What I carry is insignificant,
What it means to you doesn’t matter.
Why it falls and on this wall makes a splatter?
This is my burden to carry,
I am the one who swallows this bullet, not you.
I am my own ego-death and then I’m not.
Yes I realize
______________I am not among the few.
I am my own and alone.
I am half of a whole and never lonely.
I didn’t ask for your help.
_____________(I don’t need fixing)
Just love me.
_____________Because I love you.
Posted in Personal
Tagged alone, bullet, burden, carry, half, help, individual, lonely, love, poem, poetry, swallow, whole
I am the only one here
It is obvious others have gone on before me,
I’m sure more will follow.
I am alone.
However a lonely lie I do repeat
You cannot convince me otherwise.
And upon climbing back up from the valley
The echo of a lonely lie calls back from afar.
The path is barren.
I descend into fog for fear of reaching the summit.
Posted in Personal
Tagged alone, barren, call, echo, Fall, lie, lonely, path, poem, poetry, summit, valley
“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
In came the wind today.
It took her heart so far away,
She didn’t fight, she let it fly.
So many reasons, she could’ve cried.
As before the wind, grass would yield,
She was the same and saw no appeal,
To impersonate an oak, and meet the same end
As the grass, but with a more violent bend.
Then having fallen and no one heard,
She says lamenting:
“Joy is made sorrow and the lonely burn.
All is made nothing. Our lives so short.
Where is the Watchman, sitting high in His fort?”
In her silence, on the wind, an answer she hears.
“This is why your heart disappeared:
You had no patience for the storm,
You knew not its true form.
All is made nothing, and sorrow to joy,
But again there is something! There is more I employ.
Stand rise again! You will conquer I ensure,
The storm is nothing, you have the strength to endure.
The only oaks that fall to the wind, all have rotten roots
Grasses may not fall, but they accomplish nothing expect for becoming soot.”
She arose and stood again, knowing fully where to stand.
Then on the narrow path, for her first few steps,
She held the Masters hand.
Posted in Rise Above
Tagged joy, lonely, Master, path, poetry, rise, sorrow, storm, tower, Watchman, wind
In the light of those that were,
Something else is there inferred.
Evidence before us burned,
Dark secrets there interred.
I dreamt the secrets then, were ferried,
To the opposing shore were carried,
With spoken words not yet buried
In our foolishness we tarried,
With the crushing guilt of what remains.
In our silence nothing gained.
There was no joy or peace. Only pain.
Our souls that day saw naught but rain.
This is the bed in which we sleep.
No peaceful dreaming, restful, deep.
No turning tide, no faithful leap,
This is the pain that we must keep.
She reaches out her hand to know
Everything that you are so,
Will you be more than the surface, shallow?
Or in your “holier than thou” wallow?
She’s merely wanting acceptance to find her,
And someone who isn’t so shallow; kinder.
She has always been strong enough to walk alone.
But she continues to look for that someone to bring home.
In the lonely nights she smiles,
Knowing her stay,
Is only for a short while.
Sitting there alone thinking of her,
He’s told those memories to inter.
But so attached and can’t let go,
There dwelling on the past so,
He can’t move forward past the thought,
Of all the times with her he sought,
One kind look, one word so kind,
But was the fault his own mind?
Was something inside him wrong?
Surely! With her he belonged.
Many had said the fault wasn’t his,
They said he deserved better than this.
Where they right? It didn’t matter.
Her life ended, his heart shattered.
But why? She only brought him pain.
All we know is: he’ll never be the same.
This is one about how we might see the surface of a situation and judge it to be an awful one, but without knowing the heart of the matter we can never truly know,and may very well be in the wrong.