Anxiety, unrest,
coasting on the edges
of a self-possessed
sinking ship,
self-esteem mentality.
Speak up-
you are a significant
voice of arbitrary
means of understanding.
A different angle,
an anchor on your well-being,
and while still,
sailing by, is Despair
in her mask
of charming lies.
“Everything’s Okay”
or so she says.
I cannot look back
to the past of misery
deceit and mistakes laid out
one after another.
Anger- dropped
pouring to the floor
is a shred of self-respect.
Stop being angry for
the advantage of others.
Stuff It Down.
Stuff it down.
The grudge of grand proportions.
I cannot cope
in a constructive style.
Smiles and grinding teeth to the gums.
I will not open my mouth
to spew my personal truth.
It is not effective.
It is not endearing.
How I feel is kneeling,
hands holding shoulders down.
I can’t get up from a state
of self induced hate
without fighting the hands
that keep me kneeling
to indignation.
I don’t have the energy
to deal with disappointment.
Joy is found
in every
Christmassy winter snow.
What you seek to find
is hidden deep inside
your melancholy pride.
The sadness may spark
beauty in a world so dark.
Know, your willingness to pay
it forward for a day
could hand the hopeless
a new heart of gold.
In the unknown we see
a face for each story untold.
We find the willingness to give
to those with lives tough to live.
So, Share Your Sadness
with those who seek
new beginnings
and times less bleak.
I am not who I once was.
I am awake to the truth
of bitter mistakes.
Let go-
how I would love to let go
but the memory
of wayward wrongdoing
digs deep within,
burrowing in my brain.
You have grown old
-withered like an unwatered houseplant.
See, I am not like you
I am outside in the weather,
and the sun, and the rain
and the rocky terrain:
They were my friends,
when, on you, I could not depend.
I Am Not Alone!
Right for me,
what is right for me?
The sting of lost faith
touches each tale
I’ve ever told. . .
Been told before-
I am not unique
I am a relative.
I’ve strung together
every sad story
turned to idol’s gold.
See, I am golden
in my mind,
no idol, but the
sun to shine
on wintry days decline.
I melt In The Atmosphere
of warmth
and almighty adoration.
Natures being
is seeing
a harsh reality.
Natural disasters
-divine-
tell of what’s to come.
An omen of outstretched hands
-togetherness to rebuild
the city nature left to crumble.
Nature is not your friend,
it’ll weather you to a foggy end,
and in her beauty, you will see
God’s wrath among the sea.
A hurricane’s fright
headed towards your home
in the night.
With all the lives
that nature took,
how can we overlook
The Somber State of
our existence?
The thought had crossed my mind,
of you,
from time to time.
Our growing affection,
our growing life.
Learning to embrace change
in a world which never stops.
Hope is like a swinging grace,
He swoops in and takes my place.
I welcome Optimism,
He’s the family
I never had
when life grew sad.
“Rejoice,” He said,
When is it enough?
Struggle and strive,
for what?
Enough is enough,
enough is enough. . .
When?
When will it be?
Every hit or miss,
mostly miss,
mostly miss.
In my Antagony
I fail to see
the point.
I’d love to have my world
painted in gorgeous,
but life is not that.
Life is not painted in gorgeous.
Life is printings of dated maps,
covering unsightly holes
in the walls of,
“I didn’t ask for this.”
The curse of humanity,
woven to repeat history.
The world is beyond my gaze
of masterful praise.
It spoke to me through
the rhythm of the waterfalls.
I look the other way-
A picture I once saw,
now hanging
on the holey walls
of my memory.
A river stone to save
I’m lost without faith
in my broken space.
Shattered glass-
nothing broke.
I’ve awoken
to spoken
woes of attempts
at peace.
And Worry will not cease
to keep me searching
for the sound of shattered glass
in my broken space.
It seems as if the sound
is from outside the grounds,
and everything around
can’t shatter Growing Faith
in my broken space.