Creative Writing
My Heart
My heart sits beyond recognition
It has been mangled and tangled
Ripped, and shredded,
Molded back into form,
then torn apart, thrown asunder.
It has loved, it has despised.
It has been victim to lover’s lies
It has bled from wounds
Foolish love, eagerly supplies.
Yet it still beats, in shambles.
Is God trying to tell me something?
In its mangled form, is there wisdom?
Must I suffer from past transgressions
Before I can escape its suppression?
Have I not paid my dues?
If so, please know, I’ve tried.
Surely He knows what I’ve done
He knows of my sins,
He knows I’ve realigned, though
Is it not enough to derive
A forgiveness from his bosom?
Is it not enough to bare these pains?
Have I much longer to suffer,
before He shows me the way?
I am a lost sheep, take me home again.
Luna’s Revolution
Selfish Men
She was always an object to the men in her life
They would say she is beautiful, breath taking, their go-to line
They never truly appreciate what dwells inside her
The mind of a scholar, the heart of gold, the wit sharp as a dagger
She bares a treasure far greater than physical beauty
Yet she possesses Aphrodite’s essence in entirety
Still so much more lay beneath her ivory skin
So much more stowed behind her saint-like grin.
That what selfish-men worship as her exterior is but a vessel.
No matter how finely ornamented, or perfumed it may be
The truth lives deep inside, far from selfish men’s reach.
And if God may strike the next selfish-man blind, he may at last witness
Her words of wisdom caress his heart in a pure bliss.
For his vision no longer betrays, and she, loved as a whole
Not for the objects a selfish man too often beholds.
The Rose Bush
Misplaced affection steals my heart
It hides in a delicate looking bush
Quaint and colorful, full of life
Red, white and green envelope my vision
As I creep closer, I am met with a fragrance
One that drives deep into my senses
A passion one cannot hope to contain
It takes me prisoner, and I hardly struggle.
The closer I get as it reels me in
I see what may be needles in the thicket
And as my hand grasps for a flower
I wince in foolish agony.
For I was mistaken at first glance
This bush hides a terror
Far outweighing its splendor
And I recoil, my hope now razed.
The End
Have I hit the bottom of the well?
Is it time now, for a new beginning
For a new heart to swell
With love, instead of its petulant pining?
Can I now climb into the sky
Where robins chirp in gaiety
Where dreams are never too high?
Can I now rid my heart of frailty?
Is this the end of an era
Where drear thoughts roaming at sea
Now give way to a golden terra;
To beach my vessel, and set my love free?
To roam virgin lands
Which before lay beyond my reach
To plunge my feet in warm sands
Where gladly my tired toes breach.
Death Blow
It hits like a breath of fresh death.
Reliving days now six feet under,
rekindling memories of affection and treachery.
No escape from the blinding actions of my youth.
No longer do I fear the end,
no longer do I fear oblivion,
the nothingness that may envelope my soul as I
walk away from your overwhelming presence… after all,
you’ve got quite the reputation for doling out death-blows.
So I’ll take my chances out on that lonely road.
The Unstoppable Force and the Immovable Object
He looks on in amazement
At this woman thrust into his life.
Without choice or regret
He is torn between the light and
The dark corner he’s spent
Most of his life.
It’s happening all over again.
Boy meets girl, boy falls for girl,
Boy destroys himself trying to abstain
Boy loses himself in another
Of his darkest realms, created
In the mind that can’t know any better
He doesn’t know what is real
Or what is forged. He’s confused
It eats him alive, it tears at his soul.
He lets no one else know, he lives alone.
Yet he wants terribly to love again.
He just wants to once again, feel.
It saddens me…
… that in this day and age, the majority of my generation cares more for what we display on the outside, rather than focus on the souls we stow on the inside. Until this trend diminishes, I do not see myself finding true love, but rather ignorant love.
Hope: In My Head
Hope is everywhere if you look for it.
It is in the green lights you get when you are late for a rendezvous.
It is a newborn baby’s cry, entering the world in a fit of confusion.
It is the seed sprouting its first tendril into the rich soil.
It lies at the bottom of a fountain resting with the desires of many.
Hope transcends in different form to all. But I find it of utmost importance to our human psyche, that we continue to hope in the eye of danger or uncertainty.
For the car you are driving may swerve uncontrollably, negating the lucky-light draw.
The babe may cease its cry due to a cause unseen by the practitioners.
The seed may soon be tainted with ghastly elements we pour into the earth.
And the coin you lay your dreams upon, may never be selected by the Gods.
We cannot allow ourselves to dwell upon those technicalities, for what will happen, will happen uncontrollably, sometimes inexplicably. But with hope, these negating possibilities needn’t bring us down. With hope, the negatives never shine through. They don’t plague our train of thought. With hope, we can simply look toward our desires and feel happy that they are even a possibility in this hectic world.
