I Have These Words

Even Writers Can't Write -

2011-11-19T04:14:00.000-08:00

I stutter and stumble over words that I can't get out,

The feelings bubbling up inside, make me want to scream and shout.

There are just some things even a writer can't write -

Those tear you apart; rip a hole in your heart,

Make you feel like you've been flung from a great height - frights.

It's like certain words refuse to be penned,

My mind scared that in some way they might signal the end.

But we just bustle on and our pen helps us pretend.

Life is normal and happy - for our children of the mind,

For my pen has the power to give them the life I long to find.

God Speed their Safe Return

2011-11-11T17:41:00.000-08:00

I’ll wear my poppy in remembrance,

I’ll wear my poppy with pride,

I’ll wear my poppy in memory,

Of all those heroes who died.

I’ll wear my poppy in homage,

To those still fighting wars…

I’ll wear my poppy with concern,

I’ll wear my poppy and pray;

God speed their safe return.

My mind - It has killed me.

2011-09-29T14:43:00.000-07:00

Disappointment – it has defeated me, deflated me,

Stuck a pin in the elated me. Taken everything I had from me.

Turned my insides out and my outsides in on me,

No one will stand up for me, against me,

They snigger at me, defy me, try me.

Failure – it has corrupted me, disrupted me,

Rushed forwards and interrupted me. Pushed aside what was left of me.

Turned my insides out and my outsides in on me,

They see the worst of me, mental me,

They surround me, poke me, provoke me.

Pride – It has demented me, dissented me

Puffed out its chest and vented at me. Beaten the whole of me.

Turned my insides out and my outside in on me,

Each one forgotten me, the real me,

The slander fills me, berates me, hates me.

Self Pity – It has depraved me, enslaved me

Dug a hole in the ground and made a grave for me. Ready to finish me.

Turned my inside out and my outsides in on me,

I can’t save me, any of me,

With thoughts they filled me, my mind-

It has killed me.

2011-08-22T12:06:00.000-07:00

This free digital scrapbook customized with Smilebox

Impossible Feat

2011-08-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

How can I say it? How can I agree?

When all that’s here is so fucked up,

When surrounding me is misery.

I’ve heard the words uttered before,

Heartfelt, bring-a-tear-to-your-eye, so pure.

The same lawful words whispered through veils and tears,

Never kept for very long; playing on my fears.

Positive about you, about us, knowing full well that this is love not lust;

But scared, annoyed and broken by the institution,

Left wondering after seeing it go wrong so many times,

If it’s all just an illusion.

If it’s so easy to lie or even walk away,

What meaning do the words hold today?

I need this to be forever, concrete;

Yet I’ve watched it fall apart so many times,

My heart fears it’s an impossible feat.

2011-07-30T06:42:00.000-07:00

This is my first attempt at creating my own art work to accompany my poetry...what do you think?

Inside Out

2011-07-24T15:41:00.000-07:00

Disappointment – it has defeated me, deflated me,

Stuck a pin in the elated me. Taken everything I had from me.

Turned my insides out and my outsides in on me,

No one will stand up for me, against me,

They snigger at me, defy me, try me.

Failure – it has corrupted me, disrupted me,

Rushed forwards and interrupted me. Pushed aside what was left of me.

Turned my insides out and my outsides in on me,

They see the worst of me, mental me,

They surround me, poke me, provoke me.

Pride – It has demented me, dissented me

Puffed out its chest and vented at me. Beaten the whole of me.

Turned my insides out and my outside in on me,

Each one forgotten me, the real me,

The slander fills me, berates me, hates me.

Self Pity – It has depraved me, enslaved me

Dug a hole in the ground and made a grave for me. Ready to finish me.

Turned my inside out and my outsides in on me,

I can’t save me, any of me,

With thoughts they filled me, my mind-

It has killed me.

2011-06-20T16:21:00.000-07:00

No Masks (Revised 2011).

Strikingly beautiful she stands by the bar, no one turns to stare – not many people realise she’s there. Over taken by vanity, not much inside, she’s not the type of woman who ever tries to hide. Still all the guys want her and they know that she’s game, but as they take off her clothes, she's left with nothing but her shame.

She knows she isn’t clever, might not win every fight, but she’s taking off all the makeup, the mask; she wants to be herself tonight.

He awakens beside her, can’t remember last night, details hazy of their terrible fight. “Please forgive and forget,” he cries down the phone, “I can’t live without you, and I want to come home.” While he talks to his wife, she tries not to cry, soon it will be over and she’ll move on to the next guy.

Breathtakingly beautiful she can’t bare anymore, though people turn and stare, she knows they don’t really notice her there. They see someone over taken with vanity, nothing left inside; well she's had enough and just wants to hide. Guys try to touch her, they assume that she’s game, but when take off her clothes; they only leave her with shame.

They don’t think she’s very clever, and they might well be right, but she’s taking off the makeup, the mask and the lies; she wants to be herself tonight.

She wants a lover to be more than a friend, and she wants this false vanity to come to its end. She’s so sick of guys who just use her then leave; she’s just an empty woman – that’s what she's come to believe.

She knows she’s not clever, don’t win many fights, but with no makeup, no mask, without telling any lies – if she could be herself – they’d all stay, she knows it would all be alright, if she could be herself, just for one night.

CJ.Underhill

A Statement - Nothing More.

2011-03-10T15:53:00.001-08:00

That was a statement. It wasn’t an opinion attached to some dormant emotion, made bitterly in an attempt to make you feel guilty for all the times you’ve let me down. You no longer have power over me, your spiting words and cutting remarks leave no scars, they only allow me to bury deeper the feelings of compassion and love I once felt for you.

It was a statement made by a girl who has learnt that no man can ever make her feel less than a woman. It was a statement meant to explain how and why we fell, I wanted to detail the thing that ripped us so permanently apart, to identify the element of you that destroyed all that was left of us.

It was a statement filled with nothing but truth, it wasn’t laced with hurt or regret; it was a statement that I stand by – your temper was the end of us.

Permanent Dreams

2011-01-27T18:03:00.000-08:00

Transparent, that’s what you’ve become, the changes I see in you make me feel weak, like a woman who doesn’t know her own mind, but then again perhaps I’m just finally removing the rose tinted glasses you handed me the first time we met. I won’t fight with you, I don’t want to make this difficult, vindictiveness isn’t my forte; it really couldn’t be any simpler - we’re though.

This lucidity of you allows me to see the fear behind your regret at losing me, your lover, your friend; but I could be anyone, it isn’t the act of seeing me walk away that hurts you, no, it’s the feeling that you’re going to be alone again.

Each lie that falls from your frown washes over me, I can see them all before you utter a single word, I know the thoughts you rummage through whilst you frantically seek that perfect lie, the lie you think I want to hear, I can see them all in your head.

I hate the look on your face, too filled with desperation, I almost feel guilt, but as I see an image of her flash across your face, the guilt melts as though it’s been placed directly over a burning furnace leaving nothing but pity behind.

I’d like to leave you with a parting shot, add salt to the wound, but I’m determined to retain my dignity, so for now I’ll have to be content with watching you pick your trampled pride up of the floor.

No nasty fights, no raised voices or sonic screams, I’ve let go of you, of us, my heart is ready for some more permanent dreams.

Two Worlds Collide

2010-12-06T18:07:00.000-08:00

Forbidden love tastes so sweet,

For when my lover and I do meet,

We see two worlds collide,

The damage we cause we cannot hide,

Yet still my skin yearns for his touch,

Can two beings love so much?

My innocence is his disgrace,

It reminds him of his place,

Yet I see pleasure in his face,

We can’t stop this heightened pace,

His roaming hands are my brace,

As each sensation leaves its trace.

Forbidden love holds us back,

Two worlds ready to attack,

None can say passion we lack,

But can our love survive this track?

As the sky changes it turns black,

It’s too late he’s lost his pack.

Forbidden love tasted so sweet,

But all lovers must face defeat,

We made two worlds collide,

No win for either side,

Yet still my skin yearns for his touch,

How can a heart ache so much?

Stolen Fairytale

2010-10-16T16:41:00.000-07:00

Hazy figures gazing at me,

Why they look happy, I can't see.

Pieces of confetti caught in mid air,

Random flakes in the bride and grooms hair.

Lips entwined, embraced in a kiss,

Two lovers enjoying wedded bliss.

A droplet stains the gleaming white dress,

Whilst friends console me -"it's for the best."

Taking my time to soak it all in,

Not wanting to believe I committed this sin.

The realisation makes me dizzy, sick and pale

as I see it now -

Someone else living my fairytale.

An Author's Demise

2010-09-25T14:02:00.000-07:00

The pen hovers above the page, the writer stalls, his talent fades.

He takes a step back to look at his art,

miserable rants about a life he was never give the chance to start.

Beautiful words wrapped in lies and deceit,

too hurt to develop his work instead he accepts the defeat.

Writhing in pain he wears a withered smile,

Only because he can see it now, the last endurable mile.

Flicking through what's left behind,

nothing helpful nothing defined, no legacy to give his suffering wife;

she always knew that pen and paper was his life,

his mistress, his whore

but it's different now, she's never been faced with his demise before.

Now the bitterness has rose to the top, hours, days wasted,

not giving a fuck.

Taken for granted each and every breath, he's never been thankful,

not even when faced with death.

He died years ago,

each word committed to paper was a sin, draining life from him,

and everybody else.

When he failed again he'd blame the bitch who interrupted his train of thought,

with a simple knock on the door,

a broken cup, a broken heart,

he thought she'd been prepared for this from the start.

Dying slowly throughout his life, death by pen -

It was the author,

in the study,

with a knife.

Mind Control

2010-09-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

I hand my mind the pen, relinquish control, let it wander, let it roam.

It takes me to a forest; we watch the trees swish and sway,

Birds chirping, sun shining -

It wants to remind me of when I looked at life this way.

Whilst we walk I see images of you, the man that made me blind.

I see us laugh, and then I watch myself cry,

All the colour drains from the trees

Their leaves shrivel and fall; I have to watch them die.

My mind berates me for putting it through this again - All the same pain.

The beauty around me has all but disappeared,

Shrouded in the hate I feel for you,

When I met you I felt queasy, this was what my mind had feared.

Leaving me to wallow, my mind gets up to leave, it can’t take this anymore; now is its turn grieve.

Vindictive Part of Me.

2010-08-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

Vindictive, that’s the only word.

Vindictive describes the passion I feel so fervently each time I see your face. Don’t imagine that it’s because deep down I care for you -though they say love and hate are separated by only a thin line that line is razor sharp and covered in barbed wired. Every detail of your face reminds me of the changes they’ve made in you. The smile plastered in place makes my stomach churn and the flawlessness of your pale skin, I despise. Your eyes are the place where my eyes rest, whilst make up and money can cover up what you feel inside, there I can see the real you.

Vindictive, that’s the only emotion.

Revenge may be best served cold, but boiling hot it will leave better scars. I don’t envy the life you now lead, perhaps when the vindictiveness fades there may even be room for a little pity and yet, it seems that you and this lie were made for each other. Everything about you matches them exactly, no longer a human being that I know or would care to; they’ve morphed you into the ‘person you were always destined to be’.

Vindictive, that’s the only sensation.

I don’t even want the awareness that I could happily never see your face again to leave me. Somehow it comforts me to know that I am strong enough to live without you, not in a way that will allow me to wallow or to romanticise what we had, cold turkey is the only way, a complete and thorough detox of everything connected to you. My life now has to be redirected down a one way street heading as far away from you as possible. Though the vindictive sensation won’t allow me to leave until I see you fall into the hole you’ve been digging for yourself. I’ll be there to throw the first fist full of dirt.

Vindictive, that’s all that is left of me. It’s a hollow victory.

Collective Flaws

2010-08-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

No reason to be cruel, no reason to be kind but I understand these things can take their own sweet time. Don’t be hasty, relax your mind, no need to keep on searching, there’s nothing left to find. Here the truth can be a real pain, but then you already know inconvenience is just part of the game. So let us play our part and you act out yours, no one need know the reality of our collective flaws.

My Flawed Perfection

2010-07-29T08:29:00.000-07:00

You’re just a flawed perfection, but one that I want to keep, I Can’t take rejection -the thing that plagues my sleep. I see it in your eyes, like a spot on your complexion, buried deep are the lies, I see it there - my own reflection.

Complete Perfection

2010-07-27T18:58:00.000-07:00

Nothings ever real –

Until it disappears.

People aren't complete,

Until they face their fears.

Little time, so little time,

We make up a reason,

We make up a rhyme,

We seek perfection

The unreachable feat,

No point in stopping

Not ‘til our goal’s complete.

2010-07-23T09:12:00.000-07:00

Political Advice

In this world full of fake, false and fairy tales,

It is hard to find something real.

Close your eyes hold your breath,

Don’t tell them how you feel.

Find your second face –

You’re going to need it here,

Say goodbye to honesty,

Hold on to the fear!

Lace your tongue with fallacies,

Lie and pretence

And remember when all else fails,

Try sitting on the fence.

No one need know

What’s going on behind the mask,

Just say what they want to hear

-remember that’s your real task.

Keep it short and sweet

And don’t forget to smile!

You give them an inch

And they’ll call it a mile.

But most importantly remember,

The key to our success –

When something truly goes wrong,

Make sure someone else,

Clears up your mess!

2010-07-22T12:31:00.000-07:00

From Dusk 'Til Dawn

Take a step forward, on the ever winding path, don’t look behind, not even a sideward glance. Feel the rocks beneath your footfalls, may they remind you of the earth; it isn’t easy to walk away when no one is getting hurt. Keep your eyes on the horizon, follow it from dusk ‘til dawn, and when you feel yourself lacking, let mirth break through the mourning. Don’t take any chances as the monsters fade away with the dark, keep striding forward don’t think about the task. You can’t let your mind trick you, sneaking in through any fissures of doubt, march on like a solider walking towards a war; and when the battle turns bloody, you must know what you’re fighting for.

When another walks beside you, do all you can to keep them warm, take no pleasure in their struggle, pray it doesn’t last too long. As those around you find diversions in your path, you must stick to this one, changing course would take you back, wasting all the time you wasted getting this far. So as your features fade and your mind begins to lag, don’t think of your time as over, this was just another victory lap. And if as you tire you find yourself regretting the act of turning away, keep your eyes on the horizon, follow it from dusk ‘til dawn, right until your last fleeting day.

The mind of a writer...

2009-08-09T16:21:00.000-07:00

Why do I write?

I write so I can disappear into a world that only I control, one in which nobody breathes a single breath without my consent. A fantasy consisting of only those I want it to, with a few vulgar rivals thrown in; after all not all my characters can have happy endings. Writing can at times be like drifting between numerous worlds, opening up different doors within my head, trying to decide which one to dive into. So often the minute I do dive in, the door slams shut behind me and I spend weeks trying to find a window to climb out.

Yes the writer’s mind is a messy one, generally filled with so many different wants and desires that rather than living them all out, some have to be content with filling the page instead of our lives.

It is hard to imagine that the exciting, fast paced adventures of your average novel could be written by a student who has barely lived a life at all, let alone an exciting and passionate one. The closest to love I have come is lust and the closest to passion is what I feel when I write. I hate to destroy the illusion that, deep down a novel or a poem conveys a truth lived by the author at sometime in history, but there it is…

I feel it is necessary however to read a novel with the expectation that everything in it could happen to you. This is needed with thrillers or crime novels to frighten the reader enough to keep them turning the page, if they believe that they are in danger, they will be more desperate to know who the murderer is and that he is safely tucked away in the prison of the writers mind. And as for romantic novels the reader must believe that every detail could play out in their own life. However else would such perfect matches and happy endings be accepted as possibilities in this often dark and daily unjust world?
I do not mean to sound depressed with life, I am merely coming to terms with the realisation that no matter how much I write and rewrite my characters lives to perfection, my own life can never follow the same direction. The only comfort I have in this stark realisation is that the Author that does have my book in his hand, ready to pen the next chapter is also the Perfecter of my faith.
My Faith does not stop me from allowing my imagination to play though; daily it swims through an ocean of characters and plotlines, all screaming to start their own perfect lives on the page.

It is impossible with a normal life to let all of these ideas develop into something that will grip and entice readers. So hundreds of perfect couples and silky smooth plotlines are lost everyday; entering a place somewhere in my mind which seems to me to be a void, now filled with all my failed thoughts and feelings.

I fear the life of a writer will never be a glamorous one, what need would there be for writing down the exciting and pulsating desires of your heart if you were living them? What a waste of time that would be! Had I at this present time a more interesting enticement than another night of passionate dreams that I am certain will never become reality, would I be here now, explaining the mind of a young writer? Perhaps I would be writing a journal of all the exciting things happening in my life; of my love for someone or other, for the passion I feel every time we meet. But writing such as this could hardly be acceptable.

Another advantage of being in control of what goes on the page is that it never has to directly relate to me or any other person I am connected to. Therefore the pain and suffering I feel can and always will be a private affair. For those filling in diaries before bedtime, writing the truth would sometimes perhaps leave a sting. What happens when things are no longer passionate and exciting? Does the writing then have to stop until something worthy writing off comes along, or do you continue to honestly write that, whilst you are alive, at this moment you are not living? You see my writing is never honest or from my heart it is purely and wholly from my imagination.

Honestly, when I sit down to write, I often feel that it isn’t me writing at all, but a facet of my mind; delving into the wants and desires that I am not brave enough to even dream of becoming a reality in my own contented, yet unspectacular life. People often read my poems or stories and comment on how sad or tragic they appear to be, feeling that this has some sort of reflection on my own state of mind. I can assure you it does not. While I am sure most writers would agree that emotions do have an affect on your writing, often the words I write on my page are the opposite of the ones I am feeling.
When I am feeling sad things I cannot (very often) write about them, possibly because I do not want to relive them, almost as if writing them down would make them seem real. When I feel lonely for example, or happen to meet yet another seemingly perfect man who is in some form or another not at all right for me; I will often write glorious love scenes between my characters, giving them the life I secretly yearn for.

This is of course not always the case as there is generally an exception to every rule and mine is this, when I write sad things or tragic things it may be that something, in one part or another of my life is not playing out as I had hoped, I will not write about that part of my life, but something else, and as a writer although it is not a truth of any kind, and it doesn’t relate to my own life, I cannot hide the emotions I am feeling.

I believe that emotion is the key, and it is this that fills my young messy mind. Love, anger, sadness, confusion, lust, happiness, loneliness… everything I write is driven by one or all of the emotions swimming around my head. It is these real, unconcealed emotions that I offer to you, the readers of my mind, wrapt in clever words and witty characters, I try and pass them off as someone else’s hopes and trepidation, but the mind of a writer is a messy one, and every now and then, a small glimpse of the real person, free from the stain of ink may appear for a brief moment on the page, before quickly withdrawing back into the lives of those longing to be allowed to begin their own exciting adventure at the hand and pen of yours truly.

Home

2009-04-05T18:13:00.000-07:00

You won't see posts like this from me very often... I tend to use this space for my prose and poetry, but today something occured to me that I thought I would share.

I was lazily enjoying my sunday evening, the prospect of not having to be in lectures until 3pm tomorrow meaning I was feeling quite relaxed. I pottered around my flat, loving the feeling of coming home having popped out to the shops, cooking myself some dinner and then sitting down to watch an episode of my favourite programme (for the hundredth time.)

Then I thought about how different things would be in just two weeks time when I leave my first year of University and head back home for 5 months. Before coming to University, the summer months were the time I was dreading most, I knew that having lived away...far far away for 6 months going home and living under my parents roof for the first time in nearly a year and a half (having not lived at home before coming to University either) would be the hardest summer of my short 20 years.

However when I thought this evening about going home in two weeks, I wasn't met with trepidation and anxiety, as I had expected, but rather excitement.

I know that things will go wrong, tempers will fray, mum will find it hard getting used to me having my own routine... wanting to live my own life... dad will have to get used to sharing the computer and TV again and hopefully taking up where he left off as official taxi driver... :-), my sister will drive me crazy over a hundred and one simple little things... and my dog will wake me up at stupid o'clock in the morning barking at a squiral or something she seems to thing is important at 5am!

I thought about all of this... I could hear myself phoning my best friend and complaining about how I couldn't wait to get back to University and my own house...and yet, there is no where I would rather be this sumer than at home.

I have the choice to stay here, move straight into my new house and get a summer job, but I don't want to.

I thought when I was younger, that University was the end of living at home... that when you are all 'growned' up, you go off to university and then you find someone to marry and move in with them and become and mummy and make your own home...

I realise now, even as I relish the prospect of having a 'home' next year...all be it with 3 female course mates and not with a husband...that even when (if) I do one day become a mum, with my own house... where ever my mum and dad live will always be my home. That isn't to say I can't create a home here, at Univeristy with my friends ...but I will always look forward to going 'home' ...

I guess what I realised tonight is that home really is where the heart is... but my heart doesn't belong in one place... it is shared equally between a number of different people without whom my life would not exist as it is... all these people bring something special to my life and help me to be the person I am... and this summer I choose to spend with my parents, in the home they built for our family from scratch.

You're just a boy

2009-03-01T15:01:00.000-08:00

How could I have been so foolish
To open up and let you in?
I never should have believed the lie,
I led myself into this sin.

You never made a promise,
You made no vow to break,
But I expected more than you gave,
I put my heart at stake.

I have nothing to reproach you for,
Nothing that needs to be said,
But as I close my eye tonight,
It’s you who fills my head.

I knew it wouldn’t work out,
We would never be a pair,
But I let my friends convince me
That for me you really cared.

I noticed all the smiles,
The compliments galore,
But wasn’t so quick to pick up on,
Everything else you had in store.

I ignored the cruel moments,
When your tongue got swept away,
I was too busy dreaming,
That you’d sweep me away one day.

I watched you talk about women,
As if I didn’t care,
I knew you wanted to make me jealous,
It didn’t matter that it wasn’t fair.

I told myself you liked me,
But it was all a big ploy,
I think now I realise,
You’re still a child;

You’re still a boy.

Masked

2009-03-01T14:57:00.000-08:00

How can I hide it,
with a painted smile
or grin?
Who will see it first,
who will turn me in?

I'm very good at acting,
at hiding,
most would say,
But one day one of my critics,
is going to make me pay.

If you’re reading this...

2009-03-01T14:55:00.000-08:00

If you’re reading this it’s too late,
You’ve let me walk away.
If you’re reading this it’s too late,
We’ve said all we had to say.

If you’re reading this it’s over,
There are no more tears to shed,
It you’re reading this it’s over,
Every part of us is dead.

If you’re reading this I’m sorry,
I wish I could have stayed,
If you’re reading this I’m sorry,
You must lie in the bed you’ve made.

A Beautiful Woman

2008-04-28T16:15:00.000-07:00

A beautiful woman stands in a room, no one turns to stare, not many people realise she’s there. Over taken by vanity, nothing inside, she's not the kind of woman that ever tries to hide. But the guys all want her; they know that she’s game, when they take off her clothes she’s just left with her shame.

She might not be clever, might not win every fight, but she’s taking off the make up, the mask; she wants to be herself, tonight.

He wakes up beside her, can't remember last night but he knows something went wrong and they got into a fight. So his wife sits at home crying, afraid all night, she sits in the bedroom alone, he calls in the morning, crying as well asks her forgiveness he's sorry he fell. “Please forgive, and forget, I can't live without you, you mean twice as more than she could do.”
She was just a beautiful woman, standing in a room, though people turned and stared, they didn't really notice her there. She was over taken with vanity, nothing left inside, but she’s had enough and she just wants to hide. Guys want to touch her because they think that she’s game, but when they take off her clothes there is nothing left but shame.

She might not be clever, might not win every fight, but she’s taking off the make up, the mask and the lies; she wants to be herself, tonight.

She wants a lover to be more than a friend, and she wants this vanity to come to end. She doesn't want the guys to just use her then leave, but through the years she’s come to believe that she’s just an empty woman standing in the world, when they all turn and stare, they don’t really see her there.
But with no make up, no mask, without telling no lies, she can be herself, she may not be clever and she don't win no fights but boy if she could be herself, they'd all stay, yes if she could be herself, just for one night.

Until Death Do Us Part.

2008-04-27T05:08:00.000-07:00

Torn apart by fighting,
Kept apart by pride,
Up for the journey,
But not a rough ride.

When we said forever,
Didn’t know how
hard that would be,
Can we call it quits?
Don’t think this is me.

When, where and how?

2008-04-13T14:35:00.000-07:00

How can it have happened?

How can it be true?

When, where and how

Did I fall in love with you?

That Night

2008-02-10T08:04:00.000-08:00

When we walked that night, I thought I knew your mind, as we talked that night I realised I’d been blind. All I had believed was really not true; I thought what we had was through. You took my hand, told me to be strong, all I had imagined, now seemed so wrong. How could this have happened, how did it get in the way, we should have turned around, you were never meant to stay. I know we can’t go back, I don’t wish we could, but sometimes I think, maybe we should.
As we walked that night, it didn’t seem real, you were different somehow, and I began to feel. It has been a long time, since I could feel someone’s touch, I never realised you loved me so much. While we walked that night, I stared at your smile; I loved it when you held me, if only for awhile. When it was time to go, I didn’t want to let you leave, but the promise of tomorrow, gave me strength to believe.
As we said goodbye that night, I really did know your mind, as you kissed me, I realised we’d both been so blind.

Dream, Dream Away.

2008-01-16T15:35:00.000-08:00

Close, close your eyes
And dream your floating on air,
As pretty as your world may seem,
To mine, may nothing compare.

Look, look a ship is sailing by,
It hovers above the sea,
I lean over and glean the world below,
How happy can one girl be?

Imagine, imagine a world so fresh and new
With strange creatures to be seen,
Just remember this world is our secret,
No one should know where we’ve been.

Go ahead, ahead to the castle,
The one up above in the sky,
See what your dreams are made of,
As we fly up so high.

Greeted, greeted at the castle,
By creatures wonderful and weird,
Tigers and frogs with wings,
Here they are not to be feared.

Don’t forget, forget the old world,
Hold on to your past,
This dream world is fragile,
It isn’t here to last.

Bubbles, bubbles aren’t steadfast,
As they grow sometimes they fall,
A sharp tongue is what it takes,
To end it all.

This poem was based on art by Josephine Wall, and the picture above is one of hers. Please visit her site, her work is so inspiraion and breathtaking... definetly worth a look!

Finding Life, Embracing Death

2008-01-16T15:19:00.000-08:00

To watch a life be destroyed,
To be broken in to pieces
Like a child with a toy.

To look into the distance
And see nothing but death,
To see a friend breathe their final breath.

To see a lie be told,
And be filled with hate and deceit,
To give up and face defeat.

To look back on life,
With disgust in your eyes,
And not be able to remember any highs.

To look behind
And see the child you should have been,
To want to forget all you have seen.

To hold it all
Close to your heart,
To let it all tear you apart.

To be bitter,
Old and wrong,
And know you won’t live for long.

To find your faith,
In a final breath,
To find life then embrace death.

A Silent Prayer

2008-01-15T16:12:00.000-08:00

I lift my head,
And close my eyes,
Too scared to look behind,
It’s not what I might see,
But what I may not find.

I bow my head,
In silent prayer,
And tell the lord all I fear,
And I know that he listens to every word
And catches my every tear.

As I walk forward,
Joining a new path
Are you what I’ll find?
Or are you stuck in the past
Fighting the old life
You’ve left behind?

I bow my head
In silent prayer,
And tell the lord I’m done!
I can’t do this without you,
I need you to carry on.

You made each hair
That sits on my head
And it’s you I pray to
As a curl up in bed.

You’re my rock
And my salvation
And though I miss all I’ve left behind,
When I look into my heart,
It’s your love I find.

2008-01-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

A Familiar Place
So Strange

I lie in the dark,
I can feel the cold,
I’ve never felt so full,
Never been so bold.
The trees sway beside me,
Happy that I’m here,
They’re not use to my smiles,
They usually see my tears.
This time it’s different,
Somehow I’ve changed,
This familiar place,
Now seems strange.
It used to be my home,
The one place I loved to be,

But no it’s empty,
And here I don’t feel like me.
The moon shines upon me,
Glad to have me back,
The birds are alert,
As if they’re ready to attack.
The corn surrounds me
Like a welcoming friend
And in this changed place,
I reach my end.