In The Other Hours...: 2011

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Saved

You didn't know me then...
Before this body was so stained.
I wish you could have saved me...
Before, that beast came and drained...
What youth was left in me...
The girl that he drank down...
But, you didn't know me then...
Now there's nothing left to be found.

If you were just a few steps faster...
If time had gone just a bit slower...
Maybe things would have been different...
Maybe then you would have known her...

If fate had but, a different name...
Than my simple one upon his lips...
Perhaps these scars wouldn't be so deep...
Scars on my body from tenured whips...

I wish you could have saved me...
I wish the dream could've played out...
The house, innocence, white picket fence....
All things I'll learn to live without...

I wish you could've known me...
Before I ever knew his name...
Before I ever came to this town...
Before I was, what I became...

Because this is all that's left of me...
Sullied, fearful, horrors left untold...
I'd offer you the best of me...
But, there is nothing left to hold.

Friday, June 10, 2011

The Edge Of Glory

Through the shadows of the darkness...
Through the waves of a mighty sea...
There was a light shining full of glory...
A place where sickness shall never be.

A soft grass waiting for your footsteps...
Warm sunshine falling upon the pine...
A garden there for you to tend to...
Where peace and happiness grow entwined.

You always had a kind word, a warm embrace...
And your love lives on, and shall always be...
The reminder, this is not goodbye forever...
That one day too, His grace will set us free...

It's been long, hanging on this edge of glory...
On this hillside so steep and hard to climb....
And then a voice said "You're here...you made it....
Lay down your troubles, put your hand in mine"

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

The Resurrection

I see the unearthed hole in the ground...
I thought I had buried you away.
Now you stand before me, covered in dirt...
You say it is resurrection day...

I thought I'd washed you from my skin,
But, those marks are starting to aggress,
Taking with them, the little I've held on to
Surfacing the girl crying in protest...

I'd hoped I'd drowned the memories of you...
Because, it was either them or me...
But, now there back like a tsunami...
Waters so strong that I can't flee.

I'm breathing the same air as you...
Walking the same old familiar streets...
Knowing that, you know, I know...
I'm never too far, out of your reach.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Over Time

Sand keeps slipping through the glass
There's not much of it left today...
I've sat and watched it for so long...
I try to keep those thoughts at bay.

Though times like these; they abate me,
I'm left hungering for something more...
Left thirsting from those empty promises,
Quiescent truths I couldn't see before...

Insipid oxygen constricts my horizons
And moments come when I can't breathe
Overwhelmed by how I came to be here
And why it is, I can't seem to leave...

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say...

I have been writing ever since I was very young though my writing style has changed a bit over the years.
In the words of another great writer "poetry has not been a purpose for me but, a passion."

The pieces I've written have come to me whenever and wherever they deem fit. Many of my poems were originally composed on scrap pieces of paper, napkins, the back of receipts, wherever I could find a place to write down what was in my head at that moment. Sometimes late at night when I couldn't sleep because those words were spinning around in my head...

Most of my work may have what some would consider a "dark" tinge to it, however, please do not mistake me with the "Let the world end, life holds no purpose" writers as that is not who I am.

That being said, my writing comes easiest to me when I honestly "feel" it, and most of the intense feelings I have dealt with, tend to deal with the more complicated things in life; that is why you will most likely never see a poem written by me about rainbows, butterflies and flowers....but, I'll never say never because perhaps, someday I'll be inspired to do so :)

With my poetry, I've felt every word I've ever written... every last syllable was drawn out from an emotion I felt until there was nothing left to take. Each one is tied to a memory that, to this day, even a poem I wrote years and years ago...I can read it and remember that moment and that feeling. My writing comes from a place of honesty that is sometimes painful for me to admit to; difficult to embrace.

Still, I find it necessary to not only face it but, to welcome it...because it has helped me to grow up; to see a side of things and life that maybe I'm not as comfortable with and I feel I'm a better person for it.
I have lived a lot of life at the age of 23 now, some unfortunate circumstances have brought me to where I am but, if I could change one thing, I would not, because I wouldn't be who I am or where I am without those things pushing me to get here.

One of my favorite quotes is by Natalie Babbit, she said "You don't have to live forever, you just have to live" and that is what I try to do.

I enjoy writing some in French and Latin. Some of the titles and some of the poems here may contain some lines of French or Latin in them.

I often enjoy writing in a confined element such as sonnets, villanelles and triolets. Many people do not use these forms of writing anymore but, I still enjoy them.

I also enjoy painting and drawing when I get the time to do it and I have combined certain pieces of my art with certain poems here.

In compiling my work here, it is my hope and desire, that if nothing else, some piece of my writing will reach out and touch at least one person in the way that so many other writers have done for me.

In The Other Hours...