I stand here in the rain
watching you run so you
don’t get your hair wet.
Such a difference
All the time-
making it seem like
there is no reason for
what I do.
But I love it.
All the droplets falling down.
It makes me believe I will wash away-
if I just stand here long enough.
Your hand reaches out
Taking hold of my throat
Choking the goodness from my lungs
Seeping, sweeping onto the floor
Down I go
For a moment,
Taking me by surprise
Your words hit me
Like they haven’t before
Revealing the stain of pain behind my eyes
But this is my job
To not hurt, to not react
So I deaden my eyes
Forcing a smile
Not giving myself away
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Do I write for fun?
Or when the power of words hit me?
Do I write to process, to understand
The beauty of things that surround?
Would I write if energy was freely given,
Flowing to me in a continuous
And purifying rain of words?
If the bones in my hand didn’t ache
As I typed
And my heavy head wasn’t throbbing
From buried pain?
If my day wasn’t congested with
Chores and human frailties
Could I produce
A brilliant new world?
Or would I still sit here, wilting
Creativity dripping down the
Sides of my face
Not knowing how to come back from all this madness?
Photo Credit: Wouter de Bruijn via Compfight cc
To be continually confined,
Scratching at the high walls of my
Cell until my fingers
Bleed, with no one listening to my
Whimpers except the moon.
She’s the only one who never
Gave up – on me –
Continued to shine on –
Despite all I’ve done
I keep desperate hold on that thought
As I lay down each night to sleep –
Holding my blanket of moonbeams
As I dream of all that
Could have been.
She came to my door
Broken and shamed
Last night to explain
How she rose above
The light until
She reached the
Be easy to
photo credit: digitalblasphemy.com
I press the button, but nothing happens.
She doesn’t cock her head or say hello.
Her dead eyes don’t blink and her hand doesn’t wave.
I want my money back.
Photo Credit: *TatianaB* via Compfight cc