Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Words of Hope



 When all the world's against you,
and all your dreams are

 out of reach, remember me.
Take comfort in what I once

meant to you and in what you
 once meant to me. Remember

 that life wasn't always this harsh
 and that happiness is attainable.

Do not forget Hope.
Do not forget me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just a quick little something I wrote last night as a facebook status... I was feeling poetic ;)

 I figured it was a good idea to post it here too. 

Defeat



I’ve reached the point where I’m ready to scream.
Life was starting to seem like a lucid dream
But of course you had to come along once more,
You, the wicked beast, from my ancient lore.
You have returned to cause me pain— that stinging pain—
But this time, I’ll disguise my cold tears with colder rain.

I confess, oh yes, I confess
 That when alone in your frigid darkness
It was easy for me to get lost and scared,
And to believe that no one even cared
 That I was slipping, falling, dying
And in the shadows— always crying.

But this time things will be different.
I won’t bow down to you. You’re not my master.
Your dark cold prison can no longer hold me,
I will free myself from your icy shackles.
 I will run. Run. So far from here.
And I won’t ever return to you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Oh look another elusive poem has been found! Huzzah!! :) I have a few poems planned out for posting in the next few days, so enjoy my activeness everyone! I also realized I haven't really been writing anything about my poems or anything. Just posting them and that's it. So yeah, what you're reading right now is a random blurb involving me talking about my poems. Yay.

...

:)

Monday, November 28, 2011

Dreams


You had a dream last night about a perfect world, but when you woke up, you forgot it.
But I remember it.
I remember you were crying and then he made you smile.
I remember you were dying and then she saved your life.
And the sun was glowing blue and the sky was shimmering yellow.
And you found something you thought you’d lost forever and you put it in your pocket. But later you found it was gone -lost once more. And your pocket had a hole.
What was it that you lost?
Perhaps what you lost was an old souvenir from when you visited that far far away place long long ago.
Or it was a small silver key that shone in the moonlight.
Perhaps it was a lie you told. A lie that grew and grew and grew until it swallowed you whole.
Swallowed you whole like when you fell in the ocean and did not wish to come back up.
Until you saw a light in the dark and it burned with all the colors of your heart and somebody told you to grab on to it and never let go.
And you did.
 But it hurt.
 So you let it slip from your hands.
But I was there to lift you back up. And bring you back to shore.
I remember you dying and I saved your life.
I remember you crying and I made you smile.
I wish the world would be as beautiful as it is in my dreams.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Missing You



I went to look at the starry sky
hoping to see you twinkling—smiling down at me.
But all I found was a cloudy filled night,
cold and empty of light,
empty of you.

My dreams are still infected
with the broken wishes I made to you
but did not have the time to keep.
Unfulfilled promises—
unachieved goals.
This is what my nightmares are made of.

I have run away from the world
to escape the shadows in my heart.
In this new barren place I’ve come to,
there are no traces— no reminders,
and you become nothing but a figment of a memory.

Here there are no singing yellow daffodils
And thus I see no ghosts of you gardening them.
Here there are no whistling tall trees
And thus I have no desire to climb them with you.

No birds flying high in the air.
(You used to want to fly with them.)
No butterflies hiding in the bushes.
(You used to find them in the flowers.)
No songs for me to hum softly in the night.
(You used to fall asleep in my arms.)

Here, in my new haven, there is nothing— nothing
because you were my everything— everything
and now that you’re gone
what is there left for me?

Now I only have the nights where
I find myself looking up
To where there should be a sky.
 I still hope to see you there
Twinkling
—smiling—
Smiling for me.
~~~~~~~~~~~

For Elsa. I miss you <3 Je t'adore <3

From Solitude to Friendship



            It was a warm sunny late afternoon and there was nowhere Peter wanted to be more than outside enjoying the weather. Instead, he found himself roaming the dreary empty school halls of Melode Private Academy for the Musically Gifted. It was his own fault he was there of course. He had left his cello in Music Room 3, for the fourth time that week, and if he didn’t fetch it his mother would surely kill him. Still, Peter couldn’t help but sulk over his unfortunate situation.
            “No one should have to be here afterschool,” Peter whispered to himself. “It’s mad eerie, and depressing too. These hallways are usually crammed with students and buzzing with gossip, but now… now it’s just… silent…”
            Peter stopped in his tracks. Just as he had declared the halls to be silent, he had been hit with the realization that they in fact weren’t. There was a quiet melody echoing through the hallways. A soft and melancholy sound, faint, feeble, yet beautiful. Peter frowned a bit, where could such enchanting  music be coming from?
            Curious, Peter began to follow the sound to its source. To his surprise, he found himself exactly where he had been heading to in the first place: Music Room 3. Peter was perplexed, who would be here so late after school? Sure he was still around, but he definitely didn’t want to be. Peter carefully placed his hand on the door handle and turned it. He pushed the door open slightly and peeked in.
            Sitting on a black chair in the middle of the room was a girl. She had long wavy light brown locks, which were held back by a grey bow, a dainty figure and fair pale skin. She wore a gothic styled black dress with grey lace and frills, as well as black knee high boots. Peter remarked to himself that she looked like a fragile porcelain doll. He continued to observe her and realized her eyes were closed and her lips stuck together in a slight pout. In her hands, the girl held a violin which she played with a skill Peter had never seen before.
            Peter opened the door fully and took a loud step into the room.
            “Hello? Is someone there?” the girl gasped and carefully placed her violin down on her lap. Peter thought this was quite an odd thing to say. The girl’s eyes fluttered open, and Peter noticed they were an icy blue grey. The girl turned in Peter’s direction but her gaze seemed to go right through him.
            “She can’t see me,” he realized. “She’s blind.”
            “Hello? Hello?” the girl repeated, her voice shaking.
            “Sorry for interrupting you…uh…Miss,” Peter answered. He cringed slightly at the word ‘Miss’. It wasn’t the sort of thing he would usually say, however, he felt like using any other word would surely break the strange girl he saw in front of him. Peter smirked slightly at the idea of a girl that could be physically hurt by words, it seemed silly… but then again this girl looked so delicate it could be possible. “I just came to get my cello that I left behind.”
            “Oh,” was all the girl said in response.
            “My name is Peter,” Peter said. With his usual confidence, he walked closer to the girl. “What’s yours?”
            The girl just glanced away blushing, she could sense him standing right next to her and it made her nervous. Her delicate slender fingers ran up and down the side of her violin.
            “That was a beautiful piece you were playing,” Peter said, hoping to get her to speak.
            “Oh thank you,” she whispered finally, and a small smile appeared on her face.
            “Who’s the composer?” Peter asked, leaning in closer to the girl.
            “…I am…” the girl admitted, her face turning red.
            Peter’s jaw dropped. He could not believe this fragile looking girl had composed such a melancholy song. “That’s amazing,” he said. “What’s it called?”
            The girl froze for a moment. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a sad and lonely expression. Concerned, Peter put his hand on hers but she pushed it away and stood up abruptly.
            “I have to go,” she declared and ran out the room clutching her violin close to her chest, leaving behind a shocked Peter.
            “What just happened?” Peter mumbled to himself, feeling thoroughly confused. “Did I do something wrong?”
            Peter waited a few minutes to see if the girl would come back but she seemed to be gone for good. He fetched his cello and returned to his mother who was waiting for him in the parking lot. During the ride home, Peter’s mother questioned him relentlessly over why he took so long to get his cello. However, Peter did not listen. His mind was focused on one particular blind stranger and her sorrow-filled song.
~~~~~~~~~~~
            The next day, Peter kept an eye out for the girl. He thought she was interesting and wanted to know more about her. Peter searched everywhere for the strange girl, in the hallways, in the classrooms, in the cafeteria, but he could not find her. It was as if she were hiding from him, lurking in the shadows, just out of his sight.
            Since he was unable to find the girl himself, Peter decided that he would make the girl come to him. After school, he returned to Music Room 3. He guessed that there would be a good chance that the girl would return to where he saw her last. Peter sat inconspicuously in the corner and waited. And waited. And waited. Until, finally, he heard the quiet creak of the door opening.
            Peter watched as the girl came silently into the room. Her black dress had been replaced by a grey one, and her hair bow was now white. She moved gracefully to her chair, took her violin out from its case and began to play. Peter recognized the song; it was the same one he had heard the day before. He closed his eyes and let the music envelop him. The notes were low and soft, and as delicate as the girl who was playing them. The song was morose and haunting. It seemed to carry all the grief of the world in its measures.
            When the song ended, Peter opened his eyes, curious about what the girl was going to do next. He observed her carefully, waiting for her to play another song. The girl sighed heavily and rested her violin by her side.
            “Solitude. It’s called Solitude,” the girl said suddenly. Peter’s eyes widened in surprise. He wondered if the girl was talking to him but how did she know he was there?
            “The name of the piece I just played is Solitude. Last time, you asked what it was called, didn’t you?” the girl turned her head in Peter’s direction. He was certain now that she knew he was in the room, but before he could answer, the girl picked up her violin once more. The song she played was new. It began like the end of Solitude, and then changed gradually. The sullen low notes from the previous song became mixed with lighter happier notes. The new melody was a motley of grief and joy and it was just as beautiful as the first melody. It seemed like the song was about to become happier when the girl stopped abruptly.
            “Why did you stop?” Peter asked. The girl turned away from him.
            “I don’t know how it ends…” she whispered. “My Solitude is changing. I have no idea what’s coming next.”
             Peter smiled and approached the girl. He grabbed a chair and sat next to her. “Well I have to confess I like the change. I was worried when I heard Solitude. It’s such a sad song…I never thought a pretty girl like you would be able to write something so gloomy.”  
            “What’s that supposed to mean?” the girl pouted and crossed her arms to look offended, but Peter could see her blushing. “I can write whatever I want.”
            “Oh I didn’t mean it that way!” Peter laughed. “It’s just that I could tell that you put a lot of emotion in to your work, and it saddens me to think that someone could feel so much sorrow and loneliness.”
            “Well… it’s none of your business how I feel,” the girl retorted and stood up to leave. “You don’t know me! You’re just some stranger that won’t leave me alone.”
            The girl reached down for her violin but Peter moved faster and snatched it up.
“You know something? You’re right I don’t know you,” Peter said with a grin and held the violin behind his back. “And I’d like to change that.”
            “What are you talking about? Why did you take my violin!” the girl exclaimed and reached out at Peter trying to grab her violin.  “Just give it back! Please!”
“Okay,” Peter said but he still kept the violin out of her reach. “But first, I have two requests.”
            “What?” the girl said and scowled in frustration.
            “First, I would like to know your name,” Peter leaned in close to her and whispered in her ear.
            The girl was silent, and her face reddened which just made Peter’s grin grow wider.
            “It’s Emy, my name is Emy.” she said at last.
            “Nice to meet you Emy,” Peter said. “My second request is that you let me be your friend.”
            “My friend? Why?” Emy asked.
            “Because you are a very talented composer and I think you’re cute,” he smiled. “It’s every guy’s dream to have a cute girl be his friend.”
            Emy scowled but then nodded. “Okay. Now give me my violin!”
            “I’m hoping we can be good friends, Emy,” Peter said. Then he placed Emy’s violin in her hands, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, keep working on that song!”
            Then he quickly ran off, leaving behind a shocked Emy with her hand pressed to her cheek. Emy sat back down in her chair. She felt confused. For years she had been alone, staying away from others, immersing herself in her music. But now, she was alone as usual, but she did not feel lonely. Where there had once been only Solitude, something new was growing. So Emy did the only thing she knew. She picked up her violin and began to play. She began to play something new.
~~~~~~~~~~~
             Emy waited anxiously for Peter in Music Room 3, as had become her habit. Two weeks had passed since that first day she and Peter met and the day had come for her to finally show Peter her masterpiece. He was late. Emy sat down on her chair and propped up her violin on her lap.
            “Sorry I’m late,” Peter barged in. He put down his cello by a corner and sat down in his chair next to Emy. He took a moment to admire the girl. Emy was wearing a white dress and a small pink bow in her hair. Peter smiled. He liked the way lighter colors looked on her. “You look really nice today.”
            Emy said nothing and instead just began to play. Peter listened silently as the now familiar notes of Solitude filled the air. When Peter recognized the subtle notes that signified Solitude’s change into something else, he grinned. This was the reason he was there now, to find out what that something else was.
            Like before, the melancholy notes of Solitude slowly turned more cheerful. But this time, when Emy got to the part where she had stopped previously, she continued instead. The song picked up pace and the notes got higher and the melody became lighter. The song of sadness transformed into one of happiness.
            Emy finished the song and put down her violin. There was slight smile on her face, something Peter rarely saw. Emy waited patiently for Peter’s reaction.
            “What is that last part called?” Peter asked.
            “Friendship,” Emy answered. “The whole piece is called From Solitude to Friendship… So, what do you think?”
             Peter smiled and leaned in close to Emy.
            “I love it,” he whispered and then kissed her on the lips. Peter jumped out of his seat and grabbed his cello. “Teach it to me?”
            Emy laughed and nodded in agreement.
~~~~~~~~~~~
It was a warm sunny late afternoon and there was nowhere Peter wanted to be least than outside enjoying the weather. Thankfully, he found himself in the merry empty school halls of Melode Private Academy for the Musically Gifted. It was by his own desire he was there of course. He ran to Music Room 3 with his cello in hand, for the fourth time that week, for if he wasn’t on time Emy would surely kill him. Peter couldn’t help but smile over his fortunate situation.

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