I Bleed Words Sometimes

Posts tagged “happy

Now what?

Tim Walker

 

Now what?

Should I just let the door CLOSE, and shut out the voices?

Or should I fight, knowing it’s a lost battle?

 

Now what?

Should I pick up the pieces?

Or should I DANCE on them and watch the colours unfurl!

 

Now what?

Are you going to just WATCH as I bare myself, moment by moment, piece by piece, one by one, to one and all?

Aren’t you going to stop me? Slap me? Shake me from my trance?

Do you delight in my reverie?

 

Now what, sweetheart?

Now what?

Is there no beginning after this end?

There should be, the stories say so,

Legend says so

History isn’t going to REPEAT itself?

 

But mama made me believe…

And I believed. Sadly, I still do.

This is going to CHANGE, right darling?

You’ll wake up any moment now,

Abandon your grave and hug me tight?

 

I can’t hear you.

You’re scaring me!

Don’t joke with me anymore!

Just SPEAK to me once baby,

Tell me love…

Now What?

Advertisements

Beautiful Mess

20131227-000651.jpg

She sunk further in to the mess she, so beautifully, created,
Every fissure carved out with love,
Every hammer rammed through with passion,
Every cut traced out and made with precision,
Meticulous detailing of the cracks,
Scratched out blue wallpaper…

She breathed the mess through her soul and it came to be!

Her inspiration, you ask?

Oh! nothing really,

Just her heart.

Just her old, tattered, torn, little heart.


I Miss You

Sometimes I miss you

But I guess I shouldn’t

 

I’ve only to close my eyes and I’ll feel your embrace

I’ve only to hum our song and I’ll hear your sweet voice

I’ve only to remember and I’d find your lips meeting mine

I’ve only to lose myself and my soul shall drift to you

 

I guess I don’t need to miss you

Because…

It is you in I and I in you

Forever

Or is it?


A Love Story

What’s lost?
She didn’t mourn during the last rites. Numb with bereavement, she stood motionless.
They lowered his body into the earth and therewith buried her spirit.
She had not wept at all in days. They shook her, wailed, brought forth memories of him, but to no avail.
She had lost the will to feel…

Read and please vote for the full piece here:

http://bit.ly/16Cm8Sj

Appreciate it!

Pina Bausch.

 

 


Divine Ipseity

Lydia Roberts.

We’re afraid to face ourselves.

We’re afraid of what it might do to us,

Even worse, what we might never be able to do, ever again.

Once the truth is spilled from our lips,

Ones ugliness is made known.

 

We feed ourselves with pride and then with guilt.

We revolt harmony,

We treat it like we would an enemy.

But why should it matter?

We do what we think we should.

We do what we must.

And in doing so there should be no remorse,

Only contentment, that we did what we truly wanted.

 

There’s great joy in being who you truly are.

No matter how crude, lonely, gruesome, painful it gets.

 

It’s a beautiful melody when we reveal the true ugliness of our soul.

It brings a very evident change in us, celebrates our liberty and all that we are, is made known to all and sundry.

Grace After The Beauty Is Gone.

Grace After The Beauty Is Gone.


The Stage Is Set

Luminous Lu

She staggered through the desert, not stopping for breath, or water.

She recognized that the only way to conquer fear is to saunter on.

And so she did.

 

She held her anguish close to her bosom

A mother looking over her nursling

Glancing at it through the fissure

She wanted to ascertain her own desolation

It gave her courage.

You see, that’s how she was reminded of her mission, her machination, her need and her want.

 

Having walked on for miles, she lost all strength.

But she reminded herself, time and again, to not lose her will.

There’s some formidable power in misery that makes us do crazy things,

And do them well!

 

Hope began to lose its grip.

Because there was nothing but the vast desert, the sand, as far as the eye could see.

She began to cry until her tears ran dry and the sky put on its dark cloak.

 

It was only by the end of her journey that she began to run.

She could finally see the gallows.

Surrounded by voices from her past

Regret, shame, guilt, selfishness, greed, intemperance, love, care, tenderness were bawling their displeasure in the open.

 

Melancholy laments

Despondent her

She ran to her fate

Embraced it like it was her lover

Kissing it with a fierce passion

It was her time to bid adieu

And she did

With a beauteous smile

 

Now that’s a goodbye!


That Still Night

Denis Roche.

It was the first time she felt the fearsome marvel of a man’s body. She asked him about his deepest darkest terror. His eyes glistened at the very thought of that day. After what seemed like an eternity, he answered her, with every detail and vehemence as though he was reliving that very moment again, once again. They sat there in the haunting silence of their hearts and souls. She had learnt of the most ghastly experience of his life and she could not unlearn it. She did not wish to. She did not need to.

She leaned forward and touched his temple with her quivering lips. And moving slowly like the orange basked sky disappearing into the purple haze of the misty cloud, she kissed his high cheeks, his sharp nose and whispered gently to his lips. And without contemplation, without any resolve or question he responded to her every silent command. She did not wish for him to lead, today was her day to give. For the first time in her life she was sure of what she wanted. She wanted to touch him, caress him and kiss him right in that dark, fearful part of his soul that had been so meticulously concealed, never to be revealed to any being, breathing or deceased.
His pain and terror wasn’t hers to take away. It wasn’t her intention to make it go away because she knew, more than anything, that she could never erase that grisly memory which was a part of him. A part that had been carved and embedded into the bottomless abyss of his very being. Memories can never be replaced, she could not replace his with hers either. All she could do with every sway was attach this memory to the unpleasant one he already owns. And maybe, just maybe when he remembers the original gruesome memory, he will remember this; he will remember her and remember the poetry they created together-alone that still night. It was the first time she felt the fearsome marvel of a man’s body. It was just like she always dreamed of it to be.
~ by Madonna Rozario Jansen