Archives for April 2013

The Road Less Traveled

The road less traveled is full of gravel and stones
The road less traveled has no sense of direction towards home
It only knows forward
It only knows what lies in front of your feet
Filled with defeat
The road less traveled is for the brave
For those hungry to make a name for themselves
Those that don’t tire
The road less traveled is no place to retire
It’s a place to build
A place for those willing to sacrifice for a chance to live
A chance to breathe
Pull up your sleeves and fight
We don’t rest
Not even in the night
The road less traveled is not for the weak, meek
Keep track of time because you lose everyday
You must know what you came here to say
What you came here to do
The road less traveled is not for those who came to play
But for those who came to do
Put on the right shoe
So that when it’s time
You’re ready for kicking and screaming
Fight for your life
The road less traveled is not for those with rights, but those who earn
The road less traveled is for he who knows it’s his turn!

I Forgot to care maybe

I forgot to care once.

It was pre-puberty
There weren’t any hormones
Of which to speak, then the tragedy
My home, extended family all on their phones
Mommy said Daddy loved you
Everybody shed a tear
I watched them, I missed my cue
What was wrong, did I not care?

I grew up
My first real girl was clear of cork
I had turned into quite the little screw up
Thick, she was still pure, she still enjoyed her pork
I was determined to meet her cup cake
Blinded by “love” we merged knife and cake
Disillusioned she was no longer my cup of tea
Teary-eyed named me evil; did I forget to care?

I grew wiser
The Lord had broke me to remake me
I met another
Sad really, now even I say she completes me
I am eager to learn of perfect and “real” love
She’s on my mind right up to day’s end
I will perfect me to fit her like a glove
I will never forget right up to life’s end

where is the smile?

You bring smile to my face.
Sweet laughter is the sound you make.
Love is what you give.
Illness is what you cure.

Happiness where you from?
Where are you located?
Where can I find you?
How can I give you to everyone?

You come to us in choosing.
You come to us in satisfaction.
You there when needed.
Disappear when not chosen.

How do I store you?
What are you made of?
Happiness be with me
And you’ll forever be happy.

The Story Of Me

I am a girl
I am a different girl
I am a unique girl
I am just me
As well you can see
No one can be more me than me
Listen this is the story of me

I know I can be “high”
I know I can be shy
But this story can never be a lie
I might talk out of turn
But at times I make heads turn
Yep! That’s right my name is Matilda
Just so you cannot be bewildered
The story is going on for a little longer

A lot do indeed hate me
Many have failed to tame me
They call me many name
Some have even called me lame
But come what may this is my game
This Is The Story Of Me

Almighty call

Almighty unifed.
Almighty glory.
Almighty merciful.
Amighty peace.
All heavenly Energy.

All that is one
All that is distant but connected.
All that holds all the knowledge.
All that holds time.
All that holds the bounds of space.

All that creates.
All that destroys.
All is All.

I call upon you.
I call upon you.

The problem with Alchemy being…

This is how we are:
Ignorant of Midas’ error,
Stubbornly, naturally dedicated to these bodies
And these minds
Of ours.

A white patron,
A black amasser,
And with such eyes,
It must be
Adept to see
The past, the present, the coming, it ought to see
How it has risen from your dead flesh,
How it triumphs,
How it will turn to gold.

With those eyes,
It’s probably seen
A distinct mosaic portrait of the Holy Amalgamation
That could turn us all to gold.

We can ask the fly, of course,
But it is either dead
or gone.

But we know it knew,
As it had previously been, itself,
A fashion of philosopher’s stone
That is lost,
And needs our carrion
To surface.

The wormhole

These fingers
into a chrysalis
see how the tip of the index
pushes back the hour pointer
removing yesterday

these fingers
into a chrysalis
as they crawl into the very likeness
of cocoon from which they came

withdrawing from the cacophony
of orphaned voices
and engines
and war
these fingers claim sanctuary
inside the moist church
the warm church
the snug church
the cradle of allthatiskind

these butterflies
flutter by
migrating to amphibian grounds
of precious pearl
and nirvana’s lips
wanting to kiss

and this
nomadic tongue
however lyric
longs to speak
no more
which is why
it winds its way down
and back in time
to visit
that to which it owes

A New Day

The morning came so soon
Grey light,, before the dawn
Bird calls mingle in my dreams
and sporadic the sounds
of early traffic

This is the way the day starts
This is the way the day starts

not in a bang
but with small beginnings

Sing sing my soul

Sing, sing my soul
floods of turmoil and whirlpool lyrics.
Spill, spill the concussions that make me ill
emotions entangled, woven badly strings sticking.
Terribly moving turning roughly, screaming loudly
for attention to attend to tears tearing a heart bleeding.
Crimson walls smiling dearly, there is sunshine.
Hope hoping to love completely: entirely.
Soft my gentle hand touching holding feeling.
Clasping shattered pieces beautiful frown of mine.
Whispering division of mind to dominate,
strength rains complete and warm
building in the thoughts so selfish reminding that
tears dry quickly in the sun.

* * *
Written by: Missty

Say if happiness could be bottled

Say if happiness could be bottled
I would place this feeling in a tight bottle,
under a firm seal it would last forever.
Like a light breeze brushing over my brown skin
suddenly my world was in total peace.
Joy found from blessings that rain,
cool as water from a shaded fountain.
A sigh, a smile, an uncontrollable laugh
found me at random times to remind me.

Days will remain the same
even in terror and deep sorrow,
joy will stay with me all my days
to wipe my tears and give me peace.
“Smile”, said a mysterious voice without a face,
“all will be well with you.”
Who could have known such relief from a few words?
The similarities of routine days so different,
true, no two days are the same.

I am content in myself, with myself.
Loving the woman that I have become,
whole and full of life flowing freely.
Loving completely, a heart bruised but will never stop.
In this, just as it is better days move closer.
A spirit with so much faith,
strong like the woman who houses it…
Living, loving and laughing.

* * *
Written by: Missty