Additional Pieces
Here are a few more pieces from my shoebox of scribblings. . .
Aimless
If you don’t know where you’re going,
you can’t get lost.
As They Come
I have no choice
but to take the words
as they come –
middle of the night
or any other time day –
spoon in hand
or mid conversation.
Balance
The world is a teeter-totter –
a tenuous balance of
peace, power and prosperity
Begged for Mercy
Some were artists,
some were poets –
all their souls begged for a mercy that
couldn’t be found among the sins of earth
Earth Angels
Some left us,
but guide us still –
touch our lives
and leave their fingerprints
on the dust around our hearts.
If You Feel Like Forever, I’ll Be Here
If you feel like forever,
I’ll be here.
We could fly away tonight
and leave it all behind,
make a fresh new start
leave the dirty laundry
and the baggage all behind
and just be the people
we know we want to be.
In Real Life
Sometimes evil drives a minivan.
Let It Bloom
Feed your soul well
and let it bloom,
hold not it back
for glory is only found
in bravery of the heart
The Letter
She signed it and
pressed a wax crest over the fold.
She had paused before scrawling out
“With all my love –“ as though
it were the admission of a secret.
She knew, however, this was not so.
He knew.
And it wasn’t as though he didn’t care,
he simply did not feel the same passion.
In his eyes, it was difficult to see her
as the woman he could spend his life with,
and she tried to understand.
It was a sad complacency –
succumbing to the constant gray,
thick and dull.
And yet somewhere
beneath the heavy globs of acceptance –
flickered an inextinguishable candle of hope.
Years of constant hiding, masking, taming.
Conscious effort couldn’t put it out.
It was always there –
as much a part of her as breathing.
Life
Music can color a room
as surely as any paint.
It can be a myriad of combinations –
vivid and bright
or chalky and dull.
Mania
The jagged torturous edges
have been dulled and smoothed by
the ever increasing daily dose of pills.
Markings of Magic
The markings of magic
lay tangled inside emotion
and drown beneath indigo ink.
Misplaced Melody
Somewhere between breakfast and dreaming,
the subtle alliteration was lost –
its gentle meaning,
its soft, uncensored persuasion.
My Heart Is Not For Sale
My heart is not for sale –
and to the misfortune of any other man –
my heart is already filled by you,
the man to whom all others are compared.
My Song
I wonder if you
will ever write a song
for me.
Secretly,
I pretend that the one
you wrote a long time ago
is mine.
Though I know it is unlikely,
I wish it were.
No Good
It’s no good to be
with someone who’s
always trying to forgive you
for who you are.
Painter’s Blood
On every canvas he left a piece of himself.
Every memory that haunted him was
given life by his brush,
the touch of his hand.
It was as if the paint mixed with his blood
and flowed through his veins
out onto each work of art -
sometimes bold and prominent
and other times just hidden whispers
Rise
Woe be the country
whose sun of liberty
must rise up from
a sea of blood
Secrets
Many are the secrets I keep from others –
never let escape my heart, my lips.
There are layers of love and layers of longing,
and levels of devotion understood by few.
The fleeting lust and infatuation felt by others
are tiny grains of sand –
crushed by the ocean waves
that flood from my heart.
Subtleties & Subtitles
The subtleties of life
play out
like the subtitles of foreign films
that always follow
a frame behind
Thoughts of You
I lie in bed at night
and think of you,
and it comforts me.
I write these lines
in the dark
as though I could see.
I wonder how
and where you are
and dream that you
are thinking of me.
Untitled
Laughing,
making mockery
of circumstances
and indecision.
Voice
Dry,
dragging voice –
maudlin and
misunderstood.
War
War –
brought by savages –
fought by unknowing children,
pondered by pundits.
Weak Words Can’t Tilt the World
My words are weak now.
They lack the vigor, the fervor
they had before you knew.
Perhaps it’s not the telling that
sapped their strength.
Perhaps it’s the knowing that
wishing cannot make it so –
make you love me,
tilt the world so you would
pull me to you.
Who Draws The Line
Who draws that line?
the fuzzy border around excess –
the shadowy elements of arrogance
and appetite –
despicable, drunken desire
Writer’s Fatigue
The same words
rolling over and over,
devoid of meaning,
just droning continuously
and draining as they go.
Pages later, it lets up.
Posted by Amanda at July 07, 2005 01:10 AM
