poetry

Because Dad told you he'd be here forever. Because I thought forever was like Mars -- far away.

You must remain. I must depart.Two autumns falling in the heart.

i smile. things taken for granted have a way of catching you offguard when you least expect it, and then you're taken by what the portuguese calls saudade, a sense of longing for something, someone not there anymore.

Pages burnt, memories buried, I wakeor think I'm awake. Or dreaming still?

The world you are in __s the true hell.The journey to Truth itselfIs what quickens the heart to become lighter.The lighter the heart, the purer it is.The purer the heart, the closer to light it becomes.And the heavier the heart,The more chained to this hellIt will remain.

Unforgiveness,splinter in your breastbone, lives there lodged like a small tree.Withers in winter, looms in spring. Its fruit is sweet on first bite, then turns into the taste of your own flesh.

Dear Forgiveness, you know that recentlywe have had our difficulties and there are many thingsI want to ask you.

Be with someone who willingly runs in the storm with you, not someone who cowers away because of turbulent winds.

I'm the girl that goes backwards, takes wrong turns, stumbles in the dark. I'm also the girl that finds gold where others feared to stray. Perhaps because I follow my heart instead of sage advice thrown my way. I don't want to become numb by always playing it safe. Many of our most cherished times happen when we shatter the damn box, step off the safety zone and listen to the sound of our soul.

I haven__ been very impressed lately.By people,or places,or the way someone said he loved me and then slowly changed his mind.

A book about books is like a poem about poetry:Books are knowledge, paid for, all.Readers - horses in a stall.Stallions should always run.Lest they stale become, in turn.Running waters are most clear.In some books, you disappear __ose yourself, and track of time.How I wish that one was mine...Mine, to have, to write, to read...Mine, just like a flying steed.Mine, forever, - to improve.Would I then, of me, approve?I would not, I can't... myself.I'm but dust, swept off a shelf.Fly, can I, just 'til I'm settled,down, beside my flower, petalled.

Since it has quietly began to snow,new distances have awakened within me.

Promise me this. When you find yourself in need of inspiration, bypass the roses that will clamor aimlessly for attention. And focus on the souls who have actually 'lived' among the thorns.

If I read inspirational words, they better have some pain to back them up. My strength for moving forward has never been sparked by flowery prose calling me and Angel. Tell me how you swallowed Hell, and lived to tell the tale... the 'pain' and your transformation - will inspire me to soar. And I promise you, I will listen.

Her eyes, full of ancient, sacred wisdom. Her bones, deposits of inherited bravery. She is a proud descendant of strong, courageous women who went to the stakes fighting for their truths.

You think it's time for a new beginning. You long to start from scratch, so you seek new things - trying like hell to reinvent yourself. Out with the old and in with the world's new. But you'll never create a version of yourself that is as magical and unique as the original. So... just be you.

The gilded spiralOf longings within.Our very own cathedralThat points persistently to heaven.

I am sad, like the hot dust on the streetsAnd the music of fresh fallen leavesCaught in a sliding summer breeze.