tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34074838925143608782024-02-08T09:51:10.665-08:00a graceful dalliancelive it up, write it down. AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-84952541598214726002013-10-13T21:34:00.001-07:002013-10-13T21:34:09.388-07:00This too shall pass..<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I am grieving the loss of living people. There are no ashes to carry away, there is no
closing a casket. I don’t get to put things away and take them out to reminisce
because I miss them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>The ghosts of my life, are flesh and blood.</i> </span></div>
AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-14962416521021567782012-12-27T21:33:00.004-08:002012-12-27T22:46:07.918-08:00let's talkthis week's jams. love 'em -<br />
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A little push, a bit of pull. </div>
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Let’s not forget it’s the chemistry of our chaos. </div>
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This chaos that finds the sacred things, </div>
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Tucked beyond reach, in each other. </div>
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We can go –</div>
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Climb the towers of grand cities. </div>
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Stand at the edge of oceans. </div>
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Talk in the dimness of ancient ruins. </div>
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Pray where there is light among our hearts. </div>
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Won’t you come?</div>
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Rest with me in our chaos. </div>
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Our very own. </div>
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<br />AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-49204919111310013082012-12-08T12:35:00.004-08:002012-12-08T12:35:54.294-08:00fleetingthis week, i loved this song. enjoy - <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It’s a sudden sort of feeling. </div>
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The kind that sweeps you away . </div>
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What would we be without all the unexpected?
</div>
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We plan and we fret, and twiddle
our thumbs. </div>
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The world keeps spinning, </div>
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And gravity makes me crash into
you, and you, and you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gravity is the mastermind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gravity, she wants to stake her
claim. </div>
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But we just keep talking and don’t
give her a thought. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Talk till the morning comes. </div>
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Talk till the dusk adorns the
sky. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She hovers, ever so close,
leaning, watching. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if she pulled us a part – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just as fast as she had thrown us
together. </div>
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AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-36410127274603530142012-08-30T21:03:00.002-07:002012-08-30T21:04:58.045-07:00She'll come and go<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The breeze has changed. It’s cooler and softer. Fall is
slowly waking and rising to grace us with her presence. We’ve always been close, Fall and I. We watch
Sky’s changing mood and Time’s odd temperament. I am afraid she will find me
changed this time around. She will find me less intoxicated with the world but
more in love with it’s beings. My, what will she say about all that Winter,
Spring, Summer and I have discussed while she was dozing. Sometimes she’s in
such a hurry to leave, she misses all the things I want her to hear – before she
falls asleep again.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-44548202676385783942012-07-23T14:06:00.002-07:002012-07-23T14:06:32.962-07:00conversations<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a long lonesome night the moon and I had some
conversations. We spoke of dark and light and everything in between. There was some talk of change and things that
stay the same. Every now and then a star
would drop in to our conversation, but for the most part it was just the moon
and I. </div>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-65656852578311511142012-03-30T19:52:00.001-07:002012-03-30T19:52:52.368-07:00the wildest night in the world<p class="MsoNormal">They must’ve met on the wildest night of the world. Why else would Sorrow and Laughter have bumped into each other. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It must have been wonderful, like the fourth of July. There must have been fireworks and sparklers when they found themselves suddenly in each other’s presence. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s a good thing they found each other, because they keep me company while you’re gone. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-9627616422927775672012-03-07T19:36:00.000-08:002012-03-07T19:37:28.982-08:00step one<p class="MsoNormal">It felt like maybe it was the closest I had ever been to you. Sitting under a dark sky, opening up the wounds of what all of this had been doing to me. I was putting on bandages, so I could walk away, alive. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-44369421379895997162011-08-23T21:19:00.000-07:002011-08-23T21:40:10.546-07:00minutes here and thereit's past midnight, so now it's considered yesterday. <div>nothing like shaking ground to remind you of all of humanity. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>her loyalties lie with him and he knows not. </div><div>here's to breaking every loyal bone in herself. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>one gone. and another goes. and then another will. </div><div>how old we have gotten. </div><div>who knew older meant apart. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>old hands. age written all over them. my have they come a long way from their fancy things. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>a daughter, she's just a daughter. protect her, collect her, direct her. you couldn't, you couldn't, you couldn't. she was just a daughter anyways. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>hands laid out in darkness. moonlight through cracked windows. wind throw old walls. whispers between these hands and the believer. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>let him think what he might. let him drink what he might. let him wander aimlessly. eventually everyone makes it home. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>they used to wait for a magician. now they wait for each other. they always had a little magic in themselves, they just had to find the fairy dust. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-78829417153189816992011-07-07T08:36:00.000-07:002011-07-09T16:00:45.738-07:00more than a memoryI always say my family fights hard, but that we love even harder.<br /><br />For those hours, it didn’t matter what anyone had said before or what they might say after. We were so happy to be together, to look around and see each other that nothing could phase the smiles on anyone’s face. In those moments we were a family that had never done anything but love each other.AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-5412239246719139882011-05-01T17:45:00.000-07:002011-05-01T17:46:03.473-07:00old pictures<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes old pictures remind you of how young you were. That face is a reminder of all the world that has fallen and risen around you since those moments. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then suddenly in the mirror you seem so different. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Older, but not much wiser. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-53872465626230815962011-03-26T10:17:00.001-07:002011-03-26T11:11:46.692-07:00luck and a few good friends<p class="MsoNormal">I am not an affectionate person. I state this openly and I’ve been told it many times. What’s weird is I feel like I am. I guess its an odd kind of affection. It isn’t about hugs and kisses, but about words. More than anything I desire an affection shown in words, and so it is how I show my affection most often. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you know me well you know that often my affection is shown in words of endearment that do not seem to be words that could hold any affection because I can seem sarcastic. I realize that it’s a terrible habit and it’s something I’ve been trying to change about myself for the last few years, but it has been a slow change. But all these details aside, I often realize how lucky I am to have the relationships I have. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s not that they’re wonderful all the time, but it is the bonds that have been made. The openness and the words that CAN be exchanged are what have meant the most to me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I always remind myself that I am lucky, I was born into a family of best friends. We are not just siblings, we pull each other out of the dark and hold each other till states of chaos subside. That is who we are. And so I pray we stay this way, even with our ups and downs, we never forget that we will always be there. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">More importantly though, this is how I’ve patterned some of my most intimate friendships. These friendships are a place of goodness that nothing in the world taints. They feel like a dream, so pure and sacred and embedded so deep that they must have always been a part of me. A few months ago I was sitting among some women and one said, “If you come across someone that feels familiar and spiritually close to you, it is said that it may be because before we were born, our souls stood together for thousands of years.” These women were much older, but they were trying to find words to explain their bonds with one another. That day I found an explanation for many of my friendships that developed quickly with such a sense of familiarity. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It makes me happy to see things in such a big picture; to imagine that our friendships have been part of this universe since before we can imagine. It makes me feel part of something so much more vast and eternal. I am just a big picture kind of person. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am happy to think that my family and friends have been this close to me all along. We have been sharing stories, much longer than we have known. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-31896571918239802482011-01-05T10:16:00.001-08:002011-01-05T10:17:37.547-08:00a legend from the valleyOne night I dreamt of a terrible tragedy. Of trembling angels because a dark monster stole all the glitter of the moon. He came in a dark cloak. He took the moon in his hands and shook it till all the gems had been lost and tossed it back to the sky with a smirk.<br /><br />No one after that would ever know what a glorious thing the moon once was. They would not know how people used to spend hours gazing at it in the night sky. How could they be taught, that it was as glorious as the stars it stood amongst.<br /><br />The angels wept with grief and a great woeful hush fell across the worlds. But this cloaked man, he had no regret. He walked with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face, everyday. He turned to the moon one night and spoke to the lusterless bauble, to her he said, you will no longer steal the light of my darling the Sun.<br /><br />One day an old man came to the valley and began to tell a legend of this cloaked man. He had come for revenge against the moon. Ages ago he had fallen in love with the sun. He had watched her shine and shine, for centuries and longed for her. He would begin at dawn, wooing and seducing Sun. Everyday just when he got close enough to kiss her, she would disappear and out would come the moon and beam at him. All his work and charm were lost because of Moon. For years he begged Moon, to wait, and give him a little more time with Sun, but she was stubborn and rarely gave him more than a few seconds. So finally tired of Moon’s unbending nature, Sky dawned his dark cloak and took from Moon what she loved most. She had always been shallow, proud of the ability to eclipse the stars. What Sky didn’t realize in his battle with her, is that Sun would still have to leave him every day, no matter how he dealt with Moon.<br /><br />Eventually, people began to love Moon again. After the theft of her radiance she became simple and sweet. Even though Sun grew brighter with pride, Moon could not be forgotten, because she would always have her own light. Poor Sky, even though he walked around his chest puffed and beginning again in his pursuance of Sun, it was a battle lost already. For Sun was becoming the shallower of the sisters now, with no one to compete with her glitz and shimmer. Sky soon realized what he had cost the worlds and he now spent every night in his dark cloak. Every so oft he thought he found one of her lost gems, but he could not do much more. Every night he would come in his dark cloak, apologize, and every night she would forgive. What they both began to love most of all, was the part that came after, when the spoke of all that they had not known in their younger years, sharing stories and hopes, some poetry too. Soon Sky too came to know why, so many had loved Moon.<br /><br />So legend goes of Sun, Moon, and Sky. The angels have since stopped weeping, and praising this unforeseen love. Now the legend gives lesson of the temporary nature of flirtation of Sun and Sky. But what it truly teaches is of a love that grew from the simplicity of friendship. And because of their love Moon and Sky in his dark cloak meet every night, giving lovers of our world, a chance, a hope to find a love like theirs. What a gift we got, from such an accidental love.AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-50918932419345041432010-11-04T19:38:00.000-07:002010-11-04T19:42:39.952-07:00a lost darling<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Off you went to see the market place of old Algiers and what little of me I thought you’d take of me was left behind. I wonder if you got lost amongst the trinkets. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Maybe it was the shiny jewels that twinkled much brighter than me, or was it the gleam of gold that distracted you, no, no darling it must have been the twists and turns of the vines painted on surfaces so smooth you couldn’t look away.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One day when we meet, we’ll be much older and wiser, that day you can tell me the story of the market place, that day I’ll be able to admit, it wasn’t the trinkets or the weather, that day I’ll admit –it was a woman with hair darker than mine, and lips much pinker.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You’ll tell me a story of how her tinkling laugh stole your heart, and I’ll already know it.</p> <span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But little darling, you’ll wake to find her dark hair and lips of pink aren’t what they used to be.<span> </span>That day you may remember the joy of my laughter, but I’ll be long gone –off to see the pyramids along the Nile.</span></span><span style="font-size: 15px; "> </span></p></span></span><p></p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-26640140185570505382010-10-11T19:38:00.000-07:002010-10-11T19:50:09.990-07:00defying different<p class="MsoNormal">You don’t have to know everything about someone to feel good sitting next to them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Friends don’t have to be open books, as long as they’re open about the right things. We draw our own lines, from the moment we meet to the moment we leave. We take all the colors of our friendships and draw boundaries. But boundaries don’t have to mean holding back; they just mean some things are left unsaid. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We tell ourselves that the people closest to us are those that we know most about. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But what’s to say a moment’s glance isn’t as bonding as a lifetime. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Maybe in that moment two people read each other through and through. Maybe they felt the other reach out, for a moment of glorious happiness, or was it an unforgettable sadness. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">We are all human, though languages may keep us a world apart, the stirrings of our hearts will always bring us together. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>How can we keep pretending we don’t know the joy or the ache of that soul across a border? A border we created, because we wanted to make ourselves different from one another. Why did distinguishing ourselves mean having to hate someone else? Were we not born of the same Adam and Eve? We all laugh; all our eyes shed tears, and in all our veins courses the same red blood. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What a world we are making, trying to be so different from one another that we forget to understand one another. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Taking each other’s homes and calling it victory. Separating mothers and fathers from children to destroy families.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Parting lovers across a line, while their love wilts and they long for each other. These are the things our borders do. These are the deeds of our differences. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I refuse to let you draw lines in my world. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-42486204505640061022010-06-03T08:29:00.000-07:002010-06-03T09:00:08.817-07:00murmurs of Mourning<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">There is something in the wind, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">Whispering among the leaves, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">A sound simmering in the streets. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">I didn’t recognize it upon its arrival, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">But then she couldn’t help herself,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">And Mourning started murmuring, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">To me she said that she was here, for me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">I told Mourning she was mistaken, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">This couldn’t possibly be true, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">For I was enjoying the summer heat, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">Melting every morning, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">And letting the evening wind make me whole again. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">What would I need her murmurs for? </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">She smiled a smile, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">Tinged with agony. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">As I slept through the summer storm, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">Mourning watched over me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">It was kind of her to stay, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">Little did I know I would wake looking for her. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">There it was again, the smile of lament. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">I thanked her for coming, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">As I laid my head to rest on her shoulder. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">She began to hum, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">A song I felt I had heard before, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">But this time Mourning and I both knew, </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">I wouldn’t be staying here anymore. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:67.5pt">She had come to take me with her. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-51172141485144904212010-03-01T09:43:00.001-08:002010-03-01T21:53:42.932-08:00just be<p class="MsoNormal">Words are lost; everything is made of dreams and sugarplums. Look past the crumbling hearts and desires. Hear the thoughts that have come undone. Sway with me, baby just sway. Let’s not let this music go to waste. As our hips speak, don’t let our eyes meet.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tomorrows and yesterdays hold no meaning here. We are only what we are, here and now. So be what you will and I will accept you. I’ll take your depth and your shallow. Just breathe as I breathe and we will land among the stars. The shimmer of the stars sprinkled on our skin. Let’s not let this stardust go to waste. Make your wishes and run away with me.</p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-50736417249549919792010-02-19T23:04:00.000-08:002010-02-19T23:06:02.190-08:00disposition<p class="MsoNormal">I wonder sometimes what it would be for you to see what I see. I wonder would your heart skip a beat, would your breath get caught. Maybe the sky would seem bluer to you and the sunshine just a little warmer. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think to myself maybe you would feel the butterflies. Would my innocence be recaptured in your eyes. When I blurt out silly strings of words, if you could listen, then maybe you would hear what I was really trying to say. I never mean to set up the distance. I never meant to bring you down from sitting among the stars. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wonder if we could sit together and just let our own symphony take its course. Hand it off to the orchestra and let them do the work, while we lay with the petals of this entrapment of ourselves. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Maybe my heart would seem a little less cold, and yours would find some forgiveness for me. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All I want is to take in these beautiful fleeting moments. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-13092256029695572842010-01-26T21:49:00.000-08:002010-01-27T13:39:47.428-08:00resillience<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Spill, spill, spill, watch her heart flutter, as her words stutter. </span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">What a tainted heart she carries. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Such a painted face she wears. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Keeping veiled eyes, in all her crimes.</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">In the cover of night, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Wandering in alleys so dark, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Waiting for the stars to fall.</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Break, break, break, watch her heart flutter, as her words stutter.</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Pieces of a soul, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Lie in a puddle. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Leaving empty eyes.</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">A prayer whispered, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Such faith mustered, </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">Even her tired shoulders straighten.</span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height:normal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CCFFFF;">She will rise, rise, rise, even as you watch her heart flutter, and her words stutter. </span></span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p></div>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-63608204660906645042010-01-17T19:30:00.000-08:002010-01-17T19:41:05.903-08:00trauma to his heart<p class="MsoNormal">He sat across the room, staring intently at my hands as I fiddled out of nervousness. I barely had words. I barely had my mind. It wasn’t till he started to speak that I realized he might need more of an explanation than I was willing to give. So I twisted the ring, his eyes grew fierce and I spoke the only words I could find. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I can’t.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">He stormed out and I let out a sigh of relief. What had I done, and had I any idea where I would go from here? I sat, my back against the door. I heard his footsteps come back, a knock, another, and even a third. But I held my breath. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I heard him call my name, collapse against the door, and wait. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">What I had done to this man, he would not understand for many years to come. When he said he wanted to wait, it hurt to hear my voice brusquely tell him there was no need. All the questions in his eyes, in his face. He reached out, only to find me stepping back. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I turned him back into a boy. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-12298190167758767872010-01-03T17:21:00.000-08:002010-06-29T10:50:37.755-07:00remnants of a wedding<p class="MsoNormal">Broken glass bangles are strewn across my floor. They shatter so quickly when I’m in a rush. Golden things on my bedside table, that had been adorned so gracefully just hours before.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All the makings of princesses lie across shelves and among a mess on the floor. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The tinkle of bangles chimed in with my laughter. And laugh I did, with so much giddy happiness. A smile flashed across my face through the night. All I knew was everyone was happy. The shine and shimmer were priceless and forever. We let the glitter last all night. We peered into the gleam of gold and hoped it was all we’d need. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-73561499959214941102009-12-28T23:25:00.000-08:002010-04-06T00:16:05.846-07:00simpletons<p class="MsoNormal">Love, drip, drip, drips, like honey. Her golden skin and brown eyes are deeper than the ocean for him. But what does he know, such a simple man, he thinks he can keep a simple woman happy. So they go walking on oceans and swimming in fields of grass. He hands her rays from the sun and she laughs a melodious laugh. Till one day she notices, a tug at her sleeve from a man with eyes so blue, she gets lost. So what of the simple man and what of his simple world. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">He thinks of her love, that used to drip, drip, drip like honey. It still brings a sweet taste to his mouth and a salty tear to his eye. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>That simple woman who got lost in the man with blue eyes. And he wonders if her love is still the same, if her brown eyes are still as deep as the ocean, if her world is still simple. He walks in a grey world, the concrete, the buildings, the lampposts. Everything is simple and empty. He shouldn’t have given her the rays of the sun, she took them with her in her golden skin. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The lackluster simplicity of grey can only be broken by green. The emerald green of her eyes. They make him dream, but they are not simple and that he can see. Now he knows, he may be simple, but not she. And so the simple man gives the green-eyed girl a bouquet of the purple <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>dusky sky, some breezy winds, and a few summer nights. She holds his hand and walks on oceans and swims in the fields of grass with him, happily. Her love, bubble, bubble, bubbles like champagne, for this simple man. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">One day as he dances he thinks to himself, “ She is not simple, but her love is. She was simple, but her love was not.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">That simple man is not so simple anymore. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-6177896115502336512009-12-23T20:25:00.000-08:002009-12-23T20:33:42.295-08:00my trialI carved their names, upon my heart,<div>In the deepest, darkest places. </div><div>Their cuts are the deepest and darkest, too. </div><div>I watch the colors turn from red to almost black. </div><div>I stand motionless as they name my charges. </div><div>Tearstained and scarred,</div><div>Tied together, ready to go down. </div><div>We stood, </div><div>Minutes before the dawn. </div><div>We waited for the sky to give us hope. </div><div>Breathing just barely,</div><div>Our limp souls breaking, </div><div>Our dear hearts aching, </div><div>We stood waiting. </div><div>Thirsty for the dawn,</div><div>We drank in the light that seeped into the dark sky.</div><div>The rising sun gave us permission to close our eyes. </div><div>The trial had passed and I would live. </div><div>So we sank slowly.</div><div>We laid,</div><div>With our eyes closed, </div><div>And our limp souls, healing. </div><div>Our dear hearts mending. </div><div>We laid waiting. </div><div><br /></div>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3407483892514360878.post-7758916740408756962009-12-17T21:17:00.000-08:002009-12-17T22:14:17.884-08:00lost and found<p class="MsoNormal">I never understood why absence makes the heart fonder. I never understood what it was about distance that made people romanticize reality. The older I get the more of it I see.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">It will always be the prodigal son that gets the sacrifice. It is always those who are lost, that are celebrated when they’re found. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It is an odd way of the world, to disregard those who are always found. </p>AWhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09136950735031831573noreply@blogger.com2