Beautiful Angel

There are not enough words, or deep enough words, to express the loss that I feel.

My mind is spinning, my soul is burnt, I just can’t believe that it’s real.

It seems that just yesterday you were here right by my side,
and now in a moment you are gone, and a million tears I’ve cried.

I can sit here and stare at pictures, I can bask in your loving glow,
but it doesn’t do much to ease the pain when faced with the truth, I know.

To understand that I will never hear your voice again,
to know that I will never see your face, or ever touch your hand.

To feel the emptiness that lies deep within my heart,
the thought of life without you here is tearing me apart.

But I will whisper now that I love you, in the hopes that you might hear.
I will tell you now that I miss you, and hold your memory dear.

I suppose God needed an angel, and I understand why he chose you.
For you are the perfect person, to do what God wishes, it’s true.

There is no more beautiful angel he could have chosen to have by his side,
and he left us with your memory, which we are blessed to hold inside.

Gone But Not Forgotten

 

Published in: on January 16, 2013 at 2:23 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Bitter Winter Wind

Stuck, in limbo. The branches of a tree without a gust of wind.

Blind, to my surroundings. Like the thick darkness once night sets in.

Faded and faltered. Lost and obscure. Twisted and withered. Innocent and Pure.

Lead me not into temptation as my heart longs to run, but rather to salvation from the person I’ve become.

Absent and lonely. Petulant and mundane.

The thoughts in my head are what makes me insane.

Maxime Maufra - Gust of Wind

Published in: on January 14, 2013 at 2:37 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Premonition

These footsteps have covered so much ground,
have seen this world
twice around,
have walked a mile in another’s shoes,
have spread the word
and heard the news.

These hands have touched the sky, have waved hello
and said good-bye,
have wiped tears and mended wounds,
have held on tight and let things loose.

These eyes have seen much pain,
have experienced joy and
acknowledged shame,
have known the words of broken souls,
have picked up pieces
and made them whole.

This girl has battled the night,
has given up and
won the fight,
has run away and soon returned,
has longed
and loved
and craved
and yearned.

This woman has grown inside,
has lost her heart and stepped aside,
has sacrificed and been abused, has been scarred,
battered and
bruised.

This world has lost its life, has given way to endless strife,
has burned apart
has broken down,
has turned to footsteps on the ground.

These shoes lay alone, in a closet that once was home,
they tell the story of a broken girl,
who dreamed of such a peaceful world.

They have walked a path
not many will take,
have learned lessons
have made mistakes,
have battled on when all was lost,
have been pushed aside at such a cost.

They tell the story of a long-lost world,
of the dreams and hopes
a forgotten girl.

They waste away,

Wild and Stray.

Shattered.

Published in: on September 3, 2012 at 2:41 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Caffeinated

Hot and steamy, black or creamy,
Warm upon my hands.
Paper cups and plastic lids,
People sit and stand.
Conversation, relaxation,
Anger set aside.
Hot and steamy, black or creamy,
Warms you up inside.  

Published in: on June 7, 2012 at 11:45 am  Leave a Comment  
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An Ode to Real Women

I am most comfortable in jeans and t-shirts, I don’t own Gucci bags or Prada shoes.
I am by no means beautiful, I am not Kate Moss, Linda Evangelista, or Christy Turlington.

I have no desire to pose for Playboy, or spend hours each day doing my hair.
I am a ‘real woman’, happy with my reflection, not living in obsession, or superficial perfection.

I embrace my flaws for what they are, a unique part of what make me, me.
I live my life the way I desire whether it suits the image of the media or not.

I am a ‘real woman’, happy with my reflection, not living in obsession, or superficial perfection.

I don’t choose fashion over real life, or compromise myself just to “look good.”
Sometimes my mascara runs, my hair is knotted, and I have stains on my shirt.

I eat greasy burgers and salty fries instead of salads or tictacs’ for lunch.
I don’t count every calorie, workout 4 hours a day or starve myself.

My usual attire may leave much to desire on the runways of Paris, but it fits my life just fine.
There are not fancy dresses, diamonds or tiaras. I am a woman, a parent, a person, a wife.

I am a ‘real woman’, happy with my reflection, not living in obsession, or superficial perfection.

I am me, unique and content just as I am.
I do not need make-up to make me feel sexy, expensive clothes to make me feel pretty, or a man to make me complete.

I am a ‘real woman’, happy with my reflection, not living in obsession, or superficial perfection.

Published in: on December 22, 2011 at 7:40 am  Comments (1)  
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6 Feet Under

Words and anger on the edge of a serrated knife blade.
The light of my soul will flicker and fade.

Abuse and control are the barrel of the gun.
When the sparkle in her eyes is gone, you have won.

Raise your voice, your hand, the knife.
Cut the cord, end a life.

Apologies are bittersweet.
Give it up, admit defeat.

When you stare at the stone that heads my grave,
Remember that death does not mean your brave.

Published in: on December 20, 2011 at 8:18 am  Comments (3)  
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Skin Deep and Drowning…

A homeless man in New York with the American f...

He carried a bag, soaked in urine and thick with filth, he wandered aimlessly along the dark and deserted road in search of somewhere to sit down. He avoided the obvious options such as, park benches and low stone walls, for fear of attracting attention and to appease his need for complete solitude.

His hair was the color of mud after the snow has melted in the spring, slick with oil and in desperate need of a thorough wash, he hid it under an old ragged baseball cap that he found stashed inside a wet paper bag next to the garbage bin of a retail store downtown. The ball cap itself was soiled and the once vibrant logo was faded and frayed. Concealed by the brim of the dingy cap his eyes were a deep shade of gray, the color of weathered steel that sat outdoors through years of storms. They reflected a hard and difficult life, like a mirror into his battered soul they were creased with lines that would surely tell stories of pain, loss and unspoken fear.  They were sad and tired as if tear were constantly brimming juts below the surface waiting to explode at any given moment.

His clothes were a combination of gathered scraps that he had collected along his recent travels. The weather was cold and damp and a tired trench coat hung from his once broad shoulders and depressed  frame. Hidden beneath the folds of the over-sized jacket was a beige sweater that was riddled with stains, and a pair of distressed blue jeans that had been patched a few too many times with shards of material and silver duct tape. On his feet he wore steel toe boots that had long since worn through their soles, the metal of the toes had torn through the exhausted leather that was once soft and pristine. They were boots that someone would have been proud to wear, many years ago. Boots that would have made him money, protected his feet, and fed his family, but they had long since seen their greatest days and were now nothing more than a paper thin barrier against the rain.

He turned down a narrow alley that split two brown brick buildings and navigated his way around puddles of urine and various debris in the dim shadow of the single overhead light. The path grew narrow and the exit to the street beyond was barely big enough for his scant, underfed frame. He squeezed through the opening and stepped into the silent street that housed a number of abandoned factories and run-down auto shops. The road held an ironic resemblance to his own life, long forgotten and left alone to battle the bitter and unjust world. He walked toward the darker corners of the lane-way where the street lights stopped shining and the side-walk gave way to gravel and dirt. The factories and shops soon turned to tall trees and open fields,but even the beauty of nature was littered with signs of man and his never-ending destruction.

At last he came to a tall old oak tree that had lost its leaves among the crisp winter winds, sending them spinning down the streets like a troop of ballet dancers that lost their rhythm and their souls. Setting down his foul bag he rested his back against the strong trunk and looked up to the quickly darkening sky.  The stars were bright and visible away from the city lights, like diamonds that twinkled only for him to see, but he found no peace in the beauty of the night sky. He removed his hat and pulled his coat tighter against his chest to fend off the cold. He sat in silence for a long time, seemingly deep in thought, before he took out a notebook and began to write by the light of the moon and the many stars. With a shaky hand he penned out his story, his legacy and his fate. After hours of furious writing, when the sun was beginning to break over the horizon, he put down the pen and closed his eyes. The front of the leather-bound book, that had cost him every cent he had, read: ‘To Lila With Love, Dad.’

There, under that old tree far off from the city lights a lonely man gave his last words to the daughter he had never seen, he told his story, relived his battle and breathed his last breath of life. He gave his soul to a girl who would never know that he sacrificed everything he ever had to ensure that she had everything she ever wanted, and all that was left to show his suffering was a leather-bound book and some beautiful words.

“To Lila With Love, Never Judge a Book By Its Cover… Dad.”

Published in: on November 20, 2011 at 1:49 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Unforgiven

The sinister things I do, to my own broken mind.
The Lies and the chaos, and the pure waste of time.

It’s brutal the pain I cause to my own battered soul.
The way I shatter the pieces that have never been whole.

It’s insanity, the mistakes that I’ve made.
The ones I repeat, and the those that remain.

It’s loneliness inside my heart.
Bruised and battered and torn apart.

Why do I cause myself such pain?
Why can’t I get ahead in this game?
Why am I hurting myself as I do?
Most importantly, why am I hurting you?

I’ve spent many hours considering these things,
Without the result, or resolution that brings.

I’ve weighed my options to no avail.
My mind stays blank, my choices run stale.

I have no excuse for the decisions I make.
I push and I pull ’till I eventually break.

I wish I could change the way I’ve become,
The way that I am, the damage I’ve done.

I truly wish I could figure this out,
But my heart and my soul are plagued with such doubt.

I can only hope that you’ll understand my fate,
And forgive me my sins and all my mistakes.

Published in: on October 21, 2011 at 12:35 pm  Comments (1)  
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WarZone

The tick of the clock as it passes the time.
I sit here and wait, and to all else I’m blind.
My heart rips apart with every moment alone.
I count down the seconds until you come home.

Far in the distance is the echo of war.
The death of the innocent, the struggles of poor.
The march of the soldiers, like the beat of a drum.
At the end of the violence has anyone won?

Published in: on October 21, 2011 at 2:36 am  Leave a Comment  
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Protected

Soldiers Gather for Twilight Vigil at Fort Hood

Image by The U.S. Army via Flickr

Padlocked chains restrain the hearts of millions around the world,
as they listen to the story of a murdered little girl.

Broken fragments of mirror rip apart her skin,
as she tries to become beautiful just so she’ll fit in.

Rusty old barbwire rips apart my mind,
as I watch the world go crazy and wonder if they’re blind.

Like the footprints of the soldier lost among the fields,
Like the warrior in battle holding sword and shield.

Like the blood of all the soldiers laying on the ground,
Like the pain of all the soldiers standing all around.

Like the anger of the country as they beg this war to end,
Like the anger of the people for that which they defend.

Like the footprints of the soldier lost among the fields,
We walk through life protected by invisible swords and shields.

Published in: on October 13, 2011 at 7:29 pm  Leave a Comment  
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