They talk of beauty in absolute terms
Then subjugate it
To paltry subjectiveness
Till it reaches insulting objectification
I wonder
What become of appreciation
Isn’t gratitude
Its own gratification
Isn’t there a little beauty
In every creation?
Let’s, for once,
Behold it again and
Make that humankind’s salvation?
A gaping hole peered through
Where once a glass ceiling was
Up high
Smiling down at the shattered remnants
A statue of Lady Liberty
Majestically rose
Eons it’s taken
With decades still to go
For the delicately strong lines
Of the Sculptor to show
Writing destiny
Across a marble-like
Pristinity
I know it won’t get me anywhere
But, I do it anyway
I know it won’t help me get recognition
But, I help anyway
I know it won’t lead me to the desired milestone
But, I walk it anyway
I can feel I’m getting sucked into quicksand
But, I paddle anyway
I know I’ll drown if I move an inch further
But, I swim anyway
I know I’m nearing a blackhole
But, I face it anyway
I know I’ll shatter in a fraction of a second
But, I build it anyway
I know life while happen to me any which way
With no set plan
Nor preconceived notion
With no warning, threat or premonition
And yet,
I’m going to live anyway.
Can you love the version of me
I don’t, I don’t let anybody else see?
Can you look beyond what’s visible
To appreciate what’s consequential?
Can you let go of your senses
And see the world as I do, free of all pretences?
Can you love the version of me
With which even I don’t very much agree
Can you accept
To be forever at odds
Knowing full well
That sparring has its own rewards
Can you love the version of me
That’s like a shy child hiding behind a tree
Can you draw me out and break the ice
So that I don’t unduly pout but play nice
Can you love the version of me
That didn’t get the memo to be
A little less of what I think
Instead of every bit of what I feel
Can you love the version of me
That truer than truth and set me free?
Can you love the version of me
I don’t, I don’t let anybody else see?
Cruel mistresses
Memories
Leading you on
With false hopes
Pulling you back
When you need to break free
Bless them
Curse them
Love them
Hate them
There’s no escape
From serving then
But it’s a shipwreck
This life
And the first rule
That sailors swear by
Is to jettison the baggage
Lighten the load
And maybe
Just maybe
The sinking ship
Will right itself
Then steer it on
To better horizons
Gathering more memories
From every port that touches your helm
And then when the time’s ripe
Unload yourself all over again
Because memories
Cruel mistresses be
Any tips on forgetting memories, oh wise sages of the blogosphere? Need to lighten my weary head a tad. Thanks in advance, loves!
And one day you’ll realise
All the hours spent
In Crying
And decrying
Yourself
Weren’t your defeats
Or even proof
Of your weaknesses
Rather
A testament to your strength
For you stared into the abyss
And when it stared right back
You didn’t collapse
But walked on ahead
You survived
And that, my dear,
Makes you
Beyond reproof.
Some days I remember you not at all
And some days it feels like you were never gone
I oscillate, like a pendulum
Between this or that
Wondering which one
Would make my heart a little lighter
In that given moment
I use my weighing scales
To balance out
The weight of my tears
Happy, joyful ones
Against desolate, heart-wrenching cries
They say it’s your loss
That I deserve(d) better
Yet, I feel quite at a loss
Since you’d set my heart aflutter
I sometimes ramble
And at times, I rhyme
But not matter which end of the spectrum
You choose to see
You’ll find that somehow
I’d be forever thine.
A fantasy novel
Of a tale forged in fire
Surrounding two golden hoops
One, a ring
Seeking the mightiest power
One, a crown
Searching its rightful heir
Both overshadowed
By two hearts
Having a single, greatest desire
For adventure and fun
And for doing right
Those tiniest of creatures
Won an uneven fight
Dear Bilbo and Frodo
Who slayed dragons and orcs
You give us hope
That all’s not yet lost
Because as said wise ol’ Samwise Gamgee
There’s still some good in this world
And it’s worth fighting for.
If a writer falls in love with you,
You’re never going to die
He’ll immortalize you in words
From down here to the sky
But what of the agony
Of a non-writer in love?
With no words at his service
To spell out his pain
Much more in number than your heart could ever contain
Would you cry for him then, my dears
A bucketful of tears?
The path to my soul
Is hardly paved with gold
It’s thorny
And prickly
And it’s both hot and very cold
But traverse it, if you will
Thaw and melt along the way
Walk through the twists
And through its turns must you sway
Show me who you are, my dear
And then I’d be sold.
