11-13-14

It's frozen mornings when I most often think of you,
and the warmth you may someday bring
to thaw out my fingers and toes,
as you once did my heart.

10-2-14 (Skepticism)

They imagine a single moment
blinding a shallow feeling.
A feeling with
borders and bounds
They sneer past
The travel
no distance

For beyond the border
they see
exists a boundless field
consuming lifetimes to reach

For beyond the border
I see
exists only blinded
eyes.

Sonnet

This week in my British Literature class, one of our assignments was to write a sonnet (14 lined poem with a single central theme). After combining a few poems I had previously written, I was fairly pleased with the outcome:







Longing carves ridges beneath my eyes

I allow emptiness to roll onto my neck,

Leaving a wet trail,

The shadows of when he was here.

I crave that familiar feeling,

As I embrace the tears running down my cheeks;

The closest things I can feel to him.

Loneliness is when your thoughts become louder than the music,

More alive that the crowd.

It is standing in an empty street,

Watching lights change: green, yellow, red.

It is being trapped in your own mind

Searching for the beat of a breath.

It is all I have felt, apart from my love.

7-13-14

I'm hoping,

as I close my eyes,

that I might fall away.



This plane seat

would slowly grow warmer.

I'd imagine it holding me

until I'd open my eyes

and realize they were your arms wrapped around me.



Longing carves ridges beneath my eyes

and I allow emptiness to roll onto my neck;

the shadows of when you were here.



I crave that familiar feeling,

as I embrace the tears

running down my cheeks;

the closest things

I can feel to you.

6-26-14

I ask the moon,
have you seen the day?
Maybe that was a stupid question.

Hovering over empty streets,
he pries on the unknown.
His tragic flaws shine
upon solemn faces.

Darkness hums
a poor lullaby,
the light dismissing him
just as quickly as he came.

4-26-14

Loneliness
is when your thoughts
become louder than the music,
and more alive
than the crowd.

Live

Live in the moment,
for it will be gone
in just the next.

Listen to the silence.

Feel the emptiness.

See the darkness.

Taste the plainness.

Breathe the air.

If it takes everything in you,
don't let it go.

Writer's Block

I hate my journal
for the stacks of blank pages
taunting me

pages
my pencil dances above
but does so little
to touch

Words

Fields of flowers
Swaying in a breeze

Or archers
With no means to appease

Negative Space

If life

is all about

the bright lights,

what about

the dark spaces?



The negative space.



What if the excess

became the necessary;

the unknown,

a common place?



Could we transpose

our thoughts;

the paths we take,

the things we see

and hear?



Escape the periphery.



What lies

in the blank spaces,

between the lines?



Something

left undiscovered,

to discover.

The Crossroad

This weekend, walking through an airport, I was inspired by how so many people, coming and going to so many different places, were all in one place. Thus, I spent my plane ride writing this daydream-y story.





The crossroad;
Where two paths once met;
You and I
had no idea.

I, on my way to see my parents,
You, enjoying the ride;
Going in no direction.

Yet, somehow,
A twist in the road;
A bend on the path;
That day,
We both missed our train.

Faces scattered like paint;
All only slightly different,
Flashed in front of me.
A squealing halt
And crowds flooded;
In and out.
We stood still.
Like something you see in the movies.

I glanced at my feet,
And you smirked.
That's how it all began.

I stepped onto the wrong train,
Yet it seemed so right.

People around us,
Each going his own way;
Faces around us changed,
But we remained.

We talked about anything
And everything;
But the words meant nothing.

By the early morning,
The train had run its rounds.
We stepped off together.

Outside of a local coffee shop,
We watched the sun rise.
When a shaggy-haired boy
Flipped the 'closed' sign to 'open',
Our lungs were filled with the warm
Aroma of coffee grounds.

We sipped our drinks
As more words
Filled the unknown space
That lie between us.

No time had passed,
At least to us.
Until my phone began to ring,
Did we realize the world around us still moving

You brushed my hair out of my face
And tucked it behind my ear.
Looking into your eyes,
I felt tears well up in mine.

Rediscovering my place,
Sitting on the hard, wooden seat,
I looked out at you.
The train began to inch forward
As you bit your lip
And ran your fingers through your hair.

We moved along,
And I could no longer see your face.
You slowly faded
To become something distant
From my heart
And in my memory.

1-16-14

This week in my English class, we studied poetry including only a single idea and using as little words as possible. The result is my inspiration to edit a simple poem I wrote a few weeks ago...

The thick becomes more intense.

I am still here;

enduring.

A beaming light;

a hope.

I know the flame 

on the other side

won't flicker.

1-14-14

When your vision is flooded with darkness,

Clear the fog;

Search for the light,

But don't trust your sight.

Listen to your own breathing;

Hear yourself living,

Being.

Your heart is still beating,

Your eyes still seeing;

Even if on the inside,

you're bleeding.

Remove your cloak of shame;

Learn your own name.

There is more beyond what we see;

It's not yet your time to leave.

7-23-13

Melt.

Briefly everlasting, then gone.

Step, step, step,

Breathe.

Pieces I can't seem to fit together.

Pull, click.

Inhale, exhale, glance,

Hold.

A simple gesture lifts me out of my seat;

I fly into the clouds.

The wind caresses me 

As my hand lifts to return the surge.

Snapshots are washed into blurs;

I am placed back down on earth.

Thoughts illuminate my mind

Until they become merely a glow.

Poetry

I am ecstatic to be posting my first real (non-introductory) post. Many of my poems/ creative pieces I will soon be posting are old. That is one of my favorite aspects of writing, though: coming back to pieces and editing. Traveling back through your writing is also a way to see how God is transforming and moving in your life right in front of you. That's just one more reason to love writing.
I am not planning on adding introductory statements to many of my pieces, because that is yet another reason writing can be so cool. Everyone interprets things differently. If you don't get exactly what I mean, that's okay. This is a poem I wrote a little over two years ago:

Whispers of a smile

appear on your face.

Your eyes glisten,

a faint sigh.

Your hand reaches

as if to grab my heart,

and lock me in.

A simple gesture

melts my inhibitions

and grants wings to my heart.

Seconds last a lifetime.

A world of possibilities 

flutters before my eyes

and through the clouds.

One last wink of the lips

is lightly shared,

before my dreams

are blown away

by the reality of the outside world.

Unwritten World

Many people view writing as work. They place words together only to sound as educated as possible to earn an A. 

That's not what writing is about, at least for me. We have the ability to use over a million words in the English language to form whatever we want. Every day offers something new. Writing is practically boundless.

How far will you let your imagination take you in this unwritten world?