Deep within us Echos of the past taunt. Some tainted with regrets left unforgiven. Scars that will never diminish. We walk among the living- the actors perfecting the imperfect, desiring acceptance. A delusion created centuries ago parading through years. Memories of pain and suffering lurk, lurching for freedom. But the stigma remains. The shaking locked box determined to be open still remains closed. A shattered world of broken glass aimlessly walked on knowing one day we will stub our toes. The thinnest thread holding us up will one day grow weak and gravity will take hold. Our echos of our past will determine our destiny. Are we destined to lay weeping of guilt, pain, shame of a past that can no longer be changed? Or are we destined for something more? Something to turn that little corner of your frown upside down.
Is there a home I can just walk in;
Be myself, forget the troubles that hold within.
Is there a mirror I can hide in;
Smash to pieces, left me on the other side of it.
Past mistakes left haunting me.
Can’t change anything-
The past is the past.
Is there a war I can walk away from;
Better yet, something I wouldn’t be blamed to start.
Is there a white flag I can wave some;
Then maybe then the war would finally come to seize.
Can’t anybody see me?
Gem hidden I’ll remain.
December 2, 2016
There is a sudden inkling,
Achingly, tugging at my bones.
Beyond that darkened glass
What eyes linger?
Insanity takes over the mind
From a past I can’t rewind.
A cold, lifeless heart,
Still beating in my chest,
Screams, “Do over! Do over!”
Like a rain dance to call on the rain,
I send my tune to the heavens.
The stars twinkle,
But they do not respond.
Each day broken glimpses of the past.
Look ahead, but without hope
What’s the use?
This zombie walks among the living.
Feeding on negativity,
Crying for positivity,
Aching to be heard,
To be understood.
A body, signs of living.
A soul merely present.
Eyes, the window to the soul,
Sleeping for ages.
Lost with time.
“is the essence in which we burn.”
Time will never pause for the mere mortal.
Flesh begins to rot,
Soon stand before the door of St. Peter,
Who will either deny
Or welcome with open arms.
In this world, we are destined to love.
We are created
To communicate with the world around us.
Yet, in this world,
Are some who feel the weight of the world.
They once carried their heart on their sleeve,
Only to be left with scars, cuts, bruises, and scrapes.
In this world,
There are some,
with eyes not tearing,
Streams that could one day drown them.
There are some,
Living for tomorrow; yet,
Others running from the sheer thought.
December 3, 2016