I march the length of the corridors
I have a purpose in mind today
as I approach the door
a feeling of dread overwhelms.
It is eerily silent here,
opening the door to my creativity
I look around
taking in the destruction.
Where before there was a sea of colorful ideas
for my muse to swim through
now there is nothing
but darkness and decay.
I find her
my muse
slowly fading in the corner.
“What happened?” I ask,
as I pull her from her slumped position on the floor.
“Don’t you know?”
I do.
This is my fault.
I left the door to my creativity open,
allowing hurt
anger
criticism
to creep in
to poison my creativity
killing my ideas
one at a time.
I look around to see my ideas
withered husks
scattered across the floor
in a thick
sticky black layer of poison.
I turn to my muse
“We can fix this.”
There is a glimmer of hope
in her eyes
in mine.
Pushing up my sleeves
we start to scrape away the anger and hurt.
They should never have been allowed in this room.
Purging every bit of poison from the room,
breathing deeply
I survey our work
to see fresh ideas blooming
in fertile ground
a murmur of voices
slowly reaches my ears.
Smiling I turn and close the door
firmly behind me
knowing my muse will
soon be swimming once again
in a thick sea of ideas.
© Michele Markley 2009
Showing posts with label written in 2009. Show all posts
Showing posts with label written in 2009. Show all posts
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Past
The ghosts of yesterday
built our today
with sweat and tears.
A legacy pieced together,
added upon,
a gift,
a burden,
that each of us carries
to pass to our children.
Each kindness
each evil
all that has happened
shapes who we are today
and where we will go from here.
Each action
each thought expressed
becomes a footprint in the sand
sending ripples across the waters of time.
Time marches forward
but the past breathes
in the hearts of each of us.
© Michele Markley 2009
built our today
with sweat and tears.
A legacy pieced together,
added upon,
a gift,
a burden,
that each of us carries
to pass to our children.
Each kindness
each evil
all that has happened
shapes who we are today
and where we will go from here.
Each action
each thought expressed
becomes a footprint in the sand
sending ripples across the waters of time.
Time marches forward
but the past breathes
in the hearts of each of us.
© Michele Markley 2009
The Urge to Run
Every now and then the urge to run overwhelms.
I just want to pack up my car and drive
to the desert country of southern Utah.
It isn’t you that I run from,
it isn’t anyone.
It’s me,
life,
responsibilities,
work,
bills.
But running away would never allow me to escape,
because life follows us wherever we go,
so there is no point really.
It’s a silly idea anyway; I mean
who runs away to Utah?
Really.
I would probably change my mind
and turn back before I made it,
knowing that you would be the one hurt.
I would never wish to hurt you.
Maybe we can run away together someday,
just the two of us
just for a week or two
to camp out under the stars
in the middle of the desert
with flaming red arches
and snow capped mountains on the horizon.
© Michele Markley 2009
I just want to pack up my car and drive
to the desert country of southern Utah.
It isn’t you that I run from,
it isn’t anyone.
It’s me,
life,
responsibilities,
work,
bills.
But running away would never allow me to escape,
because life follows us wherever we go,
so there is no point really.
It’s a silly idea anyway; I mean
who runs away to Utah?
Really.
I would probably change my mind
and turn back before I made it,
knowing that you would be the one hurt.
I would never wish to hurt you.
Maybe we can run away together someday,
just the two of us
just for a week or two
to camp out under the stars
in the middle of the desert
with flaming red arches
and snow capped mountains on the horizon.
© Michele Markley 2009
Barely Covered Misogyny
Is it so hard
for you to believe
that a woman could be right?
That a woman could have an original, intelligent idea?
What is it that leads you to belittle us this way?
You think that I can’t see
your barely covered misogyny?
Can you not see it inside yourself?
You wish for my respect?
You have already lost it
and now you will have to earn it.
Respect will come to you
when the women around you
are treated with regard
to their knowledge and their talents
instead of their gender.
I am not weak.
I am not stupid.
I have not wronged you.
I am a woman.
Call me a feminist,
if it makes you feel better,
but don’t call me a bitch for voicing my opinion,
standing by my beliefs.
If you feel threatened by my presence
the problem is with you.
© Michele Markley 2009
for you to believe
that a woman could be right?
That a woman could have an original, intelligent idea?
What is it that leads you to belittle us this way?
You think that I can’t see
your barely covered misogyny?
Can you not see it inside yourself?
You wish for my respect?
You have already lost it
and now you will have to earn it.
Respect will come to you
when the women around you
are treated with regard
to their knowledge and their talents
instead of their gender.
I am not weak.
I am not stupid.
I have not wronged you.
I am a woman.
Call me a feminist,
if it makes you feel better,
but don’t call me a bitch for voicing my opinion,
standing by my beliefs.
If you feel threatened by my presence
the problem is with you.
© Michele Markley 2009
The Whisper of My Muse
Staring at the blank page,
I wait for my muse to whisper in my ear
but all I can hear is silence,
the dripping of melting snow
falling from the roof
and the snores from my cat
lying on the sofa.
I wait patiently for her
while I fetch a cup of coffee.
Perhaps she is just running late this morning,
though to be honest,
she didn’t show up yesterday either.
It is so unlike her to refuse to show up to work,
that I begin to grow a little concerned.
What if something has happened to my muse?
Did I do something to upset her?
I will simply have to have a talk with her.
Walking up to the door of my mind,
I reach for the handle to find it locked.
Locked.
She has locked me out of my own mind.
Doesn’t she know I don’t need keys?
This will barely slow me down.
All I need is imagination.
Closing my eyes, I step through the door
and walk down the hall in search of my muse.
I find her swimming through the room of creativity,
shoving open the door, I demand of her
“Why are you refusing to work today?”
“Who said I am refusing?”
“I need to write a poem. My page is blank.”
“Is it? Sometimes you have to write the poem that is there,
not the one you are searching for. ”
Her whisper wasn’t a poem of nature,
of life’s complicated problems,
nor even a search of deep emotions.
Yet it is a poem that fills my page.
The muse is always right,
even when her whispers are hard to hear
over the dripping of melting snow
falling from the roof
and the snores from my cat
lying on the sofa.
© Michele Markley 2009
I wait for my muse to whisper in my ear
but all I can hear is silence,
the dripping of melting snow
falling from the roof
and the snores from my cat
lying on the sofa.
I wait patiently for her
while I fetch a cup of coffee.
Perhaps she is just running late this morning,
though to be honest,
she didn’t show up yesterday either.
It is so unlike her to refuse to show up to work,
that I begin to grow a little concerned.
What if something has happened to my muse?
Did I do something to upset her?
I will simply have to have a talk with her.
Walking up to the door of my mind,
I reach for the handle to find it locked.
Locked.
She has locked me out of my own mind.
Doesn’t she know I don’t need keys?
This will barely slow me down.
All I need is imagination.
Closing my eyes, I step through the door
and walk down the hall in search of my muse.
I find her swimming through the room of creativity,
shoving open the door, I demand of her
“Why are you refusing to work today?”
“Who said I am refusing?”
“I need to write a poem. My page is blank.”
“Is it? Sometimes you have to write the poem that is there,
not the one you are searching for. ”
Her whisper wasn’t a poem of nature,
of life’s complicated problems,
nor even a search of deep emotions.
Yet it is a poem that fills my page.
The muse is always right,
even when her whispers are hard to hear
over the dripping of melting snow
falling from the roof
and the snores from my cat
lying on the sofa.
© Michele Markley 2009
Unconditional Love
(This is a practice in writing sonnets, a fine example why I do not. Wrote this over a year ago but hadn't shared it. Perhaps better left unshared but here it is anyway.)
Unconditional love oft escapes us
though we search for it so desperately
the one whose intentions are amorous
he may not think matrimonially.
Search not then for the perfect man to wed
for certainly him you shall never find
when you get perfection out of your head
you will discover that true love is blind.
Stop searching so and just open your heart
and then open your mind to love as well
when you are open love will do its part
you will find the man who makes your heart swell.
Unconditional love looks past the flaws
just accepting who he is without pause.
© Michele Markley 2009
Unconditional love oft escapes us
though we search for it so desperately
the one whose intentions are amorous
he may not think matrimonially.
Search not then for the perfect man to wed
for certainly him you shall never find
when you get perfection out of your head
you will discover that true love is blind.
Stop searching so and just open your heart
and then open your mind to love as well
when you are open love will do its part
you will find the man who makes your heart swell.
Unconditional love looks past the flaws
just accepting who he is without pause.
© Michele Markley 2009
Self Loathing
Self doubts creep in
a constant need for acceptance
for approval.
Will he leave me?
Why does he stay?
Does he even love me?
Where does it all come from?
Overwhelmed with self loathing
I cannot imagine you could love me.
The bed hasn’t even grown cold
from your absence
before the paranoia sets in
and I wonder if there is someone else.
I know this is my problem,
residing deep inside me,
that I have to be the one to fix it,
but where do I go from here?
The tears that I hide from you
only pull me deeper.
All of the road maps in the world
can’t show me the direction I need to go.
I must fix this, but
how can I fix us
when I can’t even fix me?
© Michele Markley 2009
a constant need for acceptance
for approval.
Will he leave me?
Why does he stay?
Does he even love me?
Where does it all come from?
Overwhelmed with self loathing
I cannot imagine you could love me.
The bed hasn’t even grown cold
from your absence
before the paranoia sets in
and I wonder if there is someone else.
I know this is my problem,
residing deep inside me,
that I have to be the one to fix it,
but where do I go from here?
The tears that I hide from you
only pull me deeper.
All of the road maps in the world
can’t show me the direction I need to go.
I must fix this, but
how can I fix us
when I can’t even fix me?
© Michele Markley 2009
Acceptance of Time
Time continues steadily on,
we ride it
unknowing passengers
unaware of its passage
unaware of the destination.
We try to hold it in our grasp
but it simply slips through our fingers
we desperately try to hold on
needing to freeze a moment.
Time pays us no heed
slowing down for no man
it marches on
never tiring
ignoring the pleas of man
though we will it to do our bidding
speed up
slow down
just stop for a moment.
It is constant, moving
never changing
always does it march
never dragging its feet like a stubborn child
nor racing ahead to see what lies before it
it plods along at its pace
dragging us along for the ride.
It does only that which it was designed
it cannot be bribed
never bowing to our wishes
it does not grant favors
nor feel sorry for us
we need to let it go
for this to grow
to change.
© Michele Markley 2009
we ride it
unknowing passengers
unaware of its passage
unaware of the destination.
We try to hold it in our grasp
but it simply slips through our fingers
we desperately try to hold on
needing to freeze a moment.
Time pays us no heed
slowing down for no man
it marches on
never tiring
ignoring the pleas of man
though we will it to do our bidding
speed up
slow down
just stop for a moment.
It is constant, moving
never changing
always does it march
never dragging its feet like a stubborn child
nor racing ahead to see what lies before it
it plods along at its pace
dragging us along for the ride.
It does only that which it was designed
it cannot be bribed
never bowing to our wishes
it does not grant favors
nor feel sorry for us
we need to let it go
for this to grow
to change.
© Michele Markley 2009
Drifting
Lying here
eyes closed
winter blankets pinning me to the mattress,
I focus on my breathing
and nothing else.
Cleansing breaths,
carrying away my thoughts,
my fears.
The only sounds the mournful whistle of a distant train,
the purring of my cat
pleased to share my warmth
and cleansing breaths.
In
Out
In
Out
Relaxing sounds.
clack clack,
clack clack,
the rhythmic meeting of wheel on steel.
How far will it carry its cargo tonight?
Its mournful cries fade off into the distance
and I am left with the warm sound of purring
and my breathing.
In
Out
In
Out
The soft pillow pulls at my eyelids
and my thoughts drift
over steel
towards a dream
of unknown destination.
© Michele Markley 2009
eyes closed
winter blankets pinning me to the mattress,
I focus on my breathing
and nothing else.
Cleansing breaths,
carrying away my thoughts,
my fears.
The only sounds the mournful whistle of a distant train,
the purring of my cat
pleased to share my warmth
and cleansing breaths.
In
Out
In
Out
Relaxing sounds.
clack clack,
clack clack,
the rhythmic meeting of wheel on steel.
How far will it carry its cargo tonight?
Its mournful cries fade off into the distance
and I am left with the warm sound of purring
and my breathing.
In
Out
In
Out
The soft pillow pulls at my eyelids
and my thoughts drift
over steel
towards a dream
of unknown destination.
© Michele Markley 2009
Lost Forever in Silence
I grew up,
too afraid to speak up,
to stand for myself,
anger building,
resentment.
I know there was love
but love is not fair
and love is not equal.
I slowly conformed
trying to change
until I became
something different from me.
So I stand here now
silently screaming,
pulling my hair,
following the script,
the role I must play.
Still afraid to speak up
to stand for myself.
Afraid that the one
I used to be
is lost
forever
in silence.
© Michele Markley 2009
too afraid to speak up,
to stand for myself,
anger building,
resentment.
I know there was love
but love is not fair
and love is not equal.
I slowly conformed
trying to change
until I became
something different from me.
So I stand here now
silently screaming,
pulling my hair,
following the script,
the role I must play.
Still afraid to speak up
to stand for myself.
Afraid that the one
I used to be
is lost
forever
in silence.
© Michele Markley 2009
My Darkest Secrets
Dark secrets torture my soul,
I struggle with the demon inside,
my sinful nature,
my desires,
tearing me apart.
Grabbing hold of my darkest secrets
I run into the shadows
holding them close,
savoring them,
then burying them deep
in the black soil,
I turn my back on these secrets
hoping no one will find them.
I turn to look once more
at the place I have hidden them to find
they have taken root
in the shadows
of the dark,
growing taller
than the surrounding trees.
I claw frantically at the base
of my secret
gnashing my teeth in frustration
to no avail,
a stone leaps into my hand
I hack at the trunk
of this secret that has grown massive.
My blood rushes through veins
fueled by panic
and I turn
to see you walking
the path.
I stand in front of my secret,
as if this would hide the braches
that have leapt out of the darkness.
To my horror
I realize that I have become transparent.
My darkest secret
is no secret at all.
You know.
You’ve always known.
For you can see inside of me
to that which I thought I had hidden.
I lay
with my face buried in the soil
knowing your judgment
has come
and nothing I am
is hidden from your eyes.
© Michele Markley 2009
I struggle with the demon inside,
my sinful nature,
my desires,
tearing me apart.
Grabbing hold of my darkest secrets
I run into the shadows
holding them close,
savoring them,
then burying them deep
in the black soil,
I turn my back on these secrets
hoping no one will find them.
I turn to look once more
at the place I have hidden them to find
they have taken root
in the shadows
of the dark,
growing taller
than the surrounding trees.
I claw frantically at the base
of my secret
gnashing my teeth in frustration
to no avail,
a stone leaps into my hand
I hack at the trunk
of this secret that has grown massive.
My blood rushes through veins
fueled by panic
and I turn
to see you walking
the path.
I stand in front of my secret,
as if this would hide the braches
that have leapt out of the darkness.
To my horror
I realize that I have become transparent.
My darkest secret
is no secret at all.
You know.
You’ve always known.
For you can see inside of me
to that which I thought I had hidden.
I lay
with my face buried in the soil
knowing your judgment
has come
and nothing I am
is hidden from your eyes.
© Michele Markley 2009
The Source of My Anger
I try to find the source of my anger
lying here
searching my mind.
I come upon a room
I've never seen before.
It is dark.
Even with the door closed
it is easy to see the darkness
that hides here.
I pull open the door
to be greeted by a shriek.
No,
this is mine
get out!
The door slips from my grasp
slamming closed
then disappears in a blink.
I have buried it deeper.
So I search
and search
and still
I search to find the source of my anger.
© Michele Markley 2009
lying here
searching my mind.
I come upon a room
I've never seen before.
It is dark.
Even with the door closed
it is easy to see the darkness
that hides here.
I pull open the door
to be greeted by a shriek.
No,
this is mine
get out!
The door slips from my grasp
slamming closed
then disappears in a blink.
I have buried it deeper.
So I search
and search
and still
I search to find the source of my anger.
© Michele Markley 2009
Fading to Nothing
I am not the person you see
this life isn’t mine
its just the one I’m living.
Who am I?
No mirror can show
a true reflection.
A whisper of my presence
lost in a world that isn’t mine.
I scream
and there is only silence.
How can you look
into me
and not see me
just beneath the surface.
This isn’t me
fading to nothing.
Or is it?
© Michele Markley 2009
this life isn’t mine
its just the one I’m living.
Who am I?
No mirror can show
a true reflection.
A whisper of my presence
lost in a world that isn’t mine.
I scream
and there is only silence.
How can you look
into me
and not see me
just beneath the surface.
This isn’t me
fading to nothing.
Or is it?
© Michele Markley 2009
Iridescent Bloom
This is a room I visit often
slipping off my shoes before entering.
I want no restrictions here
only comfort.
I have constructed this place
and no one else can enter
without my invitation
I walk through the gateless gate
and step onto the endless path.
My path is sand
warm and soft
beneath my feet
the air is cool,
refreshing
as it washes over me.
I walk slowly to the hill
sand squishing between my toes
and sit on the top
looking across the endless sand dunes.
The sands glow in the light of the sparkling stars
reflecting the light
like warm rolling fields of snow
they shimmer.
I am alone here,
alone with my thoughts.
Closing my eyes
I focus on my breathing
and clear my head.
No one can reach me here
no one can find me.
Digging my hands deep into the sand
I lift it high and let it fall
through my fingers
reaching deep
I grasp the windblown grains
feeling their texture change in my hands.
Something has changed
the smell of green pulls me to the surface.
I open my eyes and smile
Knowing without turning my head.
“You’ve changed my desert into a meadow.”
“The sand was a pain in the ass.”
I smile.
“What is this place?”
I turn to watch your expression,
as you take in our surroundings.
“This is where I meditate.”
“So it can be anything you want it to be?”
“Yes and apparently not just me.”
I close my eyes
imagining the rolling hills of green
and open them slowly.
“Watch”
You look at me quizzically.
“No, really. Watch.”
I point to the mounds of green.
Between the blades of grass at our toes
small buds push through the soil.
Opening to full bloom
the pale pink and purple iridescent blooms
open in a rippling wave
across the distant hills
bringing a smile to your face.
You turn to me
“Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“You are always welcome.”
I turn and watch you fade
taking the grass with you.
Looking down
I see a single iridescent bloom
alone in the white sand
where you sat
moments before
bringing a smile to wash away my sad.
© Michele Markley 2009
slipping off my shoes before entering.
I want no restrictions here
only comfort.
I have constructed this place
and no one else can enter
without my invitation
I walk through the gateless gate
and step onto the endless path.
My path is sand
warm and soft
beneath my feet
the air is cool,
refreshing
as it washes over me.
I walk slowly to the hill
sand squishing between my toes
and sit on the top
looking across the endless sand dunes.
The sands glow in the light of the sparkling stars
reflecting the light
like warm rolling fields of snow
they shimmer.
I am alone here,
alone with my thoughts.
Closing my eyes
I focus on my breathing
and clear my head.
No one can reach me here
no one can find me.
Digging my hands deep into the sand
I lift it high and let it fall
through my fingers
reaching deep
I grasp the windblown grains
feeling their texture change in my hands.
Something has changed
the smell of green pulls me to the surface.
I open my eyes and smile
Knowing without turning my head.
“You’ve changed my desert into a meadow.”
“The sand was a pain in the ass.”
I smile.
“What is this place?”
I turn to watch your expression,
as you take in our surroundings.
“This is where I meditate.”
“So it can be anything you want it to be?”
“Yes and apparently not just me.”
I close my eyes
imagining the rolling hills of green
and open them slowly.
“Watch”
You look at me quizzically.
“No, really. Watch.”
I point to the mounds of green.
Between the blades of grass at our toes
small buds push through the soil.
Opening to full bloom
the pale pink and purple iridescent blooms
open in a rippling wave
across the distant hills
bringing a smile to your face.
You turn to me
“Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“You are always welcome.”
I turn and watch you fade
taking the grass with you.
Looking down
I see a single iridescent bloom
alone in the white sand
where you sat
moments before
bringing a smile to wash away my sad.
© Michele Markley 2009
Hollow Bones
I killed a bird today.
I and my car
acting as one
were the instrument of its death.
If not me
then a cat
someone else’s car
the window of a high-rise building.
I take no pleasure
in delivering its end
not knowing if it was a mother
or a father
just a flutter of feathers
and hollow bones
broken
against my windshield.
Death is swift
unexpected
though we know it comes
for each of us.
Knowledge does not ease the pain.
Is there a baby in its nest
starving for its dinner tonight
because of me?
© Michele Markley 2009
I and my car
acting as one
were the instrument of its death.
If not me
then a cat
someone else’s car
the window of a high-rise building.
I take no pleasure
in delivering its end
not knowing if it was a mother
or a father
just a flutter of feathers
and hollow bones
broken
against my windshield.
Death is swift
unexpected
though we know it comes
for each of us.
Knowledge does not ease the pain.
Is there a baby in its nest
starving for its dinner tonight
because of me?
© Michele Markley 2009
Beyond Twilight
Each step I take disturbs the fog
sending it swirling
chasing me into the unknown
clinging to my clothes.
Ahead the fog drifts undisturbed
a thick blanket
hiding the path before my feet.
Darkness surrounds me
in this world void of color
except for the bright color of your voice
calling in the distance
guiding me.
I am drawn to you
not knowing where this will lead
I quicken my step
running blindly into the night.
Faster, my feet pound the earth
as the branches tear at my clothes.
Your voice lifts over the fog
coming from every direction.
Apparitions of you are everywhere
I reach for you but there is nothing.
The moon breaks through the night
but fails to penetrate this darkness.
The faster my steps
the further you seem.
My feet slide and I am falling
into nothing
there is nothing to hold onto
even the moon has abandoned me here.
I awake bound in a tangle of sheets
sweat on my brow
the only sound my labored breathing.
I stare at the cracks on the ceiling
illuminated by the red numbers
glowing on my clock.
The witching hour
and once again you have crept in
to haunt my dreams.
© Michele Markley 2009
sending it swirling
chasing me into the unknown
clinging to my clothes.
Ahead the fog drifts undisturbed
a thick blanket
hiding the path before my feet.
Darkness surrounds me
in this world void of color
except for the bright color of your voice
calling in the distance
guiding me.
I am drawn to you
not knowing where this will lead
I quicken my step
running blindly into the night.
Faster, my feet pound the earth
as the branches tear at my clothes.
Your voice lifts over the fog
coming from every direction.
Apparitions of you are everywhere
I reach for you but there is nothing.
The moon breaks through the night
but fails to penetrate this darkness.
The faster my steps
the further you seem.
My feet slide and I am falling
into nothing
there is nothing to hold onto
even the moon has abandoned me here.
I awake bound in a tangle of sheets
sweat on my brow
the only sound my labored breathing.
I stare at the cracks on the ceiling
illuminated by the red numbers
glowing on my clock.
The witching hour
and once again you have crept in
to haunt my dreams.
© Michele Markley 2009
Drifting Through the Darkness
My blood feels heavy
inside my veins.
Dragging me
into the cavernous depths
of my own mind
sapping me of strength.
Closing an eyelid
to clear the dust
is more than I realized.
I have let the tide carry me
so far beyond
that returning is unimaginable.
I am lost.
I am sinking.
Yet,
I hear your voice
a faint echo
in my mind
drifting through the darkness
and my spirits lift.
Slowly I rise
from the depths
until all that was is just a whisper.
© Michele Markley 2009
inside my veins.
Dragging me
into the cavernous depths
of my own mind
sapping me of strength.
Closing an eyelid
to clear the dust
is more than I realized.
I have let the tide carry me
so far beyond
that returning is unimaginable.
I am lost.
I am sinking.
Yet,
I hear your voice
a faint echo
in my mind
drifting through the darkness
and my spirits lift.
Slowly I rise
from the depths
until all that was is just a whisper.
© Michele Markley 2009
I Search Within
Seeking answers,
from me,
from God,
from this world.
The deeper I search
the deeper I sink
pulled under the surface
no answers in sight.
In my search I see your hand extended,
reaching out,
offering to help pull me to the surface
but I can’t bring myself to meet you halfway
knowing you have your own burdens to bear.
I search within
to find my own strength
to find my own answers.
My questions aren’t your questions
and only I can find the answers.
I search within
but there is nothing
only dark
yet I search for a grain of light.
I search for hope.
© Michele Markley 2009
from me,
from God,
from this world.
The deeper I search
the deeper I sink
pulled under the surface
no answers in sight.
In my search I see your hand extended,
reaching out,
offering to help pull me to the surface
but I can’t bring myself to meet you halfway
knowing you have your own burdens to bear.
I search within
to find my own strength
to find my own answers.
My questions aren’t your questions
and only I can find the answers.
I search within
but there is nothing
only dark
yet I search for a grain of light.
I search for hope.
© Michele Markley 2009
I Can Be Hurt
I was always tender hearted
more so than you would know.
Some things don’t change
but now I have built a wall
surrounding me
locking the door
keeping all from coming near
to protect from the hurt
that is inevitable.
So rarely do I open the door
letting someone in
how easily I forget.
I didn’t tell you the weapon
knowing you would try with anger
to drive me away.
Anger wasn’t the weapon you chose
I can be hurt
so quickly,
so easily.
Did you scale the wall that I built?
Did I leave the door open for you?
Anger I am quick to forgive
but hurt,
hurt leaves behind a wound
to remind me of the words
to remind me of the feelings.
I realize now, after so many wasted years,
I cannot shut myself off from the world
in hopes that I won't feel the hurt
for there is no joy without pain.
© Michele Markley 2009
more so than you would know.
Some things don’t change
but now I have built a wall
surrounding me
locking the door
keeping all from coming near
to protect from the hurt
that is inevitable.
So rarely do I open the door
letting someone in
how easily I forget.
I didn’t tell you the weapon
knowing you would try with anger
to drive me away.
Anger wasn’t the weapon you chose
I can be hurt
so quickly,
so easily.
Did you scale the wall that I built?
Did I leave the door open for you?
Anger I am quick to forgive
but hurt,
hurt leaves behind a wound
to remind me of the words
to remind me of the feelings.
I realize now, after so many wasted years,
I cannot shut myself off from the world
in hopes that I won't feel the hurt
for there is no joy without pain.
© Michele Markley 2009
The Last Battle of Winter Break
Never did we let a winter pass
without building a fort of snow,
built to fend off invaders.
Shelves carved into the walls
were always piled high with munitions
snowballs packed and stacked
ready and waiting.
We would climb the highest tree
a lookout perched in its branches for unending minutes
withstanding the winter winds.
We were armed and ready
though the invading forces never came,
our fortress walls remained unbreached.
Giving up the war we would fall in
heading for the house
one after the other
lining the basement steps
with snow filled boots,
damp mittens, scarves and hats,
our coats hung to dry.
These were the casualties of our war.
We were always rewarded for our bravery
with hot mugs of cocoa
warming our insides
as we perched ourselves over the furnace vent
hoping to thaw our fingers and toes.
It was always the saddest time
when we were forced to return to our school books
leaving the battlefield deserted.
The last battle of winter break
never fought.
© Michele Markley 2009
without building a fort of snow,
built to fend off invaders.
Shelves carved into the walls
were always piled high with munitions
snowballs packed and stacked
ready and waiting.
We would climb the highest tree
a lookout perched in its branches for unending minutes
withstanding the winter winds.
We were armed and ready
though the invading forces never came,
our fortress walls remained unbreached.
Giving up the war we would fall in
heading for the house
one after the other
lining the basement steps
with snow filled boots,
damp mittens, scarves and hats,
our coats hung to dry.
These were the casualties of our war.
We were always rewarded for our bravery
with hot mugs of cocoa
warming our insides
as we perched ourselves over the furnace vent
hoping to thaw our fingers and toes.
It was always the saddest time
when we were forced to return to our school books
leaving the battlefield deserted.
The last battle of winter break
never fought.
© Michele Markley 2009
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