The clawing
never ends.
The fingernails digging
into my skin,
the lips whimpering
against my flesh,
the hands grappling
my teeth.
They always want something,
they always take something,
and they leave me
bare bones
and threadbare,
a skeleton
with nothing more to give.
I want to give them everything,
my flesh, my blood, my mind, my eyes,
my left arm and right leg.
I want them to stop
stop
pleading,
begging,
taking,
needing.
The clawing
never ends.
And I want to scream.
A word
can wield the weight
of a well-honed sword.
A sentence
can summon the strength
of a thousand armies.
An idea
can fall the knees
of an entire world.
But
with a sword that’s coated in poison,
with an army undisciplined and un-bled,
and in a world unwilling to hear-
my words
my sentences
and my ideas
are no more than specks on a screen smudged with mud.
“Speak,”
they say,
“and the world will listen.”
“Speak,”
I say,
“and the world will fear.”
My lips still on a poignant note,
mournful and mellow
and unafraid.
This is where the song ends,
where the breath escapes the melody,
where the bitter words that once
shaped the night
and kept you alive
dissipate.
The death march must cease
eventually,
and my lament hums in the air
like a fog.
Ravaged and choked was my voice
as I sang of shadows
and what could’ve been.
It is my last gift to you,
and now the silence is hard and cold
and biting
and lonely.
My lips still on a poignant note,
for the elegy has ended.
Hi everyone!
Today my day was made ten times more spectacular when the very talented Miss Smoak of Secret Diary of an MD Student nominated me for the Liebster Award. Her blog is a haven of witty yet down-to-earth writings, and you should definitely swing on over and follow her. Thank you, Miss Smoak!
The Liebster Award was originally created to recognize and discover gifted new bloggers, and the word “liebster” even means “dearest” or “beloved” in German. I’m very humbled to have been nominated for it, and will go ahead with the steps because I think it’s a great way to bring new blogs into the limelight.
The rules are as follow:
The Liebster Award Rules
Here are the questions from Miss Smoak’s blog:
1) What’s your favourite live-by quote?
I have a notebook that I jot down all my ideas in, and when I first bought it I wrote a famous Victor Hugo quote on the first page:
Greater than the tread of mighty armies is an idea whose time has come.
This quote is really important to me because ideas are what shape the world, and I think that too many people keep theirs hidden.
2) What is something people would find surprising about you?
Hmm…that’s a hard one… Probably that I have a really sarcastic brain, but I keep to myself and am afraid to repel people so much that you’d never know just how snarky I am.
3) What’s your most precious childhood memory?
I have plenty, but the one that comes to mind is catching my first fish with my dad on Lake Winnipesauke in New Hampshire. Fishing was something my dad and I always bonded over, and my mom even claims that my first sentence was “Daddy caught a fish!”
4) What is your biggest fear?
My biggest fear is that I’ll offend people, which kind of goes hand in hand with question two.
5) Who is your all-time favorite character?
Seriously, that’s like asking me to pick a favorite child. I have favorite protagonists, favorite villains, favorite side characters, favorite original characters… But in the end I’m usually brought back to Luna Lovegood of the Harry Potter series. She’s quirky and otherworldly and funny and brilliant…and not afraid to be different. Which I know sounds really cliché, but it’s true.
6) What do you do when you need to cheer up?
I take my mind off the ‘bad’ stuff by writing, reading, painting, composing, crocheting, playing video games, etc. If that fails, then a steaming cup of tea and Doctor Who marathon usually does the trick.
7) A song you couldn’t live without?
My favorite song changes with my mood. At this very second, I can’t live without “True Strength” by John Dreamer. You can listen to it here.
8) Who is the person you trust most?
Don’t tell her I said this, but my sister. We’ve always been really close, and even though we bug the heck out of each other sometimes, I can’t think of anyone I trust more (besides my lovely parents, of course).
9) An event you’re looking forward to?
A lot of big events in my life have just passed, and things are pretty quiet for now. One thing I am looking forward to is the Doctor Who season 8 premiere on August 23rd. That might sound like I have no life, but…yeah, I have no life.
10) Which Jane Austen heroine are you most like?
I really had to think about this one! I’d have to say I’m a Lizzie Bennet/Elinor Dashwood hybrid. Like Lizzie, I have the ability to find amusement in absurd situations, and like Elinor, I am quiet and steadfast.
11) If you could start your life all over again, would you do it?
No, absolutely not. Considering that I’m young and still in school, there’s not much I can think of that I’d want to do over. I think I want to see what life has in store for me before I decide I want to start it again.
Ok, so here are five amazing blogs I think are more than deserving of the Liebster Award (and you should definitely check out):
And here are my eleven questions:
Once again, thank you to Miss Smoak for nominating me!
On days where the sun near rolls over the hill,
and the summer winds dance endlessly,
I notice something that makes all time still,
on the porch by the cherry blossom tree.
They’re beaten and worn and crusted with dirt,
and tarnished from long days of use;
the sight of them lying there makes my chest hurt-
your beautiful blue buckle shoes.
You wore them on Sundays, kicking pews in mass.
You wore them on rainy days; they splashed and they splashed.
You wore them paired with your favorite red dress,
and you wore them to bed, despite the protests.
Now they lie on the porch under that cherry tree,
soaking up sun and fading to gray.
They’re empty and forgotten and I wonder if they plea
for someone to take them away.
But they’re happy, I think, to be left there in peace,
and I know that you wouldn’t refuse
to let them lie in the dirt gathering sunshine and grease-
your beautiful blue buckle shoes.
That night, I ride a red mare.
With hands frozen upon the reins,
I can not shake myself from
its saddle.
On it gallops through fields
of amber,
leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.
No scream can pass my lips,
and I weep silently as
phantom winds
murmur over my skin.
Is this a dream?
The horse halts at the base
of a valley gilded in gold,
and dips its head to drink from a brook.
My limbs loosen, and I fall to my knees
at its side.
So thirsty…I’ve never been this thirsty before…
Crawling, trembling, withering-
I claw my way to the stream,
and lower my lips to the water.
I scream.
The water is red and rotten,
no, not water at all…
it stinks of blood and
flows thickly like blood.
The mare drinks on.
Then across the crimson brook-
a figure from a memory,
someone I once knew,
dressed in tattered whites
with blood on her fingers.
“You don’t care,” she whispers.
Her cheekbones sag,
her flesh melts.
I try to cross the river of blood,
but it sears through to my skin.
“No!”
She’s something else now.
A monster.
And I want to wake up,
wake up
from this wretched nightmare.
The red mare lifts her head
and screams
and screams
and screams.
So, I know this ‘poem’ is a bit abstract. I tried this exercise where I take a passage from my writing and try to turn it into a poem. Let’s just say I don’t think I quite succeeded with this one. It is a fun writing experience, though.
There’s something silver in the wind
that whips and writhes against the glass,
sometimes I think I hear it sing,
but then all at once it’ll pass.
Black winds break trees and seas,
pink winds prance and fair the air.
but there’s something silver in this breeze
that hums a strange, forgotten dare.
Like a lover it lulls your name,
tempting you to take its hand,
but then all at once it shrinks away,
to stream across some other land.
There’s something silver in the wind,
with a siren voice that bows and bends.
But still I long to hear it sing,
before the stormy night can end.
The Boulder Knight! The Boulder Knight-
who moves mountains with his hands.
The Boulder Knight! The Boulder Knight-
he’s the backbone of the lands.
The eve was orange and the fire was blue,
and the Boulder Knight stood over his men-
“These lands of smoke,” he said, “Are ours to rue,
Will you stand with me and take them again?”
“With blood and flame we’ll make the Titan’s splay
for the crows across the ash splattered ground,
and then the un-burnt will become the blazed,
when the final wailing traitor is downed.”
Then with steel in hand and glory in heart,
the Boulder Knight lead the charge through the mist,
and they pulled the leeches and land apart
before the Titans could even persist.
The Boulder Knight! The Boulder Knight-
who moves mountains with his hands.
The Boulder Knight! The Boulder Knight-
he’s the backbone of the lands.
Here is yet another song/poem from the project I’m working on. Taken out of context, it might be a bit difficult to understand. I am also writing music to go with the ‘lyrics’.
sleep isn’t always a matter
of rest
or relief
or rejuvenation
i am safe in the dark
unbeatable beneath the blankets
without worry when
tendrils
of
sweet, silky nothingness
murmur over my lids
there is
something about the not knowing
that comes from dreams
it’s warm
and nice
and soft
and sometimes scary
but sleep
is what keeps me safe
even through the nightmares
and when i wake
it all seems so dull
so grinding
so rough and razored and rude
and the day is so long
and these sheets are so warm
please
let me sleep
Sometimes
I dream that a mighty hand
will thrust through the sky,
pulling apart the clouds
and letting in a light-
a light not of this world,
a light unfelt in ages.
If such
a light exists- a beam
beyond the blood splattered sky
and brighter than the dying sun,
then why hasn’t it shone before?
Why does gloom make its home
in the air, and why hasn’t the hand
batted away the smoke?
Sometimes
I dream that I am that hand,
titanic and teeming with the prayers
of a thousand weak and strong.
But are my fingers sharp enough
to rip apart what has been sewed?
I dream that there is a larger light,
but I fear that I’m too small.
Stellular Scribe 