Daddy's Girl

Open up this heart of mine--what do I find? A hole as huge as the world. Love is the tiny splash at the bottom of this well as penny wishes cascade into its depths. Words are useless when your ears refuse to hear. Far too much pain to waste my breath to speak them anymore.

All the ribbons on the wall, certificates so neatly framed, those achievements glittering in memory are pictures of you. This mind, these hands, worked solely to build this person into your ideal. Now what? The job is undone the foreman left this builder standing alone hammer in hand. When all you've done your entire life is build how do you move on when it's taken away?

Can't even bear to be in the same building? When did things go so wrong? Devastation... 21 years all gone. Who's daddy's little girl? Better question... who is daddy? I had one once, seems so long ago. Now he's just a picture and a memory of a time gone by.

So tired of being wounded... numb. You'll never read these words, if you do they'll simply fade.

Child's Cry

So strange the emptiness now that you have gone. The heart knows what the mind would choose to forget. Missing you is enough to bring tears to these tired eyes. With your presence so near everything was 'okay' the world stopped spinning so madly for just those few moments you were near.

Everything is a shadow of you. I can still see you here and this foolish heart half expects to see your smile walk through the door any minute. Its time to grow up, this longing is a child's cry. But soothe this babe with your tender voice and warm smile. The scent of your perfume still lingers.

So far away. A mother's tender love remains diluted by crackling phone lines. Jobs, working in this bitter time keeps visits so few. This nervous mind knows that the corporeal will not last forever and watches the moments slip by... second by second. Waste away the minutes, hours, days--years spending time in the distance.

Again... time to grow up. Only a child cries for a mother's touch. Yet, forever I am your daughter, your child. If only the distance could disappear yet luck will never have it so. I love you Mom.

Tick-Time

Tick goes the clock... there's still time. Hurry? What's the rush? There's still time.

Time to be big time time to be small to take center stage or become nothing at all. The future still holds a questioning stare no directions of certainty or even of "what I'd like to be." Why run? Walk -- savor the moment. Yesterday you felt the same way--want to rush the minute, hour, day. Now look back and wish for times reoccurring. Nostalgia eats a painful hole in an already aching heart.

Don't run. Don't rush. Don't look back the past has past. Some things in this world of ours just weren't meant to last. Don't look ahead the future is a fickle temptress, one minute beckoning and the next dismaying. Don't look, don't leap, just start.

Take a breath, suck it up, start. Remember, everyone had to start somewhere your "somewhere" just happens to be here and now. Where will you end up? Only time will tell.... tick-tock

Book Fog

Wake just to fall to sleep once more. Destined to yearn for destiny until old age ravages all hope of tomorrow. Fantasies blend into a mixed hue of reality to be painted over the harsh chill of these white sterile walls. Some are not meant to live in a box as, remember, containment drives sanity crazy sometimes.

Adventure flaunts herself -- sluttish -- from page after page in novel after novel telling of life as it has never existed. Sure her image looks great but, its all been airbrushed! So why dare to dream for the morrow in a bland unexciting world? Nothing can compare to imagined imagery of another's overactive imagination. If only 'friend' existed outside those library scented pages.

However turn the last page of the last chapter in this the most recent of life's distractions. No sense holding on to little letters strewn about on a few hundred pages or so. Besides there are many more lives yet to live... escape anew.

Tired Grind

Too tired to write--
to pick up this pen
think of these thoughts all over again.

I'm too tired to write
to tap on these keys
the words they come slowly
sleep comes with ease.

Worries and worries
worries and woes
Stress keeps on churning
it ebbs and it flows

Still carry on
hoist the main sails at last
no time to tarry
The die has been cast

To tired to write
I say this, "the end"
Tomorrow comes quickly
The grind starts again

Sing Song

Forget the unforgotten dreams, it's over now. Hush babe, hush. Listen to the song on the wind close those aching eyes and lift that rusty voice and sing along. Sing. Let out all of yesterday, pour that heart into the wind and let the pain just blow away.

Dissolution, fading softly into nonexistence. Who is the writer behind these words? Find truth. A weak echo in the basement of long locked off memory. No luck? Fall into a role, slip on that costume. Pull down the mask and walk on, walk on. Walk out? Already heading down the hall. Lucky to have the life fallen into, walk away? Maybe...maybe another day.

It's the same old story written to a different rhyme. Love so simple and pure has fallen on a rusty nail. Ah the snags in life. Another problem created by the faulty psychology of over thinking and underachieving. Potential spoils and rots before passive eyes. Take action! Forever the spectator? Then loose this mind to the mob. Choose. No regrets, the creator of one's own consequence, don't complain.

Answer me! Who, what, when, where, why, and HOW? A heavy sigh, and we move back to square one again. Fear is the beast of burden, you know? Fear sends you running, fear makes you hide, and fear...fear makes you stay.