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Darla Britton Poem
THE CORK
You have been sheltered from a world of love
Your every movement is harsh and lifeless
Your eyes show your pain
and your heart speaks of torture
Torture from the many inhumane, insane things
that has happened to you
Like a child being handed a cookie you feel you must take it
and devour every last morsel
You may choke on it
but you feel you must do what has to be done
and accept it
You must learn to speak your mind
and turn on the switch of power
You must take a trip with your feelings
and find out what “state” you really want to be in
You can take your feelings and bottle them up
like an aging bottle of wine
and wait for it to ripen
Or you can pull the cork early
and allow yourself and others
to enjoy the sparkle and charm in your eyes,
your heart and your inner soul
With shaking hands, watering eyes
and a heart full of love
You can do it
You are strong
and we will help you
To pull that enormous cork
from within your heart
One day, you will be able
to walk with freedom
And in your pocket
next to your heart
you will hold that cork with pride
Knowing that at any time
you will feel free enough
To throw it away
and begin a fresh new life
Copyright © Darla Britton | Year Posted 2013
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Darla Britton Poem
The Horse
Watch his splendor
as he strides elegantly across the prairie.
His beautiful mane blows like a leaf
on a windy November day.
Each step. One after the other, gracefully taken,
as not to lose the rhythm.
The ground beneath him, uneven, uneasy for his
stepping, is taken with great arrogance.
He stops for only a moment,
to nibble on a blade of grass.
He looks around, left to right and behind,
to be sure that no one is watching
his unusual dance on the prairie.
He dances with the beating of time, never ending,
and only he can hear it.
It will never stop, as the hands of time never do.
His tail with its one fleck of black upon it
sways like a child on a swing.
Going faster and swinging higher,
to show the pleasure of the dance.
It sways with the beat of each hoof
trouncing the ground.
Will he stop? Possibly
However, does it matter?
He is free from the world of anger, pain, fear
and reprimand.
Let him go now, he is free like the wind.
No rider shall violate the beauty of his body,
no slashes of anger shall be felt
on his innocent flesh,
and no blood shall be shed to hit the ground,
to make a pool of color on the ground.
Let him run.
He is there no more
to take the beatings of the whip.
Let him go now, he is free like the wind
Copyright © Darla Britton | Year Posted 2013
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Darla Britton Poem
DARKNESS BRINGS NO PEACE
Here I lie, a stream of tears descending like a waterfall.
A recollection of my youth.
Impending bellows. A mother hunting down the next victim to be tortured.
Stamping feet crushing each heart beat.
Creaking stairs recording each journey that have been taken,
slowly as not to awaken the sober home.
Shutters echo with the wind; a young child’s flesh hit, scarred deep within.
Her blood frozen with affliction.
Cries, screams through the abyss of an aged window.
The dancing robe draped on the door, sways in a rhythmic waltz.
A giant, a man, my father.
Walking with massive strides, anxious to emerge.
To plunge on a child’s innocence and ignorance of not knowing.
(DARKNESS BRINGS NO PEACE)
The crisp blankets beneath me.
Undisturbed, waiting. When will he plunder me of my untainted body?
Each bleak move I make, sends chills of anxiety through my flesh.
(DARKNESS BRINGS NO PEACE)
Will I return, return to a life as I have never known life before.?
Here in the darkness, pain splitting my heart,
like an earthquake destroying each cell of life.
Am I like a piece of meat, waiting to be chosen by the next
violent hand, to molest my soul?
To chop away at every molecule and destroy my shape?
I am a woman, a mother, a lover to my love.
I am human and I am a survivor
I am like a piece of play-dough, molded to make
one self-content to fulfill their fantasies.
I can be put back to my original shape.
I am a survivor and I will win.
Or have I already?
Copyright © Darla Britton | Year Posted 2013
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Darla Britton Poem
THE FIELD
Watch the wind as it plays a tune
on each blade of grass, as it blows
its merciful breath across the ground
What will it pick up on its way?
What story will it tell?
when it arrives at its final destination
Will it end due to the merciful
breath giving up
Or will it have paused to blow
against another object
Or will it just
pause…
Pause for a moment to think
out its next destination
Pause to pick up a friend,
A leaf or a new blade of grass
Pause to think of a way
to continue its journey
A journey that will never end
because the merciful breath
never
STOPS!!
Copyright © Darla Britton | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Darla Britton Poem
The Beach
Listen... it’s talking
It’s pounding its every word upon the rocks
Does is ever end, will it ever end
Or is it meant to go on
to allow our souls to forever feel
Feel what is in us.
The constant motion of our living
Like water on a rock
our hearts must beat with great force
allowing the world to hear that we must exist
Each crashing wave, each flow of blood
must continue as one
If not, where would we be?
Look out there.
The line of blue upon the water
is telling us, just as our eyes tell us
that night is nearing and the day must end
but only for awhile
Look at the sun.
It is beginning to fade
like our thoughts and worries
being put away for another day
Put away until tomorrow
if tomorrow is meant
to be...
Copyright © Darla Britton | Year Posted 2013
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