What is this building
which I am tied to?
My secret desires always
Pulling me towards its comforts.
How can I see beyond
The horizons of my four-walled room?
If I constantly pull myself towards it
And go within to search for
Something that has long dissipated.
The vortex of its safety
Continuously sucking me in,
Hiding from myself,
Engulfing it all in.
When will you
learn that suppressing
it all is useless?
You will just
burst like a
huge water balloon.
And all the colours
will just spurt out
thus creating a masterpiece.
Why do you even
bother to smile at a ghost
you sit next to?
Staring blankly at the empty sky,
Calling and crying,
For no stars appear tonight,
No one to talk to,
And relate the adventures of the other planets
That I had just explored.
I look onto the earth,
Full of dwellings and deserted lands,
Dark black smoke emerges,
And beneath it just ashes.
I recall it to be full of trees,
And birds flying about,
But where are they now?
I hear the painful growls
Of the heavy, busy earth,
She knows not how to stop all that
Is happening with humans in charge.
The sun too, is not smiling,
She has seen it all,
The fights, all the walls breaking,
Everything is being destroyed.
I, now know that as a lone moon,
No one is going to listen to me.
Behind the opaque disk,
Are the people who are wrecking it all.
So my subtitle to my blog is: We are all stories in the making, don’t be scared to turn the chapter! And I finally found a perfect way to explain the meaning to it! As a person I’ve been through a lot of prejudice; you can say I was a little unlucky. I got tired of people telling me who I should be and how to do it! Their petty words were just useless hurdles in my life, all I had to do was learn to get over them! And I did, and this is me now, this is who I want to be 🙂
‘It is embedded in our minds:
our creativity, muse and active imaginations.
all our insecurities,
doubts and terrible fears.
who we can and cannot be:
they’re all myths.
we can construct them,
and make them our reality;
or we can deconstruct them,
and decide what is best for us.
our own fate is up to us
in the end of the day,
we are the authors of our own stories,
let’s just hope it is a good one!’
Meadows have been set,
To be stepped upon, and discovered.
A journey worth taking, a site of adventures,
Full of pathways towards something unknown.
I have my own meadow,
Forgotten, engulfed amongst the trees
In the forest.
I have to squeeze between
Overgrown bushes to find it.
But it lies there,
Waiting for me to explore it.
Through the meadow I will
Fall and I will watch my knee bleed
But I then see my shadow,
Pulling itself up again
Eager to find the way out.
There is no end to the meadow,
No side roads,
It’s one eternal pathway.
paint me.
exploit all your utensils
to capture every curve,
embrace the little freckles,
examine the way my smile goes.
put fact into art,
play with my features
make them feel like magic.
put colour onto my lips
and my cheeks,
measure my bone structure,
the fragility of my neck,
the way my chest rises
with every breath.
put your words into art,
make me yours.
A beauty is she
Of locks pure gold,
A heart has she
Full of love, bound to infinity.
Eurydice sobs,
But cry no more
So hush my dear,
For I am here.
A glorious titan,
Enslaved forever in heaven
Or hell as you have been
Without my love
Eurydice sobs,
But no more
For love has conquered.
Some things are meant to fall
they grow, prosper and wither,
they change their colours
and their bond is broken
Through the sky they float,
and then they reach the ground.
Maybe they are meant to be broken
to be torn apart and be fragmented into dust.
Or perhaps they are destined
To discover the earth, soil and the grass,
To toil amongst the pathways
And fall in the midst of puddles.
Each and every particle
Dismantled, lost and forgotten.
Photography- Debbie Debono © ❤ https://www.instagram.com/debonodebbie/
a wave current
curling into the other
and a flow is created
echoes are heard
rambling through
the empty silent sky
all that is lost
has been washed
and sent away with the foam
seconds turn into
minutes and minutes
become hours and none has come back.
we are all stories in the making- 