She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”
She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged alone, awoke, bright, cold, echo, fear, forget, gone, hate, home, loud, place, poem, poetry, remember, resound, silence, sleep, soul, sun, voice, window, words
Here he tries to decide
If the grass is greener on the other side.
On a fence of indecision
He looks as far as he can see.
The grass is greener on the other side
But small barbed wire keeps him in.
He can see as plain as day
The green grass there, where hopes do play.
On the ground is that a snake?
On the fence no risk he’ll take.
He’ll stay there a while longer,
While he gives this thought a ponder.
Posted in Personal
Tagged barebed wire, decide, fear, fence, greener, hope, indecision, poetry, ponder, risk, snake, Thought
Her footsteps: a cascade of echos,
Down the halls, unearthly bellows.
Others flee in terror from an unknown fear.
One waits for her motives to be quite clear.
From under the door light betrays,
Where she stops to softly say,
“Come out to play my little one,
The day is over but the night is young.
Think not on the coming days,
Where I’ve to show you where your mind strays.”
She tries the lock, but I’ve planned it
To keep safe from such bandits.
She tries and tries and tries and tries again.
Lights return to normal it seems,
She leaves to find another it seems,
All too late I find I’ve made a grave mistake.
For as I planned and locked my door tightly,
There was a crack open just so slightly,
There to permit a small draft of cold air to enter my room.
As she had so many times before,
Ridden a cold draft beneath my bedroom door,
I swore to myself next time I’d not make the same mistake.
A cruel, cold laughter filled the air
And I, just sat frozen there as each other time she’d come and sing herself softly into my thoughts.
My ego death is nigh and I,
Feel my mind slipping by,
She takes hold of and steps into my mind one final time.
Her footsteps do not seem so painful
As my memory would have been able to remind me so and instill in me this fear.
She walks about and then sits down
She takes for herself a crown,
A crown that once belonged to me and says: “You’ll see, the night will pass and suns will rise
I may become something you dispise,
But long before you grow to hate
You’ll close your eyes and accept your fate.”
Posted in From the shadows
Tagged day, door, fear, footstep, hall sing, hate, light, lock, mind, mistake, night, poetry, step, sunrise, thoughts
Holding onto grief like wilting flowers,
Their beauty is not a gift just for you,
But me; for a passing of the hours.
We all hold our own wilting flowers, true,
So there is no reason to give you mine.
I’ll hold onto these as you do to yours,
One more won’t wilt; I won’t repay in kind.
I’ll keep mine to me, I won’t create more.
All flowers simply wilt before they dry.
This. When the waters they may need are tears,
It is what’s necessary when we cry.
One lets go of this, one lets go of fear.
This. How we heal, how we make flowers bloom.
How we refuse the hearts death and heal soon.
Posted in Life (or something like it), Sonnets
Tagged beauty, bloom, cry, death, dry, fear, flower, heart, necessity, poetry, sonnet, tears, water, wilt
“So lay me down in the flowing cold,
Sweeping away, I am but a soul.
All that’s left, the beauty around me
It’s its own beholder; it surrounds me.”
So what is given her but fear and lonely dread?
All hope abandoned here, once immersed, one is dead.
But to rise above the waves, one can dream,
And she surely does.
Though little more than that it seems,
Her safety she dearly loves,
Enough to stay on is this mainland,
But will she live with her head in the sand?
What she’s left with is what the water gave her.
Which is little more than enough to enslave her.
Floating by, amongst, beauty that draws in,
She rests her mind as she dreams within.
An elaborate take on my fear of water, and partially inspired by the Florence and the Machine song: “What the Water Gave Me”
Posted in Personal
Tagged beauty, dread, dream, fear, float, hydrophobia, lonely, mind, poetry, rest, soul, water
It’s getting harder to leave behind
Everything that’s brought to mind.
She tries to leave this with her fears;
Has she lost them, her best years?
What is left? What now remains?
What she has, what torments to blame?
Lying down and giving up,
She can’t drink from that cup.
With very few to help her carry on,
She strives for that place she’s always belonged.
These hands that hold my mouth closed, force my words
Back into a void cave, wishing release.
My silence grows, like so many caged birds,
In this well of censors I can’t appease.
Truly, I’m not powerless to resist,
Yet fear, my nemesis, paralyzer.
Fearing not change, but the resulting list
Of failure, by she, the analyzer.
I must stand and resist her, fear of change.
The fear of what I am meaning to say.
I will succeed though the fear still remains.
Therein it will drive my courage today.
I look back on the battle for my soul,
I, with clear eyes see, the hands were my own.
Posted in Personal, Sonnets
Tagged cave, censor, fear, hand, mouth, poetry, say, silence, sonnet, void