Tuesday, June 18, 2013

storm break.

how many times has this heart thought the apocalypse had fallen?

be it those twelve-year-old days of burned pictures & invisibility times, or the death of boulder family & deserter accusations, the wretched end never shut as this poor heart feared. the clouds blackened and crowded & the lightening roared & the thunderstruck & this heart got drenched with the rain's fire no doubt.

but all those feigned ends just appeared to make way for beginnings, the beginning just had to be born after storm.

those these days the panic stabs deep & breath runs short & lighter you seems dead, this neither has proved to be apocalypse. those panic daggers are losing their edge & air comes easier & brighter you is whispering that it's hiatus may someday break.

now the only thing left to do is wait til the storm breaks.

this heart may be scarred, but as it's said before, they're worn well.

they speak of her battles, both lost & won. they speak of her wisdom & days lived soft & hard. they say that even those wounds that were once oozing & festered, they too healed.

they say that this scar will be deepest, but it will mean freedom when its day to be forgotten reigns.

til then, this heart will wheel forward. til then, this heart will grace while it aches, even on the days it stops beating. this heart will be well & it's scars will be beauty. or at least she has to believe that.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

lost & found

exhile times usually whisper of new treasure on the other side. remember the last world & how it crumbled & how you grew another? with fresh steps & new mind it bloomed brighter than any before. that new world meant losing as finding & changing as beginning & and that exhile times may just be great aim.

this new world now growing is this date's strangest, even after that mountain year blurred. but maybe that odd soil means growing its loudest & strongest. as those german words fall & this love bursts deep & that durango darkness withers, you know you've found magic. the hennef forest & the white seed float & the blessed inundacion de carino gives your wounds hope of less scar.

but still your chest finds its times when hope's dead & love's far & those hatred faces follow close. you still wake up wishing those were days dreamed & the night a dream mared & that the beat shadowing your bliss will be polite & take its leave & disappear. but the morning rises here as it would in colorado, the sun follows its spin, the people their plans, and night comes & the truth remains: your fate stays & his in your hands & the ache of his hex running deep in all veins.

those times when hope dies & love is gone & their hate runs your neck, that's when she's lost. that's when head plunges & truth hides & she stands the villian & he the distressed. that's when she stumbles & can't remember her right nor his wrong & those blame hints seem truth. but then the tale turns & she misses the light he stole & she grieves for other lights he's smothered & she sees his puppet stringed hands. then...well, then she just wishes she wasn't charged the key to his days barred or free. she wishes she could run and leave another to to set his story dark.

but she can sometimes remember exhile's actually meant to be sweet. sometimes she can remember that she's blooming. somtimes she can remember that she still is magic admist his burns left. she's still me & i'm still her & she's faced the war before & she came out smiling. she might get lost sometimes, but in the end, she'll be found.