Shattered

I can’t make you love me

And you won’t even smile

I’m not sure just what I did

That brought me to this point

I’ve been so angry, and I’ve been so hurt

All you do is shatter me in this dungeon that I built 

My heart had hoped, and my head has wished

But underneath that skin of yours is needles and swords

Should have taken the initiative when I had the chance

But now I’m stuck, and I can’t find freedom

Of the Oppressed

So this is hell, where I should die

A grave I dug for myself

To lie down and slowly fade

All that I am to shift and suffocate

Dirt heaped in abusive piles snuffing out my life

The airs toxic, my lungs ache from holding my breath

I deserve it.  I am the coward who ran away

Running to safety, or running to death?

Who of us can tell.

I will die here, gasping for air and sweet release 

Alas none shall I find, for true freedom is not my Fate.

Shadows of Gray

The world is different through my eyes

Where you see sunlight filtered through clouds, I see every shade of yellow and gray.  You see relief from the glare, I see magic being birthed.

When you see a panhandler with his sign on a corner, you see incompetence and addiction.  I see a broken, humiliated man with a story to tell.

When you see the rain falling on the road, you grumble at getting wet or watching drivers overreact.  I see the glint of light and allow the sound of rain to soothe my soul.

Where there is darkness in the forest you fear for ghosts.  I watch for faeries to appear.

When mountain peaks are washed in golden sunlight, you see majesty, but I see nature communicating as the mountain thanks the sun for its warmth.

When you stare out at the ocean, you see its surface beauty.  But I hear the souls of the world calling out across the distance, and delight in the ancient waters that have circled the entire globe.  Ireland kisses my feet.  The waters the Messiah crossed have evaporated, gathered in the sky, and fallen in tempests on the ocean.  Pilgrims crossed the waters.  Wayfinders journeyed across the waters, using the stars to guide them.

When you complain about the sand that gets in and on everything, I see millions of shells that have been worn down and deposited safely on the shore to rest.

Where you see the desert, I see a sea of glass waiting to happen.

People are sad and depressed.  You see another person who “doesn’t get it”, and I see heartache, desperation, desire to be more than this– and survival.

Perspective is a flip of a switch.

We all have different vantage points.

Mine invites you to see the world in different colors, when all most see is shadows of gray.

A Millers Daughter

Spinning wheels crumbling

Baskets of gold go tumbling

The Millers Daughter goes back to rags

Not even a glimmering strain

 No chainlinks of hope remain

Cast out she goes among the hags

Rumplestiltskin is a liar

She is marched to a pyre

Poor Millers Daughter, taking the blame

Who could blame her hoping

To be more than blindly groping

Desiring to come out above her Fated lot

And now it seems Fate betrayed her

Rumplestiltskin was no savior

Cackling bystander mock what she is not

Broken lady, enslaved in grief

May your painful fate be brief

May there be mourning when you are found

Abandon hope Millers Daughter

Your kind has litte hope of Honor

A Sinners grave the final empty mocking ground

Ashes

Pretty things all turn to ashes

Chopped up, broken, rust and scratches

Everything must come to an end.

And seen through the glass

Only shadows now pass

Unaware of the loss of a friend.

Despair reaches icy fingers

Where hopeless thought lingers

Playing the songs of the dead.

Biting cold steel

Reminds I can feel

And the carpet dries in red.

Promise of Affliction

Don’t speak.

Words hurt.

Don’t try to pursue the chaos.

It’s poisonous.

I’m cyanide.

I will only shatter you to pieces.

Don’t come too close.

I’m far too gone to save.

What kind of life do I promise?

What kind of joy could I bring?

The madness spins and spins.

Straw is turning to ash.

How can a broken heart produce gold?

Pretend with me the world is okay.

Pretend with me that I never hurt.

This box can cram shut.

Demons skipping around the room,

Laughing as the pieces continue to scatter.

Lament with me over the broken pieces.

And when I’ve stopped weeping, just go.

Wounded hearts feel the deepest of hope.

They feel the deepest heartache.

Chaos rages into the night.

The Dark is snickering.

Why?  What was my problem?

How could I be so easily disposable,

And so easily adored?

I’m a suicide note waiting to happen.

I’m good at pushing loved ones away.

I’m even better at hiding that anything was ever wrong.

And to think this chaos only started last week.

A sealed box of history past crashed open.

Suddenly a lifetime of memories feel like they happened yesterday.

Relentless

Happiness is not a place, it’s a state of mind.

It’s serenity in chaos, that so few  can ever find.

And why is it the tempests toil and destroy our brains?

These hurricanes smashing us, emotionally it drains.

For failure, I had it coming.  Fate seems set on this.

Somewhere in the Universe, my Destiny was to go amiss.

Flames are burning my walls down, while I’m still locked inside.

Somewhere in this madness, it’s a miracle I haven’t died.

I know where Happiness isn’t, and I don’t pursue the wrong door.

Somehow now I’m finding flashes of hope, in this miserable downpour.

Anyone listening…. Someone please stop the madness screaming in my head.

I’m coming to terms with the reality, the world would be better were I dead.

The grief that I spent three years running, just to end up back here.

The anguish that no matter how far I ran, you showed up in the mirror.

Well I’m done!  I can’t take this anymore.

After all the years of hurting you’ve left me with this score.

Why am I doomed to roam the earth in pain betraying?

Is this my Karma?  For all of my sins is this how I am paying?

Oh foolish child was I!  I was so frail, and sin so strong.

All the penance of earth wont cover my shame and wrong.

Somewhere down this frustrating road there must be a glimmer of relent.

A pin-prick of good fortune which could only be Heaven sent.

Maybe I’ll find it.  Perhaps in all my troubles I wont.

Until then, someone promise to bury me in satin if I don’t.