I will never be a memory...

2008 Poetry - Human Mortality

2008-08-01T08:49:58Z

One bitter night with company of two –
Strong gin and tonic, glass of raspberry blue.
Lounging together, minding our space;
Sparks of tension fly all over the place.

What could I possibly discuss - I tease,
It is not possible to speak with her at ease.
She is merely a sip away from total panic
And I could see my gnarly hands already becoming frantic.

Your hands are shaking, she comments.
Thanks, I reply, and I spread out my sentence.
I should have kept my mouth shut she said,
But if I had, I know now, I would have been dead.

One wrong turn down the right path -
I was immediately faced with a fist full of her wrath.
As the blood starts gushing from my lip,
I try desperately to avoid the seams beginning to rip.

She lunges again, this time to meet my side,
My breath escapes me, and my tears threaten to cry.
Past and present begin to merge and blend –
Again, I find myself begging for it to end.

Memories lock up reality and force me to wait
While my mother beats me into a sorry state.
Little slides of adolescence flash ever so bright;
None of this abuse could truly be right.

How much of it was my imagination, I did not know;
Most of the images were so quickly on the path to go.
Crumpled paper hearts and fierce dying scars,
Vomiting so many times I would wake to see stars.

Flying insults and knives and photos burned,
Slaps across the face, ankles twisted, tables overturned –
Could humans really be so hateful and vicious?
Was I everything else to my mother but precious?

A blow to my kidney brought me back to find –
A rather helpless daughter, and a mother who was blind.
It would be over as soon as it had begun
And in the morning, she would not know the harm she had done.

Her grip is tight and her blows are severe,
But somehow I manage to sprint away with fear.
My hate ignited like a flaming match dropped on a line of gas –
It was painful, for I am the only one she has.

A deep clanking confirms my bedroom door is locked.
Now her adventure inside my mind will forever be blocked.
I should never let those little things get to me,
However, I will only be as human as I was born to be.

Written: August 1st, 2008

2008 Poetry - Arrival Too Late

2008-07-25T08:18:14Z

It was conquered and it was shred
Alas - it has returned to flee.
It has been some time,
My good friend
My Sweetie Pie.

It is an awfully familiar face
In the depths of my mind.
It has been some time,
My good friend
My Sweetie Pie.

Cannot say we have spoken -
Cannot say we have touched.
My, my, it has been some time.
My good friend
My Sweetie Pie.

What was the occasion
My friend and myself came to be?
A sorrowful moment –
A painful memory?
Hallow passion
Hallow means -
Scratching and digging,
Searching outward potentially.

Whenever it revisits
It is constantly shrieking -
Take me back, take me in!
By no means must it depart again!
Only the weak and lonely suffice;
Everything else escapes the vice.

A time of bliss,
All gone save for this.
My head is out for yours,
My heart is begging never more.
Why has it come, foul stranger?
Leave my side from your tempting danger.

Try with all of my might,
Still it cannot be left from my sight.
A gas to fuel my flame,
A voice to moan my name,
It shall not end, it shall not cease -
It will never leave me be in peace.

Remembering why it was absent
Was hard on my body physically.
Perhaps it was a punishment –
Perhaps a mere technicality.
Whatever the stars had meant -
No matter how hard they had to see,
Ignoring the evolved human instinct
Was the same as depriving mentality.

It was conquered and it was shred
Alas - it has returned to flee.
It has been some time,
My good friend
My Sweetie Pie.

It is an awfully familiar face
In the depths of my mind.
It has been some time,
My good friend
My Sweetie Pie.

Now say we have spoken -
Now say we have touched.
My, my, it has been some time.
My good friend
My Sweet Valentine.

Written: July 25th, 2008

2008 Poetry - Forcefed

2008-04-11T23:18:25Z

My mind is not in the right state;
Overall confrontation,
Abusive mutilation,
Waste and anxiety inflate.

Shadows lurk in the foreground
Creeping closer to ignite -
Terrifying fright -
Halt the reality spinning around.

Shrieking and lurching violently inside,
Someone is telling me something
Trying to tell me anything
Voices to which I should not confide.

Raindrops and pill bottles in my hand,
Blasting radius of fire,
Burning ever higher –
Until that point I can no longer stand.

I was lying wet and sober outside.
Naked and slowly depleting –
Cherished and fleeting
From faded memories on stained slides.

Latin verses confirm my body found.
In the ascending flight
Existed no shining light
And crowds assumed I was downed.

Only times I felt tempting fate
Merely a foundation –
A compromising graduation
And now I’ve cleaned my plate.

Written: April 11th, 2008

Nature Once Removed (Midterm)

2007-10-24T19:12:35Z

The bitter day had nearly reached its end, but somehow, the sunlight still fought to dominate the horizon. The silhouette of the sunset was stunning enough for the birds and the rabbits to cease their activities for the day, and return to the nest. The glare threw an array of reds and purples into the sky, but they too, would soon disappear.
    A figure emerged from the bushes along the pathway covered in leaves and dirt. The woman, human by nature, stepped onto the fallen leaves and onto the walk, a stroll meant for one person to hike by the river. It was steep and narrow, but the woman had been by this way many a time, and knew the task ahead of her. Trees hung low and their branches tickled the top of her head. Rushing water was within three paces, and though the rolling current sang its peaceful song to her, she was not wavered by the temptation.
    Julia would belong there in time.
    The path itself was one she had been carving with her own footsteps for five years. She didn’t pay any mind to where her foot fell, because she knew the ground was solid and would lift her high. Perhaps others had traveled behind her in this journey, single-file, like ants in a long line, but she didn’t believe it.
    Julia was just short of arriving to her favorite place in the entire world. To anyone else, it may have been nothing more than a rotted picnic table under an oak tree. To Julia, it may have been her own deliverance from grappling with the past, and the truth that inevitably followed it.
    One final step over a fallen log took her up to a tiny paradise above the riverbed. The large oak tree had protected this faithful overlook for at least a century, while the red rotted picnic table had seen its share of better days. It was an eyesore compared to the true exquisiteness of nature surrounding the tree and the woman, but it provided some sense of misplaced comfort; the table was large enough for a family picnic, but nature didn’t want that trash sticking around.
    As Julia carefully raised herself onto the surface, she breathed in what was around her. The presence of fall crinkled the inside of her nose, and smelled as beautiful as every auburn leaf within it. The table jumped inside as well, and suddenly autumn became musty and plausible. She sat down and listened intently for the screeching of the rusted legs underneath her weight.
    A small scratchy voice summoned her attention from the tree, and she leaned back to acknowledge it. Julia smiled, her mouth opening slightly to gather the tangy taste of an imminent chilly frost, and watched the squirrel scurry up the tree with a winter feast. Her eyes followed it cautiously, as if she had recognized the individual walking by, but didn’t want to turn back to inquire. Soon, it was lost in a curtain of leaves, and with it, the proof they had ever met.
    Julia swung one leg over the side of the table, and lifted her hand upward to touch a leaf that was attached to the tree branch by pure will. The edge of the leaf danced contentedly with the edge of her finger – a ballet duet without imperfection – and then it let go. A swift southern wind brushed past her neck and carried her dance partner over the bank and into the water below. It rested itself gently on top of the water and began to rock with the current. Julia bid farewell – have a safe trip, good-bye my friend – and closed her eyes for a moment to listen to the river take it away. The acoustic sound of the waves riding over the rocks filled her heart with joy.
    She could never get enough; it was always around her. The sights, the smells, the senses of nature were surrounding her every single moment. There was nothing better than coming back to what she reminisced of most. The trees, the leaves, the water; it was an endless circle of life – constant adaptation and refining of the system. Nothing had to be wasted, because everything held its own purpose in the world. Julia knew her purpose within nature, because that was where she was born. However, it was disappointing to her how humans could forget their own roots like that.
    Every time she visited the city, Julia saw a part of nature in everything. To her, a cityscape was actually a grove of trees, with the footprints of animals on the streets to lead the way. Every chair was a boulder, every stitch in the carpet was a blade of grass; every object she saw originated from nature. Going to town was always an adventure, but she never went unless she had to. Each manmade object that was not created directly from the source was simply a phony imitation of the real thing. Nature ruled the design of modern mankind, and she was furious how the modern man had since designed the rules of nature.
    Bridges and dams blocked the natural flow of water, and either forced life elsewhere, or eliminated it. Cutting down the trees of the forests did the same, but it made room for developers to take over the land. Cars and trucks, electricity and air-conditioning; it was all designed to manipulate nature to fit the needs of civilization, when in truth, it existed all along. Invention allowed for humanity to build a bigger, better version of itself. It didn’t solve problems within nature; it only created them.
    It was funny how her mind seemed to wander aimlessly when she came to her favorite spot, but that was part of the reason why it was there. Any ailment she felt coming on by stress would be fixed under the oak tree. There was something in nature that was strangely, but ultimately soothing about it. The river and its system of subsistence was an ongoing process, and that in itself was something to admire. Humanity was trained to believe existence depended on electricity, natural gas and running water, and that was something to be ashamed of.
    Sometimes, Julia wished she was a fish, so she could make her way downstream, and to the ends of the shores where borders no longer decided her path. Julia wished she was a bird, so she could fly into the clouds, and the only worry on her mind would be how much higher it was to the heavens. She wished she could be any animal – every animal – so long as it wasn’t the one she was now.

2007 Poetry - The Human Factor

2007-10-05T02:11:34Z

From the bottom of the bottle,
To the very edge of the throttle,
Emotion caught in the confusion of it all.
Where is the sense of comfort in this squall?

Back to the house where my things are thrown,
Nothing remains of which I can hone.
I look, I see, I experience everything and regret,
Opposite of what I wish I will never forget.

A little piece of myself I left behind,
Different place, different state of mind.
Won't you please embrace me, hold my hand?
Take it back, one moment pleased, one moment planned.

What's wrong with the big picture I see?
Why can I find my future, but I can't find me?
Perceive the world as when you should do,
Open the heart and don't allow it to overcome you.

Walking blind with my palms facing out,
Unsure of the extreme panic, unaware of the next route.
I won't believe to how I have been designed,
It's my duty to search inside, and become redefined.

Written: October 3rd, 2007

2007 Poetry - The Little White House

2007-10-02T03:15:37Z

He sat on the couch of navy lily pads;
A rectangular pond of tan and white stripes.
His clothing littered the corners,
Unfulfilled boxes were dormant,
Stunted from growth.

His foot rotated in lazy circles,
Deprived of honest thought,
Unmotivated by his environment.

The living room was an empty space for the living;
It was something no one could escape from.

Experimental little girls just discovering
The values of college,
The values of finding themselves.

All three were beautiful,
Dramatic in their own fascinating way,
None of them could come across a man
Willing to stick around.

He was relaxed, poised, gorgeous.
He didn't require much.

No spending money to cleanse the self,
Everyday for the girls.
No home to satisfy the need for shelter,
Everyday for him.

That's why they were there.

Written: September 20th, 2007

One Shot After Another - An essay

2007-09-27T17:08:16Z

I found this essay I wrote a few years ago in the archives of my e-mail. I'll post it here.

To a twelve year-old, summer means going to Tortelotte Pool and coming home everyday with a swimsuit tan. It means staying up until midnight and sleeping until noon. Summer means not having to deal with the issues that split families apart.

Why me? I wonder, as I gaze deep into the silent waves that were still a bit fuzzy from the morning dew. Next to me, my dad casts his line. The minnow, speared with the end of the hook, flies into the crisp air. It splashes and disappears into the lake.

It has been three years since my parents divorced. Many things have happened since then. I have a little sister named Brianna now, who just entered the task of toiling with the terrible twos. I live with her, my mom and my step-dad. I didn't like my step-dad much. Sometimes I questioned whether or not he began the conflict, but I found out that wasn't true.

As my eyes come back to my dad, sitting on the edge of his fold-up chair and taking a swig of his Pepsi, I ask myself, why did my parents have to get divorced? What did I do wrong?

He sets his soda down and turns to me.

"What… what did you just say?"

"Amber, your father is an alcoholic."

I stared blankly at my mother. I couldn't begin to comprehend what she had just said. Inside, my stomach cringed. How could that be? When they were married, I never saw dad drinking alcohol. What proof did she have of him being an alcoholic? How could she accuse my dad of such a thing?

"Are you listening to me?"

"What?"

My mom's eyes lit up with aggravation. "What I'm saying now may affect you someday, and you need to come to the realization that your father is not the person you think he is."

"How would you know?" I asked, taking a daring step forward. "You were married to him for fifteen years, but during the eight or nine years I spent with him, I never once saw him drink! Not once!"

"Once you're an alcoholic, you're always an alcoholic."

My mind simply wouldn't take that as an answer. I knew who my father was. He was a caring, dedicated father, whom I could talk about anything with. He was honest and worked hard at his job.

But the damage had been done. Her words had already affected me. In one bold notion, my mind concluded that the realization wasn't my father as an alcoholic, but my mom as an antagonist.

"And does that make you the better parent? Are you saying that since my dad is an 'alcoholic,' you are the one I should love more?"

Tears welled up in my eyes. I batted my eyes with the back of my hand, but when my clear gaze returned to my mother, her expression made the world blurry all over again…

His fishing pole twitches gently, and my dad promptly disconnects the gaze. With a quick flex of his wrist, he pops the line.

"I think I got one!"

He reels in a tiny perch, and I yip with excitement as it squirms and flops on the dock. He unhooks the fish and presents it to me. Since I am a twelve year-old tomboy, short hair and all, I trace a long line down its colorful side. I look up to dad and he smiles. He then lowers the fish to the water and it flutters back into Eagle Lake.

"He was a cute one, wasn't he?" he asks, as he jumps back into his chair.

I nod and reply, "Of course. You caught it!"

Dad chuckles to himself and casts again. I sneak a few glances over to him with my peripheral vision.

He couldn't be. He just couldn't be an alcoholic. My feelings quarrel inside my mind. I dispute with myself. Who is right? My mom or my dad?

My dad never drinks in front of me. Never.

I opened the door to the room. She sat in her plushy black chair with her hands folded in her lap, like she was waiting for the perfect opportunity to sink her nails into my flesh. I always felt like that when I walked into the counselor's office at school. I was always the victim.

"Have a seat Amber," she instructed.

I cautiously found a chair. I dropped my books on the floor.

"Why did you call me down?" I asked.

"I got a call from your mother today," the counselor said, not moving from her perch. "She said you two had a little spat at home."

"Yeah? So?"

The pause. The oh so infamous counselor's pause. She looked into my eyes, as if she was sizing me up, and replied, "So… she said it was about your father."

I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to talk about this with her.

"Your mother suggested I talk with you about programs dealing with your father's alcoholism."

Rage filled me instantly. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"She asked me to help you understand what's going on."

"Oh, I know what's going on!" I snapped, realization slamming into my head with appalling force. "I know that my dad is not an alcoholic! He's never had a drink of an - "

"Amber, listen t - "

"No, you listen to me! It's about time you and my mother see what a great person my dad is!"

I was on my feet without even knowing it. But I didn't care. I was going to break out of the counselor's office as soon as I could.

"That's why you can't see it," she said. "You have a preference toward your dad."

I was speechless. Was a counselor allowed to say that?

I picked up my books from the floor and I felt her cold eyes on the back of my neck. "Well it was nice talking to you," I exclaimed. "But it's time for me to go."

And without waiting for her to protest, I bolted out the door.

"Sweetie, is something bugging you?"

I jerk up from my downward gaze at the swollen dock. Dad stares at me with his azure eyes I know all too well and I can't help but to confess.

"Yeah dad, there's something I've been meaning to ask you…"

He sets his fishing pole in his lap and squeezes it tight between his legs. He touches my shoulder and I relax in his grip. There's no doubt in my mind that an alcoholic certainly wouldn't do this for his daughter.

"You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?"

Tears were already coming to my eyes. Of all the hateful things to say about my dad, my mom had to say he was an alcoholic. She wanted to take back everything I had shared with him. The hugs, the kisses good night, the camping trips, hell even the fishing trips! I had to find out the truth.

"Dad, are you an alcoholic?"

Pain consumes his eyes. I expected him to laugh like he always did at a crazy conclusion, but he doesn't this time.

He asks, "Where did you get a crazy idea like that?"

I look down again at the dock, watching the white foam wash on shore from beneath us. "Mom said you were."

This is when he laughs, bringing his head back joyously and letting out a deep bellow. I smile inwardly. Maybe this means that he's not.

He reaches out and grabs my fishing pole. He sets it down gently on the dock and pulls me into a hug. A big hug. It's filled with warmth and devotion.

"Baby, don't let that get to you. It's not true. I'm not an alcoholic."

I nod in silent response.

"I don't care what your mom says about me. It doesn't hurt me."

I slide further into his arms. Oh how wonderful it was to hear that. He holds onto me tighter. No alcoholic would do this. Alcoholics sell their souls for the bottle, but not my dad.

It took less than a moment to reassure my doubts.

"I'm sorry to see that what your mom says hurts you," my dad said, pushing me back to look at me directly. "But as long as we still love each other, then it shouldn't matter what your mom says…"

As I look back at those words, I wonder what made me decide right then and there. This issue has yet to be resolved, but how did I know he was not an alcoholic? How did I know he didn't cause the divorce?

Easy. My mom caused it.

I see now that my mom was infecting all of the good memories involving my dad with lies. Yes, my dad said to me that day, he drank. But my mom did too. He said there was a larger difference between an alcoholic and a social drinker than what meets the eye.

The divorce made me stronger as a person. I'm rebellious and suspicious, and for that I can thank mom. She might be upset with me because I'm my father's daughter, but at least I'm proud to have my last name as Gehrke, because I am my father's daughter.

"Your mom can say whatever she wants about me, just as long as it doesn't change your image of me."

2007 Poetry - One Promise

2007-09-21T18:48:58Z

She promised herself that night,
Deep within her sleep,
Gone in the souls of flight,
She had a future to keep.

She worked fast and without scare,
The harder the going was now,
Looking back on the dare,
The easier it would be how.

She memorized everything spent,
Every single hand she shook,
Her spirit may have been bent,
But she left most of what she took.

She loved a man so great,
Her days would be limited soon,
It was shown to be in her fate,
And for her love she made room.

Written: August 22nd, 2007
Dedication: Storey Redshaw

2007 Poetry - Impurity

2007-09-21T04:33:48Z

Iridescent color,
Striped along my walls,
Crossing and hatching,
Like my dreams and my falls.

Chroma so sensual,
It lights up my nerves,
Twisting and weaving,
Noticing and enticing my curves.

Reality suddenly becomes it;
Nothing but a philosophy.
One way to look at the world,
Another ticket to impiety.

I'll take the pipe,
You may just as well.
It's starting to rain in here,
We're all going to hell.

Written: August 21st, 2007

2007 Poetry - Medicinal Temptation

2007-09-19T23:33:38Z

Blazing campfires surrounded by heated waste,
Man-made memories,
Impounded, embraced.
Times blurred by affection and taste,
Stirred delights,
Leather, lace.

Stop looking through the glorified lens,
Of your own eyes.
Stop taking in empathy and sympathy,
And treating it the same.
Stop risking the future you deserve,
It's appealing,
It's concealing,
But your back can't be covered.
The grass stains are
Too revealing.

Written: July 16th, 2007

2007 Poetry - Orphan

2007-09-19T23:32:56Z

Glass hides
The child inside
Day separates
The night
Silence abide

Doors close
Doors remain
Closed
Girls play in
The halls
Of the cell

Not one knows
What the outside looks
Like, no
They cast
The day away from it

They have themselves
They have
A future
Wait
All they have to do
Pretend nothing has to matter
Them then

Do they know yet
What they could have
Lessening pain
Truth and faithful
Girls in dresses
Light and festive

What distance?
What becomes them now?

Lovely
Songs in daytime
Boast their hopes higher
Nothing they know

Walk forth
Make what awaits them
Give in their hands
Your
Soul

Written: June 4th, 2007
Based: Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children

2006 Poetry - Agoraphobia

2007-09-19T23:31:02Z

Nightfall’s calling,
Somberly and so bitter
When it’s crises falling
On fault of one.
All connections made to
An outside world,
Fail to fade through.
Darkness is truly compact.
Escape with eyes tightly shut
Becomes suddenly, unfortunately,
Everything revisited but
No slumber for thee.
Cry for the deceased.
One would not live as such.
Be happy, be fought in the least,
Save those deserving.
Only thought will prevail
In times of wanting to be.
Troubles gone unveil,
Secrets of longing sadness.
Nightfall’s calling,
Sweetly and so hither
When it’s stalling
For promises of tomorrow.

Written: December 17th, 2006

2005 Poetry - The Oppressed

2007-09-19T23:29:35Z

A troubled little child
Hopes to be,
The focused man
Walking down the street.

Everyone sees her
And they all know,
That man would dare to kill them
If he dared to choose so.

Eyeing each corner,
Checking every face.
It's time to put the audience
Back into their place.

Laughter comes from the girl,
How sane she must be!
For she yearns to be a man
She prays never to meet.

Hands in his pockets
A cigarette in his hand.
Step after step
Across the fissured land.

A pain in his foot
A minor but irritating show.
The lady slides past him,
Intent on proving the blow.

A child so small
Dreams to be,
A sly coated man
Walking down the street.

His anger rises
But is suppressed to a thing so small.
Wiser to float says he,
For revenge shall come after all.

Into an alley he follows her to,
And with a click he makes a blade.
Oh this lass will cry to him
And pay for the mistake she made.

She wonders now
Why can't she be?
That silly coiled little man
Walking down the street...

Written: December 27th, 2005

2005 Poetry - Phases of Submission

2007-09-19T23:27:39Z

When it is time to cry,
Before you shed a single tear...
Tone it down
Unfocus your frown...
For this is the year
You know it is the right time to die.

Written: October 25th, 2005

2005 Poetry - Salads

2007-09-19T23:26:52Z

Pickles.
Peas.
Mozzarella cheese!

Written: September 5th, 2005

2005 Poetry - Resurrection

2007-09-19T23:26:01Z

No more shall I cower in fright.
I have risen over your grip
And seek revenge I might.

I have known it all along.
Your sense of deception
Should now be gone.

I was merely a toy.
For all these years you knew
But crush that feeble joy.

You mock me on sight.
I only mock you in return
For I am in the right.

The reason is control.
I hate you, but you fear me
Now I'm on patrol.

It's the last stand for you.
No more snickers or taunts
I will attack if you do.

Hear my laugh of delight.
It's your turn to feel the pain
As I haunt your dreams in the night.

Written: June 10th, 2005

2005 Poetry - Meaningful Words

2007-09-19T23:24:45Z

Tossed and shredded,
Ripped and diced.
Teased and taunted,
Beckoned and enticed.

What sinister words
We humans can share.
Take a second look
To ponder and compare.

Deeper than the shell,
Closer to the core.
End this wretched pain.
Open my future's door.

Desires and hopes,
Wishes and dreams.
Plans and manners,
Goals and schemes.

Time can heal the pain,
And diminish not the meanings.
Stop being so selfish
And stick to the reasonings.

Listen to the song;
A delightful melody.
Take note of its points
Of its dreadful parody.

Weaving and rocking,
Spinning and sailing.
Falling and ending,
Ceasing and failing.

Written: June 9th, 2005

2005 Poetry - End of the Rope

2007-09-19T23:23:32Z

Must I be pulled?
Must I be yanked?
Must my love
Be counted and ranked?

I'm sick of this pain.
I'm sick of this fight.
I'm sick for wanting this
To be in my life.

Written: June 9th, 2005

2005 Poetry - Too Late

2007-09-19T23:22:33Z

Small I thought our issues were,
Something I thought some change could stir.
But alas you failed to cooperate,
And I too little too late.

It must've been my fault
To bring such a love to a halt.
Please tell me your emotions and pain
So my life doesn't exist in vain.

I was making changes for you
Before you said we were through.
Did I not make you happy enough?
Then why must this be so tough?

My heart now is bleeding on the floor.
I don't want it to be anymore.
You said you want to be friends,
So I said this is where my life ends.

For you I gave everything I had
This is why I feel so bad.
To lose that love we willingly shared
Leaves me weak and feeling impaired.

My happiness is nothing compared to yours,
Because this one has lost what she adores.
If you want to be without me that's just great,
At least now you know it's just too little, too late...

Written: May 12th, 2005
Dedication: Tom Mead

2005 Poetry - Broken

2007-09-19T23:20:28Z

No one knows how to help,
Though I beg and cry and plea.
Wishing there was someone who could,
Guide my walking with broken wings.

Written: March 24th, 2005

2004 Poetry - Because She's Lost

2007-09-19T23:17:52Z

She awaits in her room one night,
Twisting and turning on her bed in fright.
She doesn't want to feel it again.
She wants things to go to where they've been.

Because she's lost,
Mentally,
Always searching the cause.
And she feels scared,
More and more every time.
What's my place?
Outside?
Please tell it to my face!
That she cries,
Left behind.

One day after class the teacher calls to her,
He asks, what's that scar just beneath your shirt?
She pulls away saying nothing is wrong.
When everything hasn't been all along.

Because she's lost,
Mentally,
Always searching the cause.
And she feels scared,
More and more every time.
What's my place?
Outside?
Please tell it to my face!
That she cries,
Left behind.

Coming home one morning from the daily chores,
She finds the blood soaked all over the floors.
And she runs but a hand reaches out,
Muffling the screams so they're not too loud.

Because she's lost,
Mentally,
Always searching the cause.
And she feels scared,
More and more every time.
What's my place?
Outside?
Please tell it to my face!
That she cries,
Left behind.

Written: December 31st, 2004

2004 Poetry - Joy Brings Warmth

2007-09-19T23:15:29Z

Simple, but cherished
Acts of kindness,
Are the most pure
Of them all.
A child once came to me,
A flower in her hand,
A smile on her face,
And said, my name is Joy.
What's yours?
I tried to grin,
But how horribly I failed
And replied, does it matter?
The child smiled brighter.
Of course, said she,
We all matter.
We all mean something.
The tears came quick,
And I hid them away
Behind the comfort of my hand.
Thanks, I mumbled softly,
But if I matter to something,
Or someone,
Why doesn't it feel like it now?
This is when the girl's smile
Turned into a frown.
You shouldn't feel like that,
No one should have to.
Her tiny fingers brought me
The flower she held so sweetly,
And she finished,
Maybe you mean something
To this flower.
Before I could say a word,
She turned and walked away.
And as I sat,
Twirling the stem aimlessly,
Looking back at her fading shadows,
I began to realize how right
That innocent child was.
Though a flower can warm
Most anyone's day,
It can't repair a broken heart.
But at least,
For those few moments,
I felt important.
I felt loved.

Written: December 31st, 2004

2004 Poetry - Had I Known

2007-09-19T23:14:33Z

If I had known that
You were trying so hard,
I wouldn't have said
Those terrible things.

If I had known that
Everything wasn't my fault,
I wouldn't have done
Those terrible things.

If I had known that
There was a way out,
I wouldn't have thought
Those terrible things.

Maybe someone should tell,
Please tell me the news.
Keep me informed so that
I know, I know enough.

If I had known anything,
Anything to make it right,
I wouldn't have cried
And I wouldn't be now.

Written: December 31st, 2004

2004 Poetry - And I Am

2007-09-19T23:12:48Z

Life, as sacred and cherished to that of a newborn child,
Is too great to create a conscious meaning.
It appears useless to fight against the unknown,
Yet some crave the unbroken secret of conceiving.

And I am one.

Countless theories of the beginning were engaged,
An infinity of possible circumstancesfor our undoing.
Maybe life should be viewed as it occurs instead,
That's what some decided on pursuing.

And I am one.

A rainbow spectrum shining or fading,
The true color is within each person's soul.
In living color attains a whole new perspective,
To which some ponder the spirit of a whole.

And I am one.

Scarlet, raging, rising with a fiery flame.
An element to this is that of blood.
Impatient, desired and desiring greatly.
The demise a pressured, tormented flood.

Melon, odd, unfortunately misunderstood.
Quite similar to that of the evening sun.
Constantly on the edge of confusion and peace.
No particular reason to fall until it's done.

Gold, unwavering, delightful.
A representation of the blooming flower.
Helpful and willing, but a bit too fragile.
The end will give the clean power.

Emerald, gleaming, yet unwillingly divided.
Closely matched up with the hazel in the cat's eye.
Unpredictable with humor but straight as a bow.
Knowledge is not enough to specify.

Cerulean, severely damaged, cruelly hated.
A direct relation is present within the water.
Unknown depression and complex construction.
One swift strike is it beneath the shaky altar.

Lavender, lush, but simply kept.
Equal and as solid as the amethyst.
Sickly is the mind that dares to whisper a calling.
Approaching the verge is anything but bliss.

Sable, poetically inclined, terribly complex.
The same as the deepened night sky.
Philosophically diverse yet unimaginably harmed.
Forever is every reason to question why.

Every being is another hue in the spectrum,
Each individually entwined within a similar matter.
Difference is a major adjustment to all,
But some believe it's easier the latter.

And I am one.

Alone to each and every aspect of life,
Cherish and inquire its hidden potential.
Realizing that our variety is truly the same,
Is merely the start of something purely exponential.

And I am one.

All color will merge and blend,
Humanity shall return to the earth from which we came.
Nothing is present to question it,
We are one being and the same.

And I am all.

Written: December 6th, 2004

2004 Poetry - I Love You

2007-09-19T23:11:10Z

I bow my head and pray.

Lord, if you're there,
Of all the things I have,
Verify that there's only one man,
Every moment I spend for him.

You let him know now,
Off in his world of dreams,
Utter this from me to him.

I love you.

Written: December 4th, 2004
Dedication: Tom Mead