Does Anybody Know

Verse 1
How many times will you tell me that I’m just not enough/ not in what you say but in how you say it/ I try so hard but you only see me when I fail/when I fall/when I cry/when I die/ how many times will you stab me deep inside my fragile heart/ not with a sword no just your pointed words/ I build up my defenses so you crash through harder than before/ through the door/ I can’t take/ this anymore

Chorus
Does anybody out there know what I’m talking about/ do you hide your wounds like I do/ do you run away like I want to/ how many feel the deep abiding pain/ the truth of clinging shame/ the wish to hear your name/ without this scorn that bites the same as all the others/ does anybody know

Verse 2
How many days will go by before I realize you don’t love me/ before I see what’s right before me/ before I know you could never adore me when I’m here/ by your side/ by myself/ I can see/ I can tell/ how many songs must I sing before you see the true me/ not with your eyes no with your heart/ I’ll sing as many as it takes for you to hear my voice/ its your choice/ my cracking lips/ no longer moist

Chorus
Does anybody out there know what I’m talking about/ do you hide your wounds like I do/ do you run away like I want to/ how many feel the deep abiding pain/ the truth of clinging shame/ the wish to hear your name/ without this scorn that bites the same as all the others/ does anybody out there feel what I feel/ or know what its like/ to hold something real/ to fly high as a kite/ does anybody know

ive gotten into a new song writing frenzy lol.....my writing totally goes in stages

Shriveled Flowers

My eyes are slowly being opened
To the horrors of this life

Hidden way down deep
All this conflict, pain, and strife

I know not where it comes from
Nay I know not where it goes

Perhaps from broken dreams and wings
I frankly must suppose

I cannot tell the place where
Nor the hour of discovery

I first surmised that dead became
Our acts of chivalry

So long have we obsessed upon
Our secrets locked inside

Hounded to the very gates
Where safely we abide

Beyond all hope of triumphant escape,
One scarce believes the truth

Uncovering the heart with delicate touch
Strikes fear in the souls of youth

As well it should, this grip of terror
Is crying tears of blood

Served on a silver platter and spilling
Clear to the floor in a flood

The darkness chills the heart and leaves
Frosty fingers reaching for others

As tentative essences toe their way
This shadow, the warm light, it smothers

Sharply stunned to silence perhaps
Never to speak out once more

For some, they just won’t but others they can’t
Sleeping beneath a wood door

No ashes are scattered to be free in the wind
With the petals to fly up with them

Angels cry making rain to fall down
As earth sings a sweet silent hymn

Alone as alone could ever be
Unprotected and to wolves are fed

Crying out for comfort and truth
Or just wishing they were dead


i wrote the first half of this poem on my cell phone, by texting it to myself

The Corners of My Mind

A golden key unlocks the door to a room full of gently floating bubbles. The key is my pencil as it flows over a milky white sheet of paper, smoothly clicking into place. Sliding into the groove, it slowly turns the lock, opening the door of my mind. This is not to say that my mind is made of bubbles; no these bubbles are ideas fancily flying about, ready to pop. Walking into the room is like pulling on the most luxuriously soft slippers. I search for the perfect idea and latch onto it before it has a chance to fade, nourishing it and coaxing it to grow.
The entrance to the room is secret and few can find it. There is one window and one door. Light streams in through the window reflecting off a million tiny dust particles and warming the room. The bubbles pass into the room through the window when it is open and slowly die off when it is closed. An overstuffed, forest green, chair sits in the corner with a little matching foot rest. This is my favorite place in the whole world. I like to curl up in the chair like a cat taking full advantage of the warmth that comes in from the window.
Snuggling into my cozy corner, I am ready to begin. Each stroke of my pencil sends a shiver down my spine, and urges me on to the next. Adventure and romance hold me fascinated in another world. Then comedy has me chuckling to myself. Tears slide down my cheeks as my characters suffer through tragedy, yet I sigh in contentment at the happy ending. I bask in the room with the floating bubbles, every once in a while grabbing one and adding it to the words on the page. This is how I feel about writing.

Open Your Eyes

I know who you are, yes the one sitting just there
I’ve seen that expression in the reflection of my mirror
I know where you’re going and I know where you’ve been
I’ve seen what you saw and I heard way back when

Open your eyes
Look up at me
I’m here to help you out
‘Cuz even I can see
That you’re drowning
You’re falling
And falling down

All those demons you hear now and all the ones soon to come
The tickle in your ear stabs and beats a great big drum
We’re cosmically bound by experiences old and new
It’s a rough life but it’s ok because you can make it through

Open your eyes
Look up at me
I’m here to help you out
‘Cuz even I can see
That you’re drowning
You’re falling
And falling down

these are lyrics i wrote. i also wrote a guitar part.

Rings and Things

Small, pudgy, hands warm and soft caress the diamond ring encircling a long and graceful finger. The mother’s hands are calloused with life yet are timeless and enchanting. Perfect nails grace the slender fingers without a stitch of royal frailty though they are not without elegance. Back and forth, back and forth the rocking motion comforts peacefully. The fingers glide through fluffy yellow curls as she whispers and holds the little girl near. The warm body snuggles closer while still stroking the ring her father had placed there not so very long ago.
The cold metal fascinates the girl. Drowning in its swirls and sparkles, her blue eyes widen at its beauty. Tiny mirrors wink up at her from the surface of the diamond telling her its time to close her eyes. Back and forth, back and forth the squeaking chair begs rest. Sleep little one, mother croons and kisses downy hair. Many days will pass and many years fly by but stamped forever in time will this moment be. In mere days both lives will change, one for better and one for worse. One will walk with angels, the other to a grave. Back and forth, back and forth peace now reigns within.
I am the mother whose strong hands soften at her daughter’s touch, this daughter she loves more than life itself and knows she must let go of. I am the daughter who cuddles up to her mother in safety and contentment and will soon cuddle with a Lamb. I am the ring on her hand watching them both and that is petted by the child whose hand I will never rest upon. I am the chair that creeks back and forth, back and forth holding them in a nest that will soon be empty. I am telling their story so all may see this wonderful sight and know of life and love. I am this moment, and this moment is me. I am, I always have been, and I always will be nestled in this moment of eternity.

Is Change Good?

If you could would you change the world?
Take away all the bad things?
What would the world be like, do you think?
If life was not ever mean?

No wars, no hunger, and no scornful words.
What a grand thing t’would be.
But if that’s what you think, mistaken are you.
So now just listen to me.

If no tragedy struck and no wars were waged,
No famines gripped the land,
If sickness fled, and all children were fed,
Who’d give them a helping hand?

We’d have no want for caring, no room for sharing,
We’d think of only ourselves.
Yes we have faults now but in a perfect world,
Our actions are nothing but bells.

When love is unneeded and sweet words unheeded,
What purpose, have romancing airs.
To change the world would be a dreadful thing.
We’d lose all our heres and our theres.

Lost forever the sensations of now would become.
All glorious desires would fade.
Petals drifting unnoticed to filled, empty graves,
Shoved to the point of the blade.

All pursuits for valor would soon cease to survive,
With no dragons for knights to slay.
The damsels no longer would be in distress.
All quests would be held at the bay.

“So change the world?” again now that you know.
What would it really do?
But create one more problem for all of us to solve,
Or just change our point of view?

When Somebody Loved Me

My first poem in almost 3 months, enjoy.........



When Somebody loved me, the sky held no gloom.
Somebody reached up and caught me the moon.

When Somebody loved me, my hurts were shared.
I was never alone because Somebody cared.

When Somebody loved me excitement never was far.
Somebody said my eyes shamed the star.

When Somebody loved me thorns couldn’t sting.
Of laughter and love, would Somebody sing.

When Somebody loved me all colors were bright.
Somebody walked my dreams late at night.

When Somebody loved me I was beautifully well read
At least that, I am told, is what Somebody said.

When Somebody loved me things were just right.
Somebody was the only one in my sight.

When Somebody left me, my heart broke in two.
My Somebody had found somebody new.

Criticism and Cynicism

Transcendence creates great grounds for usurpation, a usurpation of the most deviant sort. When brilliance is exposed it confers the illusion that it is possibly embezzled or exploited if you will.
Supposed superfluous extravagances may well indeed be useful when the need arises.
Lastly and perhaps most importantly of all, concrete infrastructures make as well as break themselves in the great scheme of things.

Dedicated to the Massacre Victims in Virginia.... In Tragedy

One tear falls
One voice calls
The echoing sighs drift on

One heart breaks
One breath bates
All hope is shattered, gone

All for naught or
Naught for all
It matters not, to me

When healing comes
By day or night
It yet remains to see

All petals in the wind
Fly up, then they
Come down again

Seeking peace within
When none, can be
In mortal man

The Boy and The Bird

A little boy watches, the tiny sparrow
Skipping from tree to tree
Jumpy and skittish as an untrained arrow
Eluding, and flitting awing

Patiently he waits, coaxing with care
Knowing he mustn’t stray
A target so precious and easy to scare
Performing a practiced ballet

Each day, the boy, insists upon
Seeing the little bird
Crooning words of love at dawn
His empty days quite cured

Gradually the sparrow allows the boy
To come closer and closer still
The little bird, no longer so coy
With a flip of her tail and a trill

Day in, and day out for months
Their greatest secrets are told
Laughing and joking at once
Their hearts begin to unfold

One day while they are together
Uneasiness comes about
The bird left behind a feather
When she went with a shadow called doubt

Soothing her qualms he calls to her
Begging the bird to stay near
Seeing what they are and what they were
She repents her misguided fear

As the bird returns to the boy
An evil deed stirs, in his heart
He grabs at her wing like a toy
Bent on breaking it apart

She nimbly skips to the side
For, prepared for this, is she
Insight and instinct are allied
And the boy falls short to his knee

As she flutters quickly away
A heat rises in her breast
For the sparrow, tis not been a day
Yet an arrow protrudes from her chest

Falling to earth, an injured dove
So hopeless and helpless are we
None easier in this world to love
And none more willingly freed

The Solo

Standing there upon the stage, a young girl shivers and shakes.
The curtain is drawn; it stands as the only barrier between her and them.
The ripples give way to shadows that taunt her every breath.
So vulnerable and alone, she quakes with fear awaiting the inevitable.
Heart beating, palms sweating, she runs her tongue over parched lips.
Her throat is dry and constricting, every muscle quivers with tension.
She holds her breath, closes her eyes, exhaling slowly to calm her racing thoughts.
A thin light appears growing steadily, apprehension melts away; the music begins.
Stepping out, she sees but one, peace envelops her as the measures drift away.
Holding out the gift given her, all else is of no importance.
The Solo becomes a Duet, the gift is received and immortality known.

Letter to My Beloved

I wish you could see me now, with the sun on my face and the breeze in my hair. A simple ponytail fails to keep wispy bangs from falling across my bright and smiling blue eyes. My pink lips part in laughter with the thrill of spring. Gone are the tears of winter and the sorrows of autumn. My blue jeans and t-shirt reflect my care free attitude. Muddy Ariats slosh through the slush and rounded hoof prints form more hesitantly behind. Amarillo Sky drones in the distance as I crouch down beside a tiny trickle of water pushing a path from the melting snow, through a dusty piece of pasture, to the newly sprouting grass peaking up at the fence line. My Golden’s nose nuzzles into the crook of my arm and I reward her with a quick peck right between her large, brown, adoring eyes. I feel alive and beautiful as the soft spring air plays with my hair twirling it in his gentle fingers as I long for you to do. The smell and feel of this moment are indescribable. Everywhere and in everything I can see the creator’s touch. This is all uncontainable. I feel like dancing and singing for I cannot hold it in. I’m spinning around in the sunshine with no one to see me but my Savior and my pets. A pony snort makes me turn to find my indignant friend watching from across a sea of snow. Scoffing at his fears I retrace my steps. As I plead for his forgiveness I feel a little warm body push past my leg, dressing my jeans in a new fur coat. I laugh and move away from the offender after patting him on the head. As I bend over to brush the kitty fur from my pant leg a large sloppy tongue slurps up my cheek extracting a giggle. The air is warm and clean, and I’m given the illusion of flying without actually leaving the ground. Green is not just a color in this place. It is an aromatic smell, a glorious sensation, a hopeful melody, a graceful bird, a victorious anthem. Such a wonderful God has given this moment to me. If only you were here… Someday I will see you, but I wish that you could see me now.

Young Heartache

So many young see death before it’s time.
So many youth have known hell on earth,
Only to escape to a much greater hell.
Souls die when body does not,
Perishing hearts flee the scorners.
Only ever when in necessity,
Or for the good of another.
Should we relinquish a one we cherish.
Why then this dreadful pain
Which surrenders to ruin all that is?
All that could be, all that should be,
All that is, was, and has been…
Gone, in an instant forevermore they are.

Wasted Dreams

An empty canvas stretches as far as he can see. Every color he desires is at his disposal in a moments notice. All shades imaginable linger on his fingertips, itching to grace the blank slate. Hesitant to mar this pure section of cloth, even to create his masterpiece, he allows the colors to come alive in his own fantasy. They go swirling and twirling, this way and that. Purples, blues, reds, and oranges begin to shape the magnificent arrangement. With every stroke beauty is brought into existence. He shapes and molds a story of a heartache mended. He aspires for greatness and it is greatness he attains. All his dreams and plans are clearly laid out before him. As he once more opens his eyes, he is faced with a stark reality. Empty, blank, vacant, bare, a void stares wildly back at him. No strokes of color great his gaze. All his dreaming was for naught. The imagination that created the stunning sensation betrayed its visionary.

Valentines

its almost valentines day so how could i not write a love poem?!?!?!?! lol

Reckless Abandon

O, Beauty come away with me
Trappings belong with themselves
O, Dove soar to heights and beyond
Leave walking to the heartless
O, Rose let me savor your fragrance
Petal by petal I'll seep into you
O, Heart beat quicker at my approach
Prepare yourself for what awaits
O, My Love let us run far from here
Until death should part us and yet
Never parted shall we be, in eternity

Love's Wings

Love’s wings have flown away from me
Alighting in another tree
Like a somber bird, has gone away
Taking words I daren’t say
I’ve lost my heart, pieces torn and scattered
Of all the things that never really mattered
I can’t forget that fateful day
When love took wing and flew away

They Call Her Rebel

They call her Rebel. She stands alone in her room with the music turned up, raging against the world and things she can’t explain. She retreats into herself, lost in the beat of the drums. She dances to escape. Every feeling within her is beginning to take shape. Swelling thunderheads tower above like an anvil waiting to drop. Sinister urchins, rude and poised, push their lumpish forms into the sky. They fight with a languorous air that grapples the innocent and corrupts the fair. Her heart pounds with the clouds and the drums match their rhythms. Ardent, she moves faster, more intense. I call her Abandoned.


They call her Rebel. The haughty storm overwhelms, menacing and wicked. Drowning in the music and the pain her black and purple hair flies as she punches the ground, a scream tearing from her lips. If you looked into her eyes, past the circles and eyeliner, you would find lusterless and hollow creatures masking the fear and the passion and the fire, shrieking in their cage. A surly manner helps her deal with the unfairness in our world. Constantly on offense to keep from being on defense she battles with sarcasm and cynicism. Everyone and everything she touches stings her. I call her Hurt.


They call her Rebel. Exhaustion threatens to overcome her, but she fights it harder still. So many questions she has for them all, but they turn away before she can ask. Comprehension stands just outside her reach taunting her with every pounding headache it brings. Bright lights blind her and try to force her away, chaos and all her minions tease her in her wretched state. No more! No more! Please leave her be! She becomes an animal. Forgotten are the questions she once had, now is only hate. No amount of understanding can bring her back, it’s too late. I call her Confused.


They call her Rebel, but they don’t understand that the reason she is, is completely in their hands. They created her and use her like a puppet hung from strings. They’ve beaten her down and shredded her wings. Crushing her spirit, they don’t even see that she only wants them to give her the key. Begging and pleading then angry she becomes. They cast her off and throw her in the slums. How long will she fight and when will she give in? As they call her Rebel, so I call her Them.

Xerakees

A soft breeze floated over and under on its winding path with the currents. It gently lifted and displaced a tendril of curly, golden, hair from his silky face. The curls tumbled about over pointed ears, so fine tuned that he heard things miles before they could be seen. The fairest elf in all the land stood poised on the cliff top overlooking the majestic sea. The crashing surf generated peace instead of fear, seducing all who came near into an undeniable sense of wellbeing. A royal circlet adorned his noble brow with a tear drop sapphire that appeared to trickle down his crown to meet carefully knit eyebrows, not too bushy and not too thin which dictated a peaceful expression. Slanted, cat-like, eyes gave him a look of pure serenity that beckoned with an air of confidence that none could resist. They were the most vibrant blue and deeper than all the seas in all the worlds, able to see farther than a falcon’s. The Elvin cheekbones were high like a well bred lady but masculine and strong. Smooth rippling skin, so soft flowed into lips that seemed thin yet full simultaneously. His smile was reassuring and gentle when at peace and firmly resolute when provoked. A prominent chin though not dominating completed his angelic face. Prince among princes, Xerakees floated when he walked like a feather always drifting on a puff of air. A tunic and wrap around cloak of untainted white covered his slim yet sturdy figure, and holding the billowing folds in place were a wide leather belt and an enormous, plain, round buckle. His feet were clad in the most sought after hide, which came from a platypus.