst us and we are allowed moments of peace and rest under the shade of their branches. Now we may be tempted to pray for darkness and the moon and stars, since we feel our shade from the burningly bright sun is gone, but that is not how these souls would want it to be. We don't need to sorrow, for they will emerge all around us, from all the things that our soul longs for, because they too, were part of our soul…So let us be courageous, when that painfully bright mourning sun rises, to emerge into the light and fight to walk on our own.

Force of feeling

I cannot be black and white... I cannot be the perfect temperance of highlights and shadows that I admire in a worthy photograph. I cannot be still... It is not a lack of peace, but rather a constant change of temperature. There is hot, there is cold, but like color there are also a myriad of degrees in between. There is searing, there is frigid, and sometimes I like to be both simultaneously. Who is to tell me I can't? I dare you. I dare you to try to fix me. I want to be comfortably warm while my fingers and toes are numb. I want to be the most confident shade of GRAY. I want you to wonder how you will make me feel. I want to wonder it too... Don't buy me flowers and expect me to smile. I may cry... I may cry because they are too perfectly beautiful... I may be angry because you KNEW I would want them. Don't try to make sense of me. I am quite determined that it is not possible. Let me make my own shades from black and white, from hot and cold... One word should never be enough to describe someone.

No word of mine

I have fallen so far, a downward turn, like an injured bird and I catch sight of your window, but cannot get in, again and again and again beating myself upon the pane that separates your goodness from my turmoil. I should not let you open the window, I should not fly in, or crawl in, or even look in.
Your light has given me breath so many times, so many times… when do you get something wonderful that you deserve? I am not it. I am frayed and damaged, my threads coming lose one by one to drag behind me in the mud and in the rain. Sometimes I come unraveled so much faster that I don’t have time to see where the threads have blown away to… maybe to another broken bird, maybe into the sea where the waves will drown them and hide them from you.
I don’t want you to see my frayed edges, o you of perfect form and texture. O you who feels like silk to my hungry fingers as I search for some place I can lay my head on you. But you are too graceful, and the wind only caresses your skin, gently. There are no rain drops, or pelts of hail, or gusts, or shakes of thunder that you fear… no no, no. It is only I who am afraid…. As I walk alone without you, I look over my shoulder, looking for your smile.