Author: Caroline D

Heating from the sun
Warm to the touch
Sun goes down
Cold as you clutch

Hitting the sand
Walk along the waves
Shells in my hand
Time moves and misbehaves

Sand misting in the air
Brushing against the glare
Orange and yellow glow
The sunset only grows

Pay attention to the morning
The bright sun shining through
You see beauty
It ties the world together
Holds your gaze
Casts you out
Reals you in
You look at yourself in the mirror
You don’t see your beauty the same way
You pick yourself apart
But not the sun
The sun is beautiful to you, But you aren’t
You compare yourself to everyone you see
You look in every reflection windows, mirrors, black screens
You still don’t see your beauty
But you see others

Every night
We would pray in your home
I knew not about God
But I knew the sounds leaving your throat
And I would utter them in accordance

Now the pews, the altars
The stained glass, the hymns
I drink it all in
For they are all about you
Never about God

I was the bearer of the ring upon your finger
And in tears
The blessing they received
Was in the palm of my hand
The hand you held when you lead the prayer

You’re weak now, weaker than I could know
Yet you push through
Your thorns will cut my skin
But my skin will heal
And my love will be all that remains

Her silhouette is dimly lit
By a weak bulb that dangles
From the pale kitchen ceiling

A scrap of steel wool is clutched in one hand
Whilst the other strangles a rusted iron pan
Her apron is soiled and soaked
Her steaming rubber gloves cling hot and close

She pumps with a fury
From its old plastic crock
The watered-down soap
Onto the food-spattered wok

There, in the shallow tin sink
Lies a mug, a cutting board, a spoon or two
She disentangles the mass of forks interlink’d
With mechanical movements; as one well used to

Her children are silent in their beds
She looks out the window, oppressive in its night-black
There is a pounding, a swelling in her head
She shuttles more dishes onto the dripping plastic rack

In her mind, she reviews and replays
The happenings and trials
Of her working day-to-day
Phone calls, letters, marking files.

This was not all she had once known –
She used to always be with book in hand;
Anna Karenina, Madame Bovary, Middlemarch
A modern Becky Sharp in rigorous self-command

She too had once had aspirations
Ambitions to rise from her lowly stool
Clever schemes and sagacious machinations
But alack – the world was subtly sly and cruel.

This was how she was thus bound
With hands constrained to the kitchen sink
Her dreams; they slowly drowned –
And her hand remained chained to its silver ring.

Where the birds fly south for the winter,
Where the stones and paths erode,
Where the sun meets the peak of the mountains,
That’s where you’ll find That Old Road.

Tucked away within the winding fields,
Moving along with the river’s flow,
A long path stretches for an endless time,
That’s the road I’ve come to know.

It lies hidden within the rocky mountains,
Its life is written with grooves and cracks,
Its paint faded and rubbed off with the test of time,
Only a small sign marks the end of the track.
The sign reads: “You are home,” in weathered paint.
A sentiment to the weary traveler
Who has blindly followed all this way.
Then the road will end and so will your journey,
There at the edge is where you will stay.

So perhaps it is best to avoid the path,
Unless you truly wish to know.
Often the journey is not as it seems
Following That Old Road.

The busy streets filled with cheer
Deep breathes, not a fear
Take a step, unlock the door
Dark sky with waves ashore
The feeling of unreality, it makes me feel fake
Take time for the value
No mistakes

Flying sheeps, counting stars
I want to stay forever where you can’t get scars
Peace and closure, feeling free
Close the door, use the key
Step out into the world where people feel pain
If only dreams were real where there are no complaints

Children’s hands,
graceful and gentle as falling leaves,
brittle and easily broken,
blessed be.

The lady across the street,
she seems to be content gazing at a screen.
Unfocused, unalert to what goes on unseen.
For a voice calls, it is rough indeed.

Come by my side child, I am no foe.
I’m a friend of your parents, we parted years ago.
I’ve found a dog over there, you know this place well.
Guide me toward its owners, I promise I won’t tell.

Sparkled sneakers squeal with each step,
If anyone had heard the last words he said,
well,
no one would question why the girl is dead.

You’re a good little girl.
A porcelain hand, an arrogant smile,
and the girl was gone.
No one noticed for a while.

music , music drowns out the real world, music lets u feel what you want , what you would want the real world to be.
Blasting at full volume till all you feel is the vibration from the rhythm.
Every different song changing your mood,
every artist feels the music they make, something I couldn’t be without is music, music wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t make you cry un till you can’t breathe. Just drown the things that would do that, without caring, no worry for ur feelings.
Just watch the real world, look at ur life, is it as good as you want, what you imagined when you were younger? Maybe it is but I know I wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t have music. Because we all sometimes need to just stop, and be in our own world.

You know when it starts to snow
but all you want to see is a
S
N
O
W
F
L
A
K
E
F
A
L
L
from the sky and land on the ground
And it just makes just a nice shape with all the other snowflakes.

The sun is glaring down upon me
The birds squeak squak and squeal
The other people chatter so loud
Then I submerge myself into the deep

Everything and everyone is silent
Excpt for the slow beat of my heart
The water cradles me in its arms
And slowly rocks me back and forth
Like a mother does with its child

Then I return to the surface
And it shatters the peace I was in
The beautiful feeling I had just felt
Slowly fades away and leve without a trace