Lewis Carroll

Alice and Amanda's Poem

10:21 PM

Life, what is it but a dream?
Things are never what they seem:
Masquerading moonlight schemes.

Dreaming as the summers die,
Straining for the heron's cry,
Echoing the endless, "why?"

Lovingly shall nestle near
Each evasive leeching fear
Roaming round this earthly sphere.

Never seen by waking eyes
Is the maiden fair with lies,
Turned away with every tide.

Autumn frosts have slain July.
Springtime hearts that should not sigh 
Walk into the wintertime.

Pleased a simple tale to hear,
Loath to drop a burden dear,
The tired, twisted whisperer.

In an evening of July
Souls are lit by fireflies.
Time alone will make them wise.

Poetry

this is not the end

8:43 PM

Once it was always summer,
And the sun never ceased to shine upon my upturned face,
Even when it rained,
And doused your hair,
Which fell across your eyes, deep brown like the fresh earth.

The days ran in a circle of joy,
And the forest echoed with the laughter of the wood sprites.
We were children then,
And we chased the light
As it fell like stardust through the spaces between the trees.

We were innocent,
And nothing that was said or done could ever taint us.
My dreams were higher than the clouds,
And each one attainable,
As certain as the fact that you knew you’d find true love.

There’s a photograph of us,
Back before my dreams had died and your heart was broken.
Your face was close to mine,
Our hands were clasped tight,
And each moment spent together was as natural as breathing.

I thought I was the future,
And that my hands would shake the very fibers of this world.
You thought that I was perfect,
And that the signs were in your favor,
And that the time and place would come when all in love was right.

That was all so very long ago,
Before the rungs of the ladder collapsed beneath my feet.
You tried to save me,
And offer an escape.
But I needed time and space, to learn to fight the world on my own.

I wasted my best years,
Chasing the straying sunbeams that slipped through my fingers
And left me wanting,
My hands still empty.
The glittering renown I thought would find me proved elusive.

You suffered alone.
The years took the joy and triumph from your footsteps.
The brown eyes lost their mirth.
Stranded on an island of your building,
You fled from the elements, and the pain inside your own being.

There were no more words.
No reason to share the secrets of our hearts.
I took my own counsel,
Carried my own soul,
Until the weight of it brought me to the earth, beaten in the end.

I saw you again.
Your hair across your forehead like the child I once knew,
But delight was gone,
Hope and desire faded,
Resignation painted across the visage that had been my closest friend.


No more.


Take my hand.
The woods we used to roam are still alive and breathing.
The sunlit showers fall just the same,
And there is joy yet to be found.
The light continues to call us, and the earth has room for love and dreams.


We are children still.

Poetry

I am the girl with empty hands

10:37 PM

I will let go of my love.
I do not need it to survive.
It does my spirit mortal harm
And turns my soul into a desert.

 I will not suffer anymore
Nor mourn the loss of what has never been.
The actualization of joy is a rare thing
And standing in the shadows the more certain fate.

I am happy for you, my friend.
It is my duty but I am sincere.
The world will fall at your feet like the woman you love,
And I will watch, the girl with the empty hands.

It has been thus all along
And it is easy to hide when one is always alone.
But even though I did not build a boat
Somehow I am left standing after the flood tide.

I will still breathe.
The heart within me will beat again.
Even the darkest hour must end at last,
And already I have lived to tell the tale.

 I will let life come at me once more,
And open wide my arms to receive it.
And even now I will find each small happiness
While I wait a while in this useless passion.

Poetry

When you let someone go...

11:17 PM

I tried to save the day,
To swoop in like a mighty warrior
And defeat the foes who were breaking down your door.
But my armor was not strong enough for two
And if I gave it to you then I would l be left unprotected.

Perhaps it is the most honorable to sacrifice one's self
But I was too afraid.
My words were big, but my soul was not as calloused.
I had the courage to stand on my feet
And I possibly the gumption to survive,
But I couldn't fight your battles
And I couldn't protect your heart.

I can't be your hero.
You must save yourself.

Poetry

the detour

11:39 PM

I walked among the tombs tonight,
Just for a change, to wend my way,
And on each grave shone fairy lights
Lit from the sunbeams of the day.

I chose a path not often walked
To test my surety of step,
And hide my face from human talk
And cloak the human tears I wept.

The night wind called my name aloud.
Absent voices cried a warning.
I was alone amidst the crowd,
My heart within a burial shroud.
Yet purpose clear, and spirit proud,
I pressed onward, towards the morning.

Poetry

brave enough

11:54 PM

I have the courage to fight the war,
and I know the words to call the butterflies.

I've got stamina, and I will follow the golden tail of a meteor
Until it plummets into the sea.
I can hold the breath in my lungs until I reach the ocean floor.

My words are smooth.
I have reasoned with the mermaids,
the silver creatures who drown the souls of men
 and leave their bodies to rise again to the surface.

My heart is strong,
but soft enough to sense the murmuring of the white stags,
and my feet are swift to follow.

The woods no longer call me the way they used to,
and the mountains have grown silent.
My footsteps no longer echo,
and my shadow has returned to its home.

My foes surround me,
relentless,
waiting to claim my being.

All is silence.
Much has been lost.

Why must there always be dragons?



I am brave enough.

Writer's Brain

words written in a coffee shop, a year and a month ago

3:20 PM

There is a dragon, fighting a mother-of-pearl unicorn, outside my bedroom window. The trees groan, trying to bear the weight of the brawl. The leaves flutter to the ground, quickly forgotten consequences of the war above.

The dragon breathes fire and its claws are silver with unicorn blood. Yet its foe is unharmed, the unicorn horn glistening like the trophy of a battle already won.

I cannot choose sides, for that would be to make an enemy of myself. I am both adversaries, and it is myself who wars.

Reason, like a dragon of fury, quick to draw blood and destroy, is after the unicorn of my dreams, a thing of beauty that is not meant for battle. But it is armed with a weapon sharper than glass, able to pierce the heart of logic at the slightest provocation.

They battle today and they will battle tomorrow. And all I can do is watch, and mourn, and celebrate both the victor and the vanquished. I know that neither will ever win, but that they will war, on and on, until the creases around my mouth have deepened, and the wrinkles hide my eyes, and I am crowned with immortality.

It is a losing battle, and yet I am the victor.