A poetic journey through my mind

Posts tagged “truth

Me and my Shadow

Sorry folks, I’ve tried to warn Mia about words…they can turn and bite when you try to make them march in line.  😉


Perspective

On the bright side, he loves me,
On the bright side, he’s home,
On the bright side, I’m with him,
not here in the dark on my own.

In the light of the bright side the darkness seems endless, the patterns repeating again and again, and the glare of the bright side is searing and deadly, pinpointing where the light ends.

On the bright side, he loves me,
On the bright side, she’s gone,
On the bright side, I’m with him,
not here in the dark all alone.

On the bright side (where is it?) I’m with him (I miss you) not here in the dark all alone…


Image

The truth, via “A Softer World”

This is from one of my favorite webcomics, “A Softer World”. Very deep, funny, sometimes even just silly stuff. It just hit me, after the last post…so here it is. Thanks Joey and Emily!

 

(Oh, and if you click the pic it will take you to their site, but be warned, it’s addictive.  It will eat your brain…  *eg*)


Promise

Mystics and mantras
and telling of the truth,
Minds hard as diamond,
yet flexible as youth,
Peace in disconnection,
connecting to the all,
Knowing how far up to climb,
and how far down to fall,
How to see the nights glow
and how dark the day can shine,
These and many more I know,
and I will make them mine.


Nia’s Eyes

For my Christmas Girl…a present. ;)

Trees and flowers seem to shake themselves in the rain, like birds in a puddle, drops flying every which way with the wind.

From her heart the images pour,
color and light and clarity,
through her eyes the pictures soar,
gifted to us in her charity.

Rainwashed brick winds through the town, an ancient ribbon tying the years together, beauty to be found even in the thought-to-be mundane.

Her talent is seemingly boundless,
the camera her all-seeing eye,
her pictures, though technically soundless,
sing a paen to earth and to sky.

Rust streaks paint hymns on ancient stones, revealing the soul within. Centuries of rainfall wash away the inconsequential, until only the eternal survives.

Starkly real or painted lies,
each one a true creation,
they let us see behind her eyes,
witness imagination.

Visions smeared through tear-stained glass, all nature in mourning for the sun.

Thank you for your loving heart,
your talent and dedication,
for sharing with us all, your art,
a gift to all the nations.

Silvered drops hop, in puddles, like a child in new rain gear. Hear the tinkling laughter?