The cracks inside her soul went deep,
some going further than they seemed,
but each time it rained
the flowers grew
between the lines
of her sidewalk soul,
making her smile
at the seeds
that planted them there.
Photo Credit: <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/photos/47786740@N00/17637184695/”>Kenny_lex</a> Flickr via <a href=”http://compfight.com”>Compfight</a> <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>
I wander if Autumn ever gets scared,
Knowing it will soon
Loose it’s splendor
In submission to the changing
Breathe of Winter,
Or if it welcomes it with open arms,
In surrender of the change,
Knowing that it’s time has passed
And that it must move on,
Delivering itself to the desolate
Wonder that lies ahead.
Or if it sighs not wanting to give in
To the beauty that it knows is waiting,
Because it would mean losing
Photo Credit: isiltasuna Flickr via Compfight cc
We try our hardest to be free,
Free from expectations,
Free of the chains of time,
Free of the things that weigh us down,
From the things that make us, human,
Even the bodies we are locked in.
We do everything we can to tell ourselves we are,
Because nothing can convince us,
Though we won’t admit it.
We can’t comprehend the idea that we are already free,
Because to do so we would have to admit
To full surrender.
I won’t stay quiet forever,
I’m sick of going silently insane,
Not saying a word
For the sake of everyone but me.
Screaming on the inside
At all the fake around me,
Can none of you see it?
Pretty on the outside,
But rotten to the core,
Stop trying to deceive me,
And just pick one already.
Put down the facade
And show me something real.
No time to put on shoes,
from the kitchen with a handful of glasses to catch the rain,
back and forth she went,
till the cupboard was emptied of everything of use,
and the driveway was scattered with glasses half full,
tears came down her face
as she watched the raindrops hit the ground,
trying to smile she looked up at the sky,
begging it not to cry,
she couldn’t understand what had made it so upset.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“The sky is crying mommy, and I couldn’t catch it’s tears.”
“But that’s what the ground is for,
it catches all the tears that the clouds cry,
and it grows flowers to make the sky happy again.”
Just a little story for a rainy day…take of it what you will, hopefully it made you smile a little.
Photo Credit: <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/photos/92146676@N04/32130454131/”>SoePhotos</a> Flickr via <a href=”http://compfight.com”>Compfight</a> <a href=”https://www.flickr.com/help/general/#147″>cc</a>
I hate the things that I don’t say,
the lost goodbyes,
and the blank pages,
or the empty silence
when there’s something left to say,
you came to me and wanted to know
why I always waited
to speak before
I was invited
the logic of waiting,
is not an easy one to reason,
I’m not sure that even I
can read it’s mind
much less my own,
so I’ll just keep asking the same one
as if it didn’t make sense
They sit there,
Their black silhouettes painting a picture
Against the morning sky,
Of silent music written in the power lines,
Patiently waiting for no one
But the one who writes the melody,
Giving them a reason to sing.
I’ve never been good at remembering birthdays,
or what we talked about two minutes ago,
But I swear,
I’ll remember your favorite song
till the day I die,
history is lost on me,
but I’ll remember the story you told me two years ago that made you smile,
I’ll forget your name the first five times I meet you,
but that’s only because I’m busy memorizing the color of your eyes and how they light up when you laugh,
class after class of memorized facts,
but i still remember everything you’ve ever said to me,
I remember everything important,
I remember you,
if I’m forgetting it’s because I’m busy remembering.
It’s like picking Rose petals,
Plucking promises I don’t know how to keep,
and trusting in all the wrong things.
Here take this,
No I’ve got it,
I’ll just take care of this one,
It’s a never ending field of flowers,
You’d think I’d learn my lesson,
There’s just one flaw with my own logic,
All petals picked
By my own hand eventually die anyway.