Tag Archives: freedom

And Snow Falls From Her Sky

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She steps out onto the terrace,
and gazes at the sky.
Perhaps it shall uncover some truth this day
that since now, she’s been denied.

What is this world, why am I here?
she wonders with a sigh.
She asks in blatant amnesty
if she might know the reason why.

Snow falls again this day,
in the middle of the spring.
There is no sun, no moon, no clouds;
only forgotten things.

Like beams that come from nowhere
of light that may not truly be.
And darkness that comes without warning
any day, any night, suddenly.

And moments that last forever,
time stopped by empty words.
Promises of a beautiful place
beyond this snow-globe world.

And the case that now confines her
to a land she’d never been.
She places her hand upon the glass
and yearns for her heart within.

And the land above that spans her,
the lightbulb in the room.
The cat that prowls and watches her,
the flowers in the vase that bloom.

The fish that so resembles her life,
only palace is his home.
The dog that barks incessantly
when the Others leave him alone.

The mother that cries for her child’s loss,
she yearns to touch her hand.
To promise her she is still alive,
here, in this snowglobe land.

The father who is now a lush,
and spends days and nights in a vapor.
The sister who sleeps in the very room
where Snow Girl’s life feels tapered.

Her tiny fingers leave prints of dust
upon the glass held strong.
She yearns to hold herself again,
for she’s been here far too long.

Too long missing, too long gone,
in a world she should not be.
A globe of snow, shaken each day
and tortured by what she sees.

The mouse that crawls in during the night,
places his palm to hers.
Understands her entrapment
in not so many words.

Would release her if he could,
but cannot break the glass.
So becomes her companion
until the day that he is past.

And again, alone, in snow.
In house she can’t enter,
trapped in spring and summer and fall;
cursed to forever winter.

And so she sits upon church steps,
and watches her outside.
Is shaken again, and falls again,
and snow falls from her sky.

I was watching a rather strange show on Cartoon Network last night called MAD. I had never seen it before and I don’t plan to see it again, but it did bring up a rather strange idea. It gave a fake term of phobia for “the fear that if you shake a snowglobe you are ruining the lives of many little people inside.” It was meant to be funny, but I thought that with a little effort, I could change it to beautiful. And out of that came this.

On another note, I will be undergoing surgery tomorrow so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to post anything. I’m going to try my best to get something written tonight and schedule it for tomorrow but the last time I scheduled a post it didn’t pan out and I ended up having to post it myself. So we’ll see what happens. If nothing else, I’ll write something up while I’m in recovery on my iPod and post it that way. Of course, if that does happen to be the case, you’ll have to forgive my writing. It may not be amazing in my drugged-up state.

Just Another Chapter

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Just another mark of ink
upon a blank white page.
Stained in an eerie permanence
that I might not erase my mistakes.
Soiled with the arrogance
of another author’s place,
pulling at the strings in my life
without regard or taste.

Fingers tapping softly
with the sure-footed step
of the padded wolf,
the cunning of a fox,
the silence of a cricket,
crying out for reprieve.
How can I call this
relief?

Grasping at memories that flee my mind,
reaching for friends I’ve long left behind.
Foreseeing a future too far out of sight,
replaying a past that I still cannot fight.

Just another chapter in my book,
just another lesson
that I never took.
Just another mention
of a name that meant the world
in between words
that described how he walked away.

Just another chapter in my life.

Just another memory taken by tide.
Just another person stopped in time
with a hope that dissolved with any fate
and a life that returned when I misconstrued the same,
only this time, the boy to blame
who managed to heal my heart again,
loved me with all of his.

Just another chapter in the book.

And yet, I stop my author dead in her frightened tracks.
I steal her pen and snap the thing in half.
I tell her that I’m never going back.
That I’ll never return to that Hell-hole of a past.
That her finishing words to that chapter were her last.

This is my novel now.

And I’m rewriting the ending.

In the end, the character falls in love.
In the end she meets the man who steals her heart.
In the end, she is happy, with all of her soul,
in the end, she is whole, like the start.

Sometimes I feel like I’m not the one writing out my life. As if, someone in some cosmic universe was writing my story for me. And, please do excuse my language, for a time, she was doing a damn shitty job. My author must have been sadistic and angry at me for some incomprehensible reason. And yet, here I am, happy. I’m sick of everything else dictating the way I live my life. These are my days, my chapters, to rewrite as I please. I can’t change the past. But I can decide the future, and I can decide to live the way I want to.