A Very Happy New Year to You All... Roll on 2011! x

Should everything you thought knew,

Fill your head with dreams you dream,

Then grasp the light of brightness, when

You welcome in this year.

For you have yet to reach the stars,

But soon you will be there!

So grasp the light of brightness, when

You welcome in this year.

(and if you really want to and can get past the cheesiness, then you can just about sing that to the tune of Auld Lang Syne!)

Confused? I am. Consistent? I'm not. A letter to my younger self.

Part of the problem with being a little "unpredictable" is the vulnerability that it gives you.  While I'm strong so much of the time, I flip to periods I'm quite detached from my emotions, and can be easily hurt or manipulated then.  I forgive people who do not know this, as this is my fault in my omission if they don't understand my behaviour.   However, I've had experiences throughout my life where people knew exactly what was wrong, and used it for their own gain.

With each stumble in my life (of which there have been many) I know now now that I only become stronger.  Part of me wishes that I could go back and warn myself at the very first moment of darkness in my teenage years... and give myself the clarity of mind to stand up for myself.  To stop the damage the idiots do before they have a chance to get their claws in.  And to tell myself what the hell was going on.  x

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Dear little angel,
Right now the clouds are filling your head,
And it feels like you have nothing more to live for.
You ache with each breath, and long for the world to be filled with light again.
You ask yourself, how can the brilliant person you were last week,
Be reduced to tears on her bedroom floor, carpet pressed against her tear-stained face?
The darkness you feel has crept on so quickly,
Started as a dull ache on your productive week, but built, steadily.
Then, like a lead balloon filled the caverns of your agile mind,
Slowing it to nothing more than a painful whimper.

This feeling, my love, is something you will take a while to understand,
As it's a frequent occurrence in your life to come.
Yet you do nothing to cause it, and you must try to accept it,
As you mind is just playing tricks on you again.
The clouds will roll over you, like a vicious summer storm,
Out of the blue your moments of perfection, inspiration, will be ripped apart.
Where you were once building beautiful words, images, music,
Your soul will have nothing creative left inside.

When the days seem so bleak that you can barely get out of bed,
Don't cry, love.  There's always light at the end of the tunnel.
I know it seems unfathomable, impossible, unreal.
You will ache to be loved and protected more than you could ever imagine,
Sacrificing judgement to satisfy your intense needs.
But love, hold back, and know that the answers you seek aren't there.
You alone can control this feeling that lies in you now,
You alone control the bleak mountain rolling over your head.

My sweetest darling,
The dark desires of your lonely heart, can only be quelled by your happiness,
Built up by routine, expression and exertion.
Things that one day you will learn to lean on.
Structuring your life from the confusion you suffer now,
These moments of darkness you will learn to face,
With a strength right now you are only just learning to master.
Resilience will build up a formidable woman,
Fire in her eyes and a golden desire to succeed.
You will be proud to be who you are, one day.

The moments of light when you can achieve the world,
Will make you more than successful in all that you do.
Like a fern in the woods, you will grow with speeds unknown,
Learning your world and seeing it all unfold before you.
You will reach for the stars, inspired by the bright lights of infinity,
Finding comfort in deep thinking about galaxies beyond.
Your smile will give light to you heart each day,
And you will see in others what you feel yourself so often.

My beautiful butterfly,
When darkness comes, it will be more than manageable,
As distraction's the key to controlling your moods.
You'll carve a life for yourself that will give you the space,
To live and breathe until you're calm again.
Listen to these words as you cry so silently on the floor,
You have no need to fear what you feel, in this moment of darkness now,
As while it hurts so much at this second, you're stronger than this,
It will make you more than you ever thought you could be.

Prisoner of the Night [Rapunzel's Plight]

This poem was inspired by a fairytale-themed fancy dress dinner I attended.  The poem is my take on Rapunzel's captivity in the fairytale tower as she awaits rescue.  I hope you enjoy...

[In case it matters - we went as a 17-strong group dressed as the Shrek castmembers...  and I was Puss in Boots!]

Tyrannical skylarks swoop over the sweet, silent night,

Lost in the hazy fog of the black and white insanity.

Deep, dark cuts across the shards of glittering stars,

Shattering off the smooth grey walls of the prison,

Within which she is trapped.

The cool, clammy walls.  Rhythmically dripping.

Echoing through the cavernous stone-clad corridors.

Rough steel against skin, history rusted into each gnarl,

Shuddering as the wind traces fingers over her,

Brushing her smooth neck.

The night's maiden rides into the bleak, black dreams,

Hovering harshly over the scene unfolding below.

The silence broken with heavy footsteps beneath,

Thud... Thud... Increasing in pace now as they near,

Suddenly, a face at her door.

The outline hidden behind the bars leans forward,

Allowing the moonlight to catch the smooth white face,

Gentle eyes glittering into her terrified, trembling heart.

Soothing fears with soft reassuring tones of calm,

"I'm here now, to save you, my love".

The Strength of Friendship

After my first Christmas catch up back home in too many years, it amazed me how utterly unbreakable some friendships can be.  You pick up from the last time you spoke without resentment, pain or confusion - as though no longer has passed than a single day.  Such a precious feeling when you see people like that, so this is my dedication to that feeling.  Much love to all the wonderful people in my life. x x

Life's consistent ache - is to belong.

The militant media, filling heads with lies.

Soulless caverns within our soul,

Ache for this empty belonging.

We try building intricate iron-clad structures.

Across vacuous chasms of nothingness beneath.

When really what we crave beyond all else,

Is the bond that friendship brings.

There was a time,

When it ached more than anything,

Artificial loneliness programmed into our souls,

Until we learned to lean on each other.

United. Our hearts.

Swelling with connected smiles.

Together - a team.

We are more than unbreakable.

Each soul fights what it can,

Against the darkness, suffering and strife.

Not always knowing these forces in our life,

Are strongest when times are tough.

There are too many things,

That we try to battle against alone;

When the gravity of friendship would overpower,

And fight the fight with nothing but courage.

My friend,

In every moment when times are hard,

Know in the depths of your soul,

That no matter what happens,

I will be by your side,

Through everything,

Forever more.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday – Wk 26

Click here to add yours

The Perfect Sunday Afternoon

Curled up on a Sunday afternoon,
On this comfortable sofa draped in fleece.
Peaceful flickering from the crackly old film.
Playing the timely black and white love story,
With its familiar faces and gentle words,
These incredible moments of nothingness
Overwhelm the senses.

Such closeness evoked by the calming hours,
Passing by as though nothing else matters.
The warmth of your chest pressed against mine,
Heart beating like a forgotten clock,
Thudding rhythmically, softly, secretly,
Passing messages between our interlinked souls
Of romantic dreams.

Cold toes wrapped beneath your warm legs,
Curls of denim emanating gentle warmth.
Screen heroine's warm eyes fill the room,
With an intense glow, passionate intensity,
Flooding shudderingly though our embrace,
As the impending kiss crescendo grows
With unbearable tension.

Snow Eagle

Repost of a recent Twitter poem, inspired by the beautiful silence of the snow chaos across England this week!

Dreamdrops of intense hues,
Captivate the motionless sculptures,
Of children in the snow.
Cold, unchanging light,
Still over the skyline.
I reach down to catch them,
One brilliant drop at a time.

Breaking the silence,
An eagle soars overhead,
A majestic beast of the clouds.
Snow glancing off his wings,
As if slicing the icing sugared skies,
Ghostly screeches with each swoop,
Striking chords in my soul.

Fluttering dreams of hopeful wishes,
Standing guard over the barren fields,
Unfaltering loyalties.
He stands proudly,
Over his frozen kingdom,
The trees are silently respectful,
That their king is home.

The Dark Silence Without Her

This poem was inspired by the image "The Arrow Shot" by Claudio Mufarrege, who has been featured at One Shoot Sunday.

Dark echoes in the ghostly silence,

Resonant moments in time.

Flood through the aching corridors,

Calling out to the loneliness.

The walls oozing sullen intensity,

Remembering each footstep.

Time lost in history's dreams,

As he walks the corridors alone.

So many moments he longed for her embrace,

Yet so many more seconds pass by alone.

Darkness more empty these nights,

Stood alone in the loneliness.

Aching for her to walk with him,

Along these walls again.

Sparks of light shatter the black,

Intensely filling the beautiful walls.

Dreaming moments flung to reality,

The reality of the unknown.

So many times he searched for her face,

Wishing he didn't have to go on alone.

Silence.

No more.

The memory.

Burns brighter.

The realisation that she's never gone,

Builds up in his aching soul.

Brightening the darkness ahead,

Leading hope toward the way out.

In Awe of Frozen Beauty... A Magpie-Inspire Tale

Crisp, fresh, magical.  The glorious white fields await the eager squeals.
Ice-laden trees sprinkle their glittering magic, across the winter scene,
Like a sparkling illusion, the dullest lands contemplate illustrious wonder,
Deep rooted in our souls, a spiritual calling whispers out to our pasts,
Calling to arms the child within.

Excitement overspills onto the icy flood.
Urging to experience, to feel, to touch... as though for the first time.
Picturing ancestors from eons gone by, in awe of  frozen artworks,
What beautiful demon passed his cold touch over berry and thorn?
Painted each branch with a thousand million tiny crystal towers?
Life's stunning perfection, standing perfectly still in its glacial form.

Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales

Protector - #ForDW

Steadfast, he holds me.

Stops my toes from slipping 

On the crumbling stones,

Stands by my side 

When the avalanche tumbles down.

More than a friend.

Stronger than a rock.

My protector.

The Impossibility of Burning Skies

Burning bright, the brilliant flames of setting sun - entrancing,

Such possibility encapsulated in the unfathomable beauty,

A million, billion stars in the universe, but this one is ours.

A planet alone in unique beauty.

A planet alone in its life force.

Curling delicate fingers of ruby light over the sleepy skyline,

The ball of perfect light reaches out as if to embrace my eyes,

Shattering like shards of purest glass on the shimmering sea.

Contemplation of life.

Fragility to my soul.

We stand together, realising this is soon to be judgement day,

United emotions, draw the astounded crowds of ashen faces,

A wave of acid fear floods over us, as reality becomes clearer,

Burning brighter now.

Reaching closer to us.

The unstoppable forces, greater than the most powerful storm,

Mightier than the most momentously violent volcanic eruption,

The beautiful beast in the glowing skies encapsulates our terror,

Such impossible beauty.

For something so deadly.

The end of the world, stood facing us in a unfathomable disguise,

Deceptively stunning as it tears across our once-safe crystal skies.

I reach to put my hand on yours, trembling at the impending fate.

If it all ends now,

Be glad that we lived.

To stand triumphant of this day of dread, 

Proud of who we are.

A reality spent living

Walking through crowded shopping streets,
An impending sense of numbness creeping,
Happy, focused faces of passers-by,
Eyes on the superficial prize.
Glass, felt, fur, all beautiful from a distance,
A collective picture of glittering colours,
Designed to focus the mind.
Look closer.
Threads fraying, handiwork poor,
Delicate details blunt and unclear.
The price we pay to have everything?
Really we have nothing.

Walking away from the hubbub of voices,
Comfortable silence reaching out for my hand.
Soothing darkness away from the harsh lights,
Of the superficial street of dreams.
Look around.
Everywhere lives are driven to consume,
Wasteful existences driving delicate dreams,
Of the selfish riches of the corporate machine.
These economies we cannot live without,
Have only existed for 60 years,
Long enough to be forgotten,
Nearly a lifetime ago.

What did we do, before we saw red,
Each time the glittering Trojans invade,
Our houses, our homes,
Our friends, our loves,
What did we do before this?
What have we really saved,
In creating a great lumbering beast?
Consuming our planet, stripping our pleasure,
Tearing our hearts away from our souls.
Is it possible to feel like an Indian girl,
'Saved' from the savages,
And brought 'home' from the wolves?
Lost in the lights, the bubble of greed,
Wishing for a life simple and free.

Aching for freedom,
Shackles removed,
For fresh rain in springtime,
Laughter and song.
Forgotten, that world envelops the senses,
Fresh picked fruit, cool, wet moss.
Beautiful.
Fulfilling.
Perfect.

Soon.

The Winner Takes It All

Written from the perspective of a late twenty-something man...

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From Magpie Tales picture prompt #42.

Once in my lifetime it meant everything to compete,
Against everyone, to win every prize.
I would fight for teams with violent intent,
Eyes firmly fixed on the goals that I set.
Surrounded myself with superficial friends,
Celebrating success and revelling in victory.
It never occurred to me back then,
That the glory of the schoolyard could fade.
I sit, in my lonely room, searching for meaning,
Staring at the rusted cup before me.
Remembering the days when it mean so much more.

There was a time when everyone knew my name,
Stopped in the corridors and celebrated my fame.
An ego stroke here, an ego stroke there,
My perfect existence, blissfully happy.
A pained sigh escapes my lips.
The reality of life just didn't shape up,
To the life full of warmth and significance before.
Now the streets are filled with stone faces,
Staring back without care for who I am.
No connection to speak of, no respect,
As to them I am just another face in the crowd.

But I stop.  And pause for a second.
Knowing that my heart doesn't fully believe these words.
I crave to be loved, to be a hero again,
Wistfully looking for what used to be.
But maybe this feeling that haunts me now,
Is really a sign of something much warmer.
That after these times of sadness alone,
This perpetual bachelor is ready for a wife.
For building a nest, ready for the day,
When I can nurture a brood, guide them.
Show them a path to a beautiful life,
And be a hero again.

♥ A Connection Like Never Before ♥

Like a perfect angel, standing before me,

He breathes softly and sweetly.

From his soul, intensity emanates,

Gravity of attraction that could move the stars.

A silent moment,

Where the unfathomable becomes possible.

Swirling mass of perfect emotion,

Breathtakingly silent.

Light and dark,

It consumes each second we withstand it.

Overwhelming connections shoot across the sky,

Burning brighter than a thousand suns.

This moment.  Controlling the seas of distant lands.

Washes over us.

Together.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday – Wk 21

Click here to add yours

A Flash from the Heavens (One Shot Wednesday)

Bang of the drums, roll in the clouds,

Lightning assembles a mighty big crowd,

Rhythmic rumbles.  Rhythmic rumbles.

Building.  Trembling.  Roaring.

Crescendoing crash in the sky.

Flashing white light, tears to the ground,

Rips out a tree from nature's pure Earth.

Bright.... FLASH.

Then dark.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday – Wk 20

Click here to add yours

The Ticking Clock in the Dusty Room

Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales

Lying in a hollow room, the musty smell of years gone by creeps over the pealing walls.  Dust, layered deep into the floor curls like a fires plume with each breath.  Ever inch of this place oozes a sense of death, except for the calm, rhythmic ticking of the old grandfather clock.

Muted, wooded thuds as it beats the drums to the gates of hell, or whatever this place might be.  Reaching upwards, the blood starts pounding in his head, incredible pain, almost overwhelming him.  Flickering vision, eyes as though they might burst from his head.  Desperately fighting the swelling sickness, he tries again to reach for the chair.

The rough, silken dusted surface tries to escape from his weak fingers, but he manages to hold on.  The whole room swimming as though is were a virtual reality booth.  Through the dust caked on his face he tastes dampness, instinctively recoiling - his hand returns a terrible shade of red.

Memories fuzzy, like a lost little fly, floating from flower to dinner to why.  An evening of laughter at a beautiful old theatre... was that tonight?  Or a millennia ago?  "Dong!"  His nonsensical thoughts interrupted by chimes, of the familiar friend in the corner of the room.  Nestled within stacks of yellowed papers.

He hauls his trembling frame on to the chair, surveying the bleak, desolate room.  Evidence lying in the carpeted mist, two footsteps in... dragging something heavy.  A terrified giggle escapes.  Involuntarily breaking the grandfather's rhythm, the hypnotic trace momentarily silent..

Then all of sudden, shimmering light floods the room, blinding his bleary eyes and with the bright dust cloud explosion.  Aghast, he looks at the shadow, a familiar shape outlining the door.  Him.  Again.  "Why?" A mumble was all he could muster.  "Why did you have to do this?"

The laughter was so familiar, so purely evil yet so much his own.  "You know why.  You were weak.  So much potential and you failed to seize it!"  The shadow approached his slumped body, barely able to remain on the chair.  The dark, leather jacket that he wore filled his lungs with a scent he knew so well.

It was futile, to fight against him.  It only made him stronger, a victory battle was what he truly craved.  Tracing the letters out in the thick dusty table in front of him, he looked at the shadow and caught his breath. "Go ahead." he sighed, heavy in his heart.

The shadow looked at him without emotion, without anger, pain or remorse.  Sensing something he had never noticed before, not ever having the need to care to look for it.  It had taken this weak, dirty figure in front of him, with the familiar face and familiar hands, reaching out to him now in his hour of need to realise.

The shadow slowly lowered his arms.  Scooping the battered body of the other in them and bracing to take the strain, chair breathing a sigh of relief.  Looking down, he relinquished as he carried out the poor soul, "I see you at last.  I see who you are.  We are one.  Connected.  The same... I'm... Sorry".

Symbolic Escape (a magpie-inspired tale)

Inspired by the photo prompt at Magpie Tales

Treasured memories, of a thousand generations past,
Echo deeply from the spirit of her charm.
Cold stone against skin, a reminder of each soul lost,
But living on as the wisdom in her heart.

She reaches forward, cutting through the cold air,
This sullen place with its cold, bare walls,
Runs her fingers over each groove,
Tracing the metal textures, imagining.

Before this moment, this day, this nightmare,
Who had wore this memory piece?
Left it lying on the cool stone floor,
Of this prison that they have trapped her in.

Perhaps a gypsy as she travelled the forests,
Wearing this trophy around her olive-skinned neck.
Rich ruby hair tied off her worn face by a scarf,
As she held a tiny, crying child in her arms.

She breathes the touch of cool, wet moss,
Seems only too fresh, only to real,
Toes dangling in gurgling streams,
The rhythm of spring beating its bright song.

Perhaps a princess from a tropical paradise,
With flowing brown hair and a bee-stung pout,
Carefree and playful, he laughter like birdsong,
As she wandered through the palace gardens.

How she aches to see the flowers,
Swaying heads in the fresh, cool breeze,
Brushing hair across her spirited face,
As summer breathes its perfect song.

Perhaps a warrior woman, from ancient lands,
Riding her horse across the barren plains,
Her loyal army following eagerly,
Sharpening bloodied blades ready for a fight.

Deep pangs of her sorrow weep for this life,
Where she might climb aboard her horse and ride,
Freely seek those who imprisoned her here,
As autumn's gales rages on and on.

Such intrigue, such promise,
The anonymity driving her imagination,
The corners of the Earth wrapped around her,
A world to explore beyond these four, bleak walls.

Yet deep in her heart the fantasies serve,
Only to quell her desperate fear,
The terror of darkness for infinite time,
That clouds her head like a winter storm.

A Speech I've Longed to Give...

There's a speech that I dream of giving.
I know exactly who I need to give it to,
And I know their reaction would be cold,
But I still dream of giving it.
A chance to be open, honest, about who I am.
I have keep quiet all these things that I should have spoken,
Set up layer upon layer of protective shields,
And when they've failed then I've used words and emotions
All to protect this secret I hold.
Yet I've surprised myself in my victory,
Embracing it has made me stronger,
Able to use the negative elements for good in my life
Found the better version of me that was always there, hiding.
I wish I could explain the journey here,
The bumps in the road that they witness.
Without explanation, there were few rational responses for my actions,
For tears, spite, paranoia and pain.
But when they are induced by a cure,
That would ultimately make me a whole person again,
Then, you might have been more inclined to forgive.
The mistake was mine, the fear complete,
The fear of showing what might have been a weakness.
Yet it is the very thing that has driven me to achieve what I have,
It is the quality that will continue to drive me throughout my life.
For all the demons that I've done battle with,
The reward of control over my own potential is liberating,
Intoxicating,
Inspiring.
I just wish that I had been more open along the way.
Social taboos would accept a tragedy,
A death, loss, a world falling apart.
Yet when that tragedy is the product of the chemicals in your mind,
There is so little in the way of sympathy towards it.
In the same way I feared acceptance,
I know that others feared understanding.
People warn you off being open,
As it will leave you vulnerable in your work, your life.
Vulnerable to a misguided witch hunt,
Where the terrors of others surface as hatred.
It shouldn't be this way.  This fear of honesty.
And in embracing who I am I have confronted my fears.
I will stand, and I will throw myself to the lions
As I know the defence of truth is more than words,
It is who you are, and who you become.
I will be strong.
And I will achieve.
In which case, there's nothing wrong with being me.

x x

Flowing moments between us

We say these words amidst a sea of madness.

A chaotic, twisted mess of beauty,

Wonderful moments of utter insanity,

Curled around our slippered toes.

We drift along in a pool of crazy,

Wrapped around gentle mists of dreams,

And reach for the stars.

The Product of a Troubled Mind

The blackness creeps like trickling oil,

Across my face and into my soul.

Painful memories, flooding in,

Taking control of the fragile balance,

Tipping emotions towards the flood.

Streetlights through ice, © Nichola Jahn 2010

Such power, such monumental power,

Controls all that I can be.

I search for a moment of clarity,

Dreaming of days gone past,

Days when the blackness couldn't get in.

Seeking desperately to find the door

So I may close it tightly from the dark,

Become myself once more.

I look to the skies as though the answer is there

But reality bites back with the truth,

These demons that haunt my every being

Are a creation of my own.

Weapons are like nothing before,

Delving deep into subconscious prisons,

Mapping reactions, parent, adult, child,

Finding the moments that turn the tables,

Generating an arsenal against the beasts.

Fighting to survive against the darkness,

Fighting to keep on trying.

Victory barely a thought as the battle wages on,

Using up reserves just to continue,

But nothing the product of a troubled mind,

Should be allowed to win.

And with that thought I am inspired to go on.

x

The Living City

City at Night, © Nichola Jahn 2010

City streets,
Bathed in the husky glow of shimmering lights.
Echoing of a billion footsteps before mine,
As I pass through this historic place.
Silence overwhelming in somewhere so grand,
Seeped in historic moments,
A million miles from here, yet right on this spot.
Transported, my soul reaches out to ghostly memories,
Not mine to have,
Yet so real to experience.
A whispering wind catches my gaze,
As dark shadows,
Dance in the background,
With ritual precision.
Sadness emanates from the sobbing walls,
Silent sorrow at moments past.
Tactile memories as my hand run over cold stone,
Jagged where the years have taken their toll.
Each missing piece a notch in time,
Waiting to tell it's story.
Such faded grandeur,
Like an elegant old woman watching with grace,
Overseeing each soul that passes by,
Protecting them with her own strength.
Somewhere so beautiful,
Peace flooding forward from its very presence.
The lessons it gives both significant and loved,
The wise old storyteller,
Designed to inspire.

We Alone Can Change The World

Societal blackness creeps into our hearts,
Disillusioned by fractures in our reality perceived.
Dark dreary days drag on like a chore,
Sinking feeling of blame.
We give power to fools who can't see our world,
For the beautiful place its potential could be.
Short-term decisions drive the lives of us all,
Why can't we see it before it's too late?
We hide from the truth, watch countries fall,
Drive black thoughts out in a bid to keep sane.
Like a newborn flower reaching for the sky,
Our life-blood is trampled.
To break the cycle the options are but one,
A tough thing to ask in a passive world.
Look into your hearts and see what is needed,
Look into your hearts and take charge of our world.
Thoughts cycle through glimpses of highs and lows,
Of impossible tasks if done alone.
But joining together in making it known,
Our knowledge outweighs the lies they spin.
We must take a stand and make it known,

Tolerance has got us nowhere.

Retribution comes in it's sweetest form.

When we alone can change the world.

Restless Nights of Darkened Dreams

Philosophising about the dreams
That haunt my sleep each waking night
I halt my hunt to rationalise...
How these demons reach my soul?
Enveloped in my subconscious layers,
Aching hearts and weeping eyes,
Defence impossible.
My whimpering being,
Musters all that I have within,
Strength of character, charm, and wit,
To forge new images of brighter worlds,
Vicious battles rage riots in my thought chains,
Weapons of words, bitten off like bones,
Aghast the loss seems close to being,
But something stirs with increasing force.
A hero image takes the helm,
Wards out the ghosts and freezes my hell.
Gentle calm awash my face,
Rhythmic breathing once again.
Gone are the beasts that haunted dreams,
Instead?  Flowers, swaying in the breeze.

x

A World Without Masks...

The world passes by blindly

Never knowing its true potential.
The blind lead the lame
Across the torrential floods.
We never stop to see.
To look.
To truly absorb.
Information.
Total empowerment,
It becomes our crutch.
Lies!  Shiny wrapping makes them only so sweet.

We wish it would embrace the moments of truth,

Yet it feels like no one else can hear them.

Relying only on the shortened words,

Twisted by personal perspective,

A thousand different agendas,

And nothing to speak of that matters.

Each day, in this sea of sorrow,

Look for the ship on the horizon,

Leading you to the place where you might see,

The reality of worlds falling apart

Wrapped up in the words that surround us.

Yearning to take them there.

Show them the beauty in truth and light,

The wonder of understanding.

Our world is there for the taking,

Conquer the demons.

Understand our path, 

Our purpose.

Breathe.

And succeed.

The Sky Tonight

Burning balls of shimmering fire,

Light the sky with their immense spheres of glorious intensity.

Sparkling trails of comets' tails,

Artificial moments with the wonder of nature's own design.

A peaceful moment briefly disrupted,

With a wondrous intensity that captivates the crowd.

-----------------
I love fireworks!

For him

For him, I would do anything.
Walk a thousand seas,
Take a million steps,
A perfect dream of wonderful days,
Together.
Hands enclosed together,
Wishing this beautiful daydream was true.
I yearn to hold him close,
Kiss him with the full force of what we keep hidden inside.
I love him,
But it can never be this way.
A secret moment,
Resigned to memory,
Without ever even existing.

x

Averting my gaze... or running away?

I'm frozen on the spot in the middle of the street.  He's there.  She's there.  And yet I can't move my feet.  I want to duck, to dive, to hide in the corner, but I'm stuck right in front of them like a bright red dot.  I might as well shout at the top of my voice "Come flaunt your love!  Tear my heart from my soul!".  They surely must know my anguish inside, as my rabbit-like expression creases with pain.  Like a knife through the side my thorn is their rose, the pain only worsens that they surely must know.  Don't they see?  Or don't they care?  My breathing quickens, there's pounding in my chest, and finally the adrenaline kicks in my head.  Like a child learning to walk their first steps, I shakily force each foot to move.  Step by step.  Try not to fall.  Gracefully averting like I never even saw.  Not flinching my pose, but pretending see, something beautiful close by that I have to approach.  I watch with intent from the corner of my eye, watching them walk tentatively by.  Relief starts to flood... they think I never saw... their loving affection that could put my heart on the flood.  I continue to ponder, to look over and wander, until I'm sure they've finally gone.  Breathe.  Breathe again.  It's never too much as long as I can get away.

Tiredness falls

Heavy, my eyelids fall.  Protesting their resistance to each opening.  I feel the laughter creases, fighting back with a heavy-hearted response.  Sleep would be so perfect.  But I must stay awake.  A list of chores that continues to pile up, exhausted by the day that passed in a blur.  My mind is screaming to come to a standstill, lusting for a pillow like a feverish rage.  I need it, want it, will for it.  It is all I desire.  Reaching inside but unable to muster the effort.  The rage spreads outwards... filling my every being.  I must have it.  Until it's too much... I collapse on the bed.  And all at once... I'm at peace.  Ebbing out as the swathes of softness envelop me.  Perfect, restful sleep.

Rain Rhythms

Rain lashes my window over and over, splish-splash-splosh-splish-splash-splosh, again and again. It builds to crescendo, a forte of rhythm, melodic in tone and soothing to hear.  Lying in bed I let it envelop: my head, my dreams, my heart, my soul.  Pulsing around them, it drums with precision, stirring the beat at the depths of my soul.  Tribal - I feel it - longing and yearing, nature's attempt to make me her own.  Instinctive and natural it transports me out - I'm lying outside with the rain on my skin.  Warm drops of light cool on my face.  I taste it, it falls hard, soaking my clothes but I feel more at peace than ever before.  What magic it has, the rain from the skies, casting its tempo like a spell on my soul.

Peace.

To share this moment.  Perfect peace in Scotland.  A silent loch of calm.

Nonsensical ramblings of a maddened linguist

Encroyablically fantasticismily perfectionated withinwithout a momentation of puristic insanitiation, dreamist whispens towout and towin his alistened audientical.  Perfinity booms.  Itsanicallistically bluest. Partioning happenets whoin and whoout dreali whitenest at millantic laught.  Allianciantious!

Protecting my secret

I see him there in front of me.  Gently mocking with his dark smile.  Laughing so softly, believing he knowz it.  But he cannot see all of me, he cannot see her.  Hidden beneath my swathes of clothing.  She's hiding, silently, and he doesn't know she's there.
I whisper for her to hush for a second, her voice almost as loud as my own in my head.  "He doesn't know".  I hiss silently.  Expressionless I have to protect her, save her from what the mocking could become.  Precious.  She will be all that I am and I that I could be.
I hold firm.  My breath lost in fear.
And like magic, he is gone.
Safe, I am.  Relieved, she is.

Night. Time.

Tick toc... clock goes round. Seconds pass. Minutes turn. Tick toc. Waiting still. But sleepy now.

When is light?

It's still dark.

Wish the light would cross my eyes.

Lost little doll

Shot of a retro doll on the floor of an old building. Darkness around. She's missing an arm. Forlorn and alone, away from her cocoon. What would it be like to be her? Lying in the darkness with all the time in the world to think. Unable to move as your arms are stiff. Painless reflection as the dust falls gently and thoroughly onto your face. Layers forming as years pass. You eyes begin to fade and you skin turns to grey. But your essence is there, immortalised in plastic. The form and shape with which you were born. Frozen forever in this dark emotion. Terror is not a word you know. Terror is not a word you need. Your calm face will stay that way, reflecting on life and waiting for the opportunity to love some more. No fear is the way, to pass through the world. Calm and collected, no matter how bleak things are. As long as you remember who you are, you can always become that person and more. The doll on the floor, all alone, not afraid. Hopeful and restful. Waiting for the day to become herself once more.

A Moment of Inspiration

Creeping feelings, building twisting, burning. It's filling my thoughts like an overflowing well of murky gloom, only this is a different kind of dark. A cool, refreshing, inspiring darkness, that soothes and enthuses each and every breath. Perfect. Silent. Desperately surrounding me in its perfect flow. I feel it inside, around, beyond and behind. It's everywhere. It's amazing. It's mine.