Moments of inspirationLaid forgotten, barren with dying sinInspiration opening reality,Reality staring into possibilitypossibility morphed into dreams,Dreams barren, forgotten,Forgotten moments of inspiration.
Living in the shadows.It is a life of hate, anger, disgust.Watching them be better.It is a life of rage, frustration and hurt.Not being enoughA stake, to the soulThe perfect poison for your heart,The perfect poison for your sanity.Doing your life's best,and not being enough,Forever a dissapointment.My life is black,their praise are lies,How dare they!To my face, they say with a smirk, "that was amazing"...they never do add the 'but'.
It's too quiet here.Come closer.You can't hear me cry.Come closer,you can't see my dreams all diefrom where you're standing on your own.It's too quiet here.you promised-then, weeks later, when i fellyou smiled maliciously and said "broken promises are the best kind"'broken hearts hurt the worst'its too quiet here.i feel so cold-relief exists though.when i am cut.crippled anger,
Broken girls,Housed in a broken bodytheir pieces scattered, some buried, some floating in the middle of the ocean,None of them are whole.But you'll never see a single frown,Long sleeved shirts cover up the scars,bracelets hide the bandaids,fear, a tightly knotted restraint on their lips, as good as any mouth guard,Smiles on the outside,bright, tinkling laughs,hide the pain on the inside...When school is over, and the last question answered with the last lie,she walks to her favourite place;Always secluded,she sits on the grass, watches the leaves fall, and lets the tears drop too.There is no specific reason for her tears, but that black hole in her body that she felt grow today
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave,Let me once know.I sought thee in a secret cave,And ask'd, if Peace were there,A hollow wind did seem to answer, No:Go seek elsewhere.I did; and going did a rainbow note:Surely, thought I,This is the lace of Peace's coat:I will search out the matter.But while I looked the clouds immediatelyDid break and scatter.Then went I to a garden and did spyA gallant flower,The crown-imperial: Sure, said I,
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,Impatient of no Child --The feeblest -- or the waywardest --Her Admonition mild --In Forest -- and the Hill --By Traveller -- be heard --Restraining Rampant Squirrel --Or too impetuous Bird --How fair Her Conversation --A Summer Afternoon --Her Household -- Her Assembly --And when the Sun go down --Her Voice among the AislesIncite the timid prayerOf the minutest Cricket --The most unworthy Flower --
If faithful souls be alike glorifiedAs angels, then my fathers soul doth see,And adds this even to full felicity,That valiantly I hells wide mouth o'erstride:But if our minds to these souls be descriedBy circumstances, and by signs that beApparent in us, not immediately,How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried?They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn,And vile blasphemous conjurers to callOn Jesus name, and PharisaicalDissemblers feigne devotion. Then turn,O pensive soul, to God, for he knows bestThy true grief, for he put it in my breast.