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Raven Poe Poem
It seems there's always been
A crack within my heart of glass,
That leaks out poison issues of my past,
And is too sharp in my memory,
So the pain will always last...
However...
I am perfect,
A fractured beauty to behold,
It seems that a heart of glass,
With a poisoned past,
Can still have a center of gold
Even those against me,
If I see them crying,
I won't look away,
But extend my hand in friendship,
So they might learn what I learned more easily
Breaking free,
I am a phoenix,
With my last breathe,
I'll rise from the ashes and set the world ablaze,
Each pain leaves its mark,
But I will defy fate and make it mine!
A patchwork of scars,
That is my true skin's brocade,
I might be swathed in pain,
In lies,
Other's hatred,
Human despair,
A web of lies,
Deciet,
Secrets,
And my own god-forsaken darkness.
But I'll still hold my head up high,
Towering above the perfectly imperfect aspects of myself,
And take my own path down the uncharted road before me
Even those against me,
I won't let them be conquered by life,
I'll show them that even when the world fights you,
When it seems like there's no light to be found,
I'll show them that there is no such thing as eternal night
Copyright © Raven Poe | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Raven Poe Poem
I often wonder,
In those fragile moments between dream and waking,
If what I know of good,
And what I I know of evil are what creates the complexity that is me.
Do the two intertwine,
Compacted together so they form some semblance of normality?
Or if they are opposing forces,
Neither winning in a battle of dominance over my psyche.
The later of these two appears to be the case,
Because I'm always the same,
But so very different after each and every passing moment.
Peering inside myself,
I imagine that this is what I would see:
I can be shallow as a puddle,
Growing ever smaller under the summer sun.
Or deep as an ocean trench,
Teeming with mystery.
I can be childish as a girl on her first day of school,
At first too scared to let go of her mother,
And then off making friends with everyone nearby.
Or I can be wise as the old woman,
Seeing so much more of the world in seconds,
Knowing every secret at a glance.
I can be smooth and cold as marble,
Indifferent and never yielding.
Or rough as the bark of a sun bathed oak,
Showing all that I have openly.
I can be harsh as a blizzard,
Searing with my very touch.
Or gentle as a spring breeze,
Playfully whistling in your ear.
I can be sorrowful as a summer monsoon,
Raining torrents until no more will come forth,
Or cheering as a spring rain that leaves a rainbow in its wake.
Of devil or angel,
I choose neither.
Both deny themselves the freedom I hold so dear.
The ability to choose between kind or cruel,
Gentle or harsh,
Raging or comforting,
And most of all,
Between hate or love.
I am me,
No one else,
And all the warring elements that make me are the most ugly,
And beautiful things in the world.
All these and so much more are who I am,
Who I can be,
And what I long for myself to grow into.
But,
As all things must someday,
These thoughts drift away,
Lost once again inside me.
Fading as the night does once it reaches dawn,
For I am in that space between dream and waking no longer.
Instead,
I find myself seated in Biology,
With my teacher shooting daggers from her eyes,
Asking pointedly if my nap had been restful enough.
And I say how sorry I am,
Scrambling to answer her,
Working fervently until she turns away.
Then and only then,
I smile.,
For somewhere in between heart and mind,
All those things still exist.
Waiting until I can wonder again,
To find them in that space,
Both singular and vast.
Ever searching for the thing that one calls a soul.
Copyright © Raven Poe | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Raven Poe Poem
A freshly broken heart does not hold new love well.
Only time's needle and thread can mend it,
And the scars left behind will always be fault lines,
Waiting to fall apart once more.
A bridge older than all others,
Waiting to crumble until you've come to believe it will never falter,
That is the form that love so often takes.
You then tumble down into the bitter seas of depression,
Where some may never resurface.
Even so...
Is not the fragile,
Almost ethereal nature of love the very reason we reach for it?
Same as the rose,
Love's many thorns may tear at you,
But once it blossoms,
It is worth so much more.
Copyright © Raven Poe | Year Posted 2011
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