everything is much more clearer - more brighter - at night.
why do we always assume the dawn is better than dusk?
who gave the light its importance - that it should be so kind to grace us with its presence?
give us darkness
give us anonymity
give us surprise
give us the unknown.
why should we need to see all that is wrong with the day?
it’s so hard to be and feel art when your creativity is being graded
i need you now
on top of me
sharing your most sacred secrets
with the deepness of my soul
you are all over me
and nowhere in sight.
you are a hundred storms out of a sea of goodness
washed up on my shores of vulnerability
you pass with time
but time does not pass
in my heart you are still here.
like a stone overturned under the water’s surface
i remain still on the surface
underneath i am changed
never to be the same as i once was
nothing she did
what she meant
but still her life
could be called a monument
shaped in a slant
of available light
and set to the movement
of possible music
She lay there, resting her heavy head full of wandering thoughts on her elbow. Watching the clock as the days passed between seconds, she realized what she was and was not doing. Alive. Not living. Being in a perpetual state of consciousness with the dying hope that she’d be revived. Her birds had left for the winter, and they weren’t coming back. What was it about the winter that seemed so cold? The snow was a silent mindfield of childhood memories and lonesome reminders.
She lay there, touching the end of her frozen window sill. She was wide and opened for the world to see through her. Frozen in time. She opened her ice box of jewelry, full of dazzle and sparkling off of their own light. That is what she wished the most - to dazzle others with her light, instead of scare them off with her darkness. If only she knew how attractive the night was.
She got up, walking outside onto her moonlit street thick with the quietness of snow fall and crackling birch. The moon illuminated her steps as she allowed herself to fall onto it…or rather, it fall into her. Wrapped with the white blankets of the midnight sky she found comfort in her new world of solace.
What was it about the winter that seemed so cold? She wondered as she fell asleep in its warm embrace.
How vivid are these moments
When everything beyond the senses is heightened
When the world is deafened by the drone of silence
And we listen with our hearts to the sound of our world coming alive
In these moments,
we lay there, wary of each little thing.
The subtle undertone in their voices
The slightly pursed lips of disapproval
The gently raised eyebrows of questioning
The slow, deep sighs of surrender.
We take our last breaths as our most exonerated selves,
In our last moments we knew what it was to truly live.
If ever you feel as though your life’s work
has come to pass without anchor
as it sails away,
remember that you are a wave that has
lapped many times along the shore.