The door stands open Just a slivered crack Just perfectly enough To see the universe Swimming lazily by As if on a movie screen Just perfectly enough To feel its icy cold sigh Creep sneakily through On tipsy drunken toes Just perfectly enough To see smiling moons Flirting with the stars And taking it too…
She swallows A small rainbow And closes her eyes Letting the music Swim in her blood Windows down Static wind blowing As the tempo rises Quickening her pulse Lift off, she flies alone Through cloudy skies Lost inside the blue So afraid of falling Of failing everything Of believing her heart When it’s so often…
Worry is a creative soul Knocking sense around Like alphabet blocks Building wooden castles Stuffing them with dreams Just to watch them burn Carrying extra demons In case the devil alone Isn’t enough to destroy The human she’s become
The orange furnace Becomes but embers Upon its final breath The charred trunks Stand tall and dark And it’s quiet… As if completely Exhausted and worn From a battle It could not fight Energy burned off Damaged and broken Nothing is welcome In this sad place Silently standing And waiting… For the sun to shine…
Love and sunshine Caress the surface Penetrate the skin Warming feelings That needed light Making our souls Beautifully happy Full of hope again
Let’s be real for a moment. Life and death kind of real. A young woman is afraid nobody will come looking for her if she goes missing. What is the reality surrounding her concern and what can we do to fix it? A few years ago I ran across a letter written by Brianna Jonnie…
I think I can safely say, at least here in America, that society is triggered. And it’s having a hard time finding its way back to a place where rational balance lives. And who can blame us… we have a LOT to be triggered about. Anarchy Steps heavy with Steel toed boots Torches replace Keystrokes…
There are people who never learn to look forward. Past themselves. Past their own desires. Sacrifice is a word they’ve assigned false meaning to. They blame others for their failures. And even when they do blame themselves they desperately need someone else to do the work to save them. They seek to garner sympathy for…
There is a line A small one Little dots Connecting Our thoughts Our good ones Our bad ones Those that cry Those that laugh Those that rage A constellation Of ideas Of memories Of reasoning That create The person We become That line Is who we are *Depression is a terrible thing. It’s as if…
I watch you growing up And I find myself alone Begging for the strength To one day let you go To watch you walk away No more bedtime stories No more skinned knees No more “but mom please” I didn’t know… I’d run out of time so soon That you’d be mindlessly Saying goodbye each…
HASTYWORDS 