Wasting Away

Wasting Away

Walking along the dark path edge,
Emotions full, creating their wedge
Carving a hole, deep from within
Full of resentment, aching with sin.

Hatred heavy, lies on my soul
Deceit closes in, taking its toll
Pain and suffering, wasting away
Darkness abounds, I have no say.

What I've become, a hard empty shell
Deeper and deeper my life living hell
Swallowed bitterness, churning inside
My spirit undone, yet quiet it hides.

Black stony silence, harshly it stares
Looking so boldly, in anger it glares
Earth's dank pit, holds nothing but death
Memories in ashes, nothing is left.

By: Christy Henderson

The Brink of Insanity!

Walking along the dark path edge,

Emotions full, creating their wedge

Carving a hole, deep from within

Full of resentment, aching with sin.

Hatred heavy, lies on my soul

Deceit closes in, taking its toll

Pain and suffering, wasting away

Darkness abounds, breaking the day.

What I've become, a hard empty shell

Deeper and deeper my life living hell

Swallowed bitterness, churning inside

My spirit undone, quiet it hides.

Black stony silence, harshly it stares

Looking so boldly, in anger it glares

Pit of the earth, nothing there death

Ashes of memories, nothing is left.

Unbroken Pain

Unbroken Pain

Silence, an unbroken span of quiet,
Emotions on edge, the very brink of riot,
My feelings screaming to be heard,
Yet my mouth, speaking no word.

Do you hear my thoughts, left unsaid?
The voices that tumble around in my head?
Careening along, faster and faster they go,
My face a mask, no emotions will show.

My spirit is dying, tired, broken, un-whole,
Weeping skies above, clouds crash and unfold.
Darkness entreats, it beckons, softly it calls,
Invading and cold, thick blackness falls.

Lying alone, I grow still, in shuttered light,
No longer of interest, your bold new fight,
Raising eyes to the stars, heavens appears,
The song of the night, piercing it sears.

The grayness slinks in, a mist in the night,
Touching all it nears, leaving its blight,
Consuming, it takes the essence of me,
Left as a shell, for those who can see.

Happy thoughts pass, remember a name,
Follows the arrow to carry your shame,
No blame, no pain, no worries, no cares,
Unburdened and cleansed, my soul laid bare.

No more hurt, no more despair,
Deep wounds healed now in repair
The silence is broken, voices now dare,
Loves one true secret, no one will share.

By Christy Henderson

A Moment of Truth

Truth NOUN
1) Conformity to fact or actuality.
2) A statement proven to be or accepted as true.
3) Sincerity; integrity.
4) Fidelity to an original or standard.
5)
a. Reality; actuality.
b. often Truth That which is considered to be the supreme reality and to have the ultimate meaning and value of existence.

Oh the horrors of Reality TV - A recent commercial touting the latest to join the ranks of annoyingly stupid shows called "Moment of Truth"... ah yes, nothing like being strapped to a lie detector and forced to air every bit of dirty laundry you could possibly have! What are these people thinking? And who, in their right mind, would agree to participate!

But really, is telling the truth all it's cracked up to be? We all tell the occasional "white lie" - 'no those pants don't make you look fat' to telling really big whoppers of lies 'no officer, I haven't been drinking'... so is the truth always better? Are there things that we should never lie about? Are there things that are okay to lie about - like our age or weight? What do you think? Are some lies okay and others not? What defines the difference for you? I guess I believe in, for the most part, telling the truth... throwing in the infrequent white lie now and then. (as long as it's not hurting anyone, right!?) Interesting...

Poem

The other day, I found several poems that really spoke to me... and thought I'd share another one...

You Are In Me

Brightest of beings

In sun-surprised February

Flower out of season

You illuminate the night

A falling star

Shower after shower

My sky is empty now

You are in me

By Gabriel Rosenstock

Story Time

Last night the writers group met at a local coffee shop and conducted a class on "Time Management". I should have paid attention (heaven knows that as of late, I've lost some of my 'super-duper, time-organizing skills'!), but I was distracted with thoughts of writing and poetry. Since quite of few of the group were in attendance, I moved over to a small table and set up my laptop - to afford myself a bit of privacy and the ability to concentrate. I have had an idea about a short story, floating in my head and felt it time to put some thought to paper (so to speak). No plans to go into any details about this story idea at this time... perhaps down the road as it unfolds. As someone who has minimal "writing experience", I simply started with what came to mind... basically the opening scene of my story. When it came time to address characters and their names, I fell off into a world of research, investigating names and lineages. It's amazing the things one can discover in the Internet! The research I did last night has given me more ideas about how to tie my story together... and that was awesome! I let my hubby read what little I had written and he gave me some pointers and tips on what direction to take from here... plus advice on character building and outlining. I have a long ways to go... but I must say, I am looking forward to the journey.

Ah, Beloved Love

A POET TO HIS BELOVED
by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

BRING you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme

THE SORROW OF LOVE
by: W.B. Yeats

HE quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves
Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

Have you ever read something that struck a chord within your heart? I've been trying to find a bit of stress relief and have discovered poetry. Some of the poems that I've read, I really enjoyed and others, perplex me. I guess one of the joys of poetry is the discovery of what means something to you, and, as I am finding, it is definitely a learning experience and journey to savor...

I like both of the poems above - for different and many reasons. Both are poems of love - yet are very different. Was Yeats speaking of his true love, his love of country, or something mysterious that those reading cannot imagine? The more I read, the more questions I have... but best of all, I learn.