A Golden Age

The memories were so strong,  so vivid that she would find herself talking to him, laughing and reaching out for his hand, taking in his smile and the desperate way he looked at her, the rising flush in his cheeks, always so adorable, mirroring her own. His touch was tangible,  strong and firm, a reassuring weight draped across her shoulders or more often than not, holding her tightly to his hips, her chin resting in the warm curves of his neck. She would close her eyes and breathe in his scent, her features relaxed, a beauty imbued with contentment, until suddenly this would melt into confusion, giving way to a panic that flitted pitifully across her face, her pupils pulsating with a fear and her hands grasping at the air. Desperation took a hold of her and her neck strained against the withered and weakened muscles, as she turned this way and that, hungering after his disappearing shadow. The cruel truth slowly became apparent and with a hardened look, the sadness fixed into the firm set of her mouth, she continued to shuffle along the footpath, the loneliness once again silently creeping in beside her.

She had thought these instances would lessen over time,  but it seemed that fate had other plans, and as her bones began to give way to the damage of age, she began to accept these occurrences as the norm. In fact, her lapses brought her a happiness, a momentary joy in the slump of her shoulders, an energy stirred up from the vigour of the memories surfacing from her youth. But for those around her,  they whispered the cold, cutting words of 'dementia' and 'senility'. She ignored them, for the respite she found in the precious moments she savoured gave her a strength, such that she almost felt she no longer needed her stick, her helping hand, the groove of which would otherwise stay close beneath her fingers, tracing his name hidden within the wood. Despite her old age and the years that had passed, he was the one she could never forget.

A Beautiful Memory

I came across this piece, written by Veronica Shoffstall. Very poignant and beautiful.

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises,
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,
And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans,
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight
After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much.
So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn...
With every goodbye you learn.

Wandering Soul

I am confident enough to believe in myself and the person I have chosen to become. 

I ask you to stand by my side as I embark on the discovery of my destiny.

A tunnel and a bus

Fool's gold

He had been ignoring the glaring beams either side of his treacherous path, afraid his glance would distract him from the bramble that clutched at his dusty cloak. Though his gaze was fixed firmly on the shrubbery through which he was struggling to pass through, he was distracted by a glittering light cast on the leaves he was attempting to clear. Unable to withhold his curiosity, his eyes opened wide as he realised that a light as brilliant as the sun had been by his side the whole time. Before him lay a path paved with gold beckoning for a joyous abandon, a stark contrast to the thorns that lined his feet. 

Though hesitant at first, he turned from the dirt trail and instead walked upon light itself. Each footstep fell lighter than the last as he was slowly carried within the cradling arms of the wind, as soft as the clouds themselves. Higher and higher he went, and with each passing moment, he felt a growing peace as strand by strand, his worries and fears were plucked away and thrown to fall onto the ground far below. Asleep in his comforting cocoon of an emptying mind, the wind started to pull at his soul. As it slowly ebbed away, trickling beyond his reach and seeping deep into the clouds, his soul flowed in broken tears as it lay raining upon the muddied track he had left so long ago.

With nothing but blackness left, he awoke, afraid. He cried out for his soul, but only an empty shadow remained. Trembling in fear, he felt his head glide across a hard surface, searching for an escape, but unable to see where or how far the wind had carried him, he had nowhere to go.

He had reached the top of the world and he stood beneath God's throne.

As God cast His gaze upon him, He saw only the mould of a man, an empty vessel of clay with only  the charred remains of what may have once been his soul. Not a single worthy act remained that he could offer to his Lord and as shame and fear coursed through the darkness in which he sat, he believed that even God could not abhor him as much as he did himself. And yet, hands clasped tight, muscles rigid with a faltering memory of a remembered hope, he pleaded and yearned for His Mercy.

It was God alone who could purify his form by breathing into him of His Love and His Light. His soul reborn.

On my knees, I pray.

~~~

Our Lord! We have wronged ourselves, and if You do not forgive us and have mercy upon us,
we will surely be among the losers.

[7:23]

Lucifer

The wind brought the devil

and in a mirrored silence, Lucifer and I danced tonight.

Jet black eyes reflected his soul;

a leaping fire, consuming, burning his heart to dust, scattered by the ravens circling his remains.

Through his darkness I drew my veil, a broken fence to his call

and as my heart birthed stones, I felt his burning flesh firmly grasped on my hand,

his ashen remains pulling me towards his abode.

There was only a blackness that lay a choking hold on to life itself

a suffocation that clawed at the dirt

scrabbling, writhing,
destroyed.

Therein lay an empty sack of bones and hollowed skulls that lay bleeding with their sins,
a wasteland desecrated by the stench of the damned. 

A harsh guttural cry escaped from the torn out voices as the broken feasted on the discarded, and a rattling heralded their demise.

Watching as the air within each cell was sucked dry, depleted, 

each soul lay paralysed, charred in the fire of regret.

God stood as a witness to my annihilation,

destruction by my own hand.

God Almighty above, save me from myself.

Sticks and Stones

A Chaotic Mind

The floors echoed with her thoughts
Thrashing, slipping
A thunder against the walls
Spinning webs of chaos
Ropes, heavy with her voice
A visible shrieking that was pulled forth from her mind
As she sat, eyes blank and cross-legged
Silent,
Alone in an emptied room

Enchantress

Honey dripped from her skin
Whilst gold delivered her words
And if she graced you with her smile
You would fall deep into her world

The enchantress wove a magic
A web cast far beyond her reign
Bearing gifts of true reflection
A mask beneath her name.

Emptied Light

The darkness of the cave

in which the stars were borne

shone bright, in awe

drowning deep within her form,

falling into an expanse

emptied of her soul

her name

a richness, a greed

that love had taken all.

When men stood before her

their eyes would seek her peace

the quietness,

a calm,

a bank for their release.

They filled her with their dreams

their tears, their hidden deeds,

and walked away in silence

replenished and revived,

emptied yet complete.

Unaware, 

an ignorance of bliss

man still paved his way

carving through earth

that no longer could exist,

to settle in the darkness

in the burden that she now bore

of the life within her soul

for her to weep away

in an act not quite abhorred

of an offering, making room,

always room,

in the expectance of the 'more'.

Blank

I look to the blank page before me

searching, yearning for a sign

in the briefest flicker
in the smallest sound
in the lazy trace I design,

yet nothing comes forth,
nothing,

but your name.

Too many emotions to filter through

and decide which one to peruse

to write,
whatever comes to mind

words, thoughts, desires,
but there are none,
none that I can find
to express what it is
that my heart can feel inside
and the only resounding feature 

breathing light,
life into my soul
sustaining each beating moment
looped through
threading each silent fall

is your pulse,
your warmth, your love,
my lifeline through them all.

Fate

You kissed life into fate
when you brushed against her hand
nestling between the lines
that you traced upon her skin
carrying her in your arms
as you surrendered to the wind
and floating amongst the stars
where you softly spoke her name
you cradled her in your soul
as fate gently drew you in.

I believe in fairies

I believe in fairies

I BELIEVE IN FAIRIES

*clap* *clap*

PS. I also believe in miracles, so please God, help me to annihilate (do astonishingly well in) these looming exams that I am horrendously under-prepared for.

I BELIEVE IN MIRACLES 

*clap* *clap*

Better than I

What is man without his shadow but an empty vessel
Navigating a plane in a darkness divine
And cast off from standing in his footprints
How does the reflection learn to survive.

You who once spoke my name
Whispering through the rustling pages of time
Now kneels from afar, head bowed in despair
Your eyes averted from mine.

Yet as I watch tears refashion mans soul
The hardness of clay is remould
And though I stand disgraced; unchanged, unbound
Light's path has become your abode.

Though we once danced through our death
Broken, I now stand alone in our game
And as Gods comfort veils your silent pleas
My heart bears grudge for the same.

Detached and replete in His love that you dine,
I remain ashamed, for you are far better than I.

Castaway

I swam in your shadow
Living within the margins of your soul
Drifting in an ocean, unseeing and blind

And now cast off, like a book emptied of its words
I know not whether I am lost or set free.

The Heart of Eden

The bite from the apple that was the first downfall of man
Was sweet in its taste of lust
And though shame bore fruit from the fallen
The taste could not be forgot

Bleak

Her shadows were cast by a fog of a conflict not yet resolved
Darkening each footprint in the glare of the blanket of white.

As she struggled in the face of the blizzard, shards as sharp as glass trickled beneath her layers
Burying her heartache in a chilling repertoire of a lonely guilt,
A sadness she could not derail.

A figure, merely a smudge against the skyline slipped in the melting snow
And on her knees, hands outstretched to the heavens, dried eyes burned in search for relief.

On a Cold and Starry Night

There is a grumbling wind that mutters outside my window
Sighing with a quiet rage of unfulfilled dreams
As he bows down in a chaotic prostration to the powers that mould it,
Fighting against a wall that will not break

Babylone Zina

Such a beautiful song: