Under the Big Blue

Under the big blue, a teardrop falls on the thirsty ground and a saddened eye turns to trace the path of a storm cloud carrying the promise of rain that will never fall.

They watched and waited silently praying for an end to the killing blow of the barren winds, the specter of death looming large over the fields of grains.

‘Too little too late,’ one farmer says, and as he walks away you can see the field of dead and dying corn fade in the distance behind him, more of his tears trying to feed the sun parched soil.

All I can do is look into the sky and wonder why the big blue isn’t quite yet the big stormy…

Going, Going, Gone…

Thought when I started out I’d remember but the fire died before I even got started, and the muses turned their faces away from me…

The spark that is my writer’s voice silenced before it had time to sing and be heard.

Deadness of mind and spirit have pulled me under, that’s why I’ve been away.

Someone needs to rekindle the fire and I will sing again.

Start With Why

Never stop questioning the world around you or the actions of the people around you….

Let the first word of your mouth be why.

Why have I made these choices, why are people making the choices they make, why have these consequences happened as a result…

Why do i love one group of people, hate others, and barely acknowledge a third group…

Why, why why?

Why is a sunrise or a sunset such a beautiful thing, why does the sound of flowing water, feel like music to my ears, and why are clouds in the sky like a beautiful painting…

Why do I hate being alone, and most of all why do I expect someone that reads this to feel the same way about the words I have written?

Neither This or That

Too many faces, too much time held to the mirror of another’s standards… I am not the mannequin perfect china doll you were expecting to see…

I   AM   ME!

I am not the picture perfect little housewife you see on the  picture of all those little supermarket magazines, and I’ll never willingly devolve to a cover model of things like Vogue,or Cosmo…  Fake and bake is not my way.

I   AM  ME!

*points a finger at you* I know I AM, but what are you?

The Still Small Voice

Listen, listen do you hear it? The still small voice that is a conscience, do you hear it or have you killed it with lies and false beliefs.

Listen for it, believe in it, or have you killed it with ignorance, and the misdirection of ideals of others?

Who are you and what do you believe in, or are you led like a sheep to the false ideals of others, or better yet do you stand alone and think for yourself…

Still small voice, you should be their conscience, but they are numb and they have lost you, left you dead along the way… Still small voice I’d cry for you, but you are not mine to hear.

Drumbeat

Soft gentle beat of a small hollow drum, ticking gently like a clock I see on a wall far away… Draining slowly, melting quickly, flowing sounds like running water…

The mirror shows too many faces, and not even one reminds me of me… Drip, drip drip goes the last of the water as I try to wash the blood from the back of my hand… I look up one more time and the mirror still shows me too many faces.

Tick, tick, tick… Beat, beat beat… The sound of the drum, so soft and hollow, beating in the place where a heart used to live.

Why so soft and empty, so red and hurting? What have I done?

The mirror still shows me too many faces and not all of them are mine.

It’s A Morning

I’m not about to tell you that this is a good morning. It just is and I am now awake.

I’m not going to tell you to have a nice day, because I hate lying.

I’m not going to tell you to be happy, or to smile because I hate people trying to cheer me up when I’m not ready to get over something that has made me sad or angry.

Just listen to me when I say that I need time to feel how I feel, or when I say I want to be angry. Emotions are individuals just like people are.

And then the rest of real life hits…

Pushy people on sidewalk paths, sugary sweet and ignorant of personal space.

‘Listen lady, I don’t want sympathy, or a smile cause I’m not ready to let go of how I feal, just keep moving and let me be.’

A little bit further on a child points up at me…

‘Mommy, why is that lady crying?’

Damn it kid, just leave me alone and ignore me the way the rest of the world does, ok?

Things That Make You Go Mad

Things that make you go mad…

Angry people that can’t admit their mistakes

And then… And then the guilt trip that comes along with trying to gently get them to see the mistakes that they made…

So angry, and then what do you have to show for it all?

Not a damned thing except being sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Stacks of empty pill bottles lined up on the desk, and again you wonder where all that time went and you have nothing… N0thing left… Nothing but cold empty feelings, black spaces where feelings used to be…

Left wondering about what could have been, and wondering why…  Why looking outside makes the rest of the world such a scary place.

Outside… A big scary world, and everything seems bigger when you get closer to it, like a child lost in a forest…

Things… Madness and anger and being lost…

In the Beginning…

In the begining there were words, and in the words there were many ideas waiting to be given form, and in those forms… Well now you have this blog to read. Can’t promise that there will be posts made on a consistient basis, but there will always be something of interest for readers to enjoy.