Music Mondays: Changes

Change starts with you! Remember your history as a warning, learn from the lessons of the past. Changes start with people like us-it is up to us to make things all right.

 

 

I Walk On Through

I walk on through the halls,
Of –
these places once unknown to me.

I reminisce about those who-
once upon a time I met
in the classroom corridors.

I stop and view the scenery
Of learning right in front of me.

I think about the memories-
that have shaped me.

I view the waves of students who unlike me are me.

When yesterday is gone today;
Tomorrow beckons nightfall,
This final moment here;
right now.

Memories take shape,
I think about these things again.

The late nights in the library,
or that time when,
and that boy who-

Time will fade,
and you won’t recall some names;
friendships change.

Look back-
Remember;
The halls that we once stepped through.

In a Series of Events

In a series of events
I discovered something new.

Everything which was once tucked away
Has risen to the top.

An overflow-
emotions spewing over—lava
A volcano—the essence of all I am.

A catastrophic engagement
Lit up everything.

That which never existed,
Began to run askew.
Confusion arose in a passionate kiss.

Awakening my spirit,
Through the chaos, into the world
Creating its release.

The wall came tumbling down
In the instant, your lips met mine.

The moment you looked at me;
My world shifted,
My mind fled
Escaping reality.

Stone Hearts

Stone hearts
And stoic faces
Bodies moving
Unfamiliar places

Trying to adjust
Appearing to fit in
Harboring inside
What can’t be shared at all

Internally digesting
Events that make you cringe

Knowing that it’s yours to keep
Preserving classification
Your privacy in tact
No one privileged enough
To get through the external hallowed out remains

Who dares dig deep?
Into your darkest night
Tunneling through
That formidable wall

Destruction
Obscurity
Gloom
And despair

Grunts of dejection
Exhaled in the night

An Empty Love Letter

Even though I don’t know who you are, I know that you are the one. At least, I imagine, that, you are the one. The person I will spend the rest of my days with. You will comfort me in my darkest hours. You will watch over me, love me, and caress me,  that is what I tell myself.

You will listen to my thoughts, you will tell me they are silly but, you will encourage all of my dreams. You will fill the void within my bed with sweetened moments of bliss and joy as you wrap your arms around me, providing  me with the safety of your embrace.

We will build memories of our shared life together. We will share our favorite memories and the bitter ones, too. Because,I will remember, forever, the first time you made me cry and how mad I was at you.

I will remember when…. but, that moment has yet to come.

I sit and gaze up at a starless sky. I I whisper to the wind waiting for an answer, waiting to hear your name bellowed in the breeze.

Instead, the wind just howled at me, wooed me away.

I think about this love that’s waiting for me. In the space far away from waking and inbetween the deep sleep is where I meet you now. A dream world where the stars are in your eyes. Then, I wake, alone, again in my empty bed.

As I lay awake, alone in the dark, I think about the moments of loneliness I endure at night.  Then, I close my eyes again, to fall asleep.  I doze off just to meet you once again in a place that’s out of reach. And in the morning, as I wake, I wonder if you dream about me too?

Eternally yours,

The Regret

We often ignore our dreams and avoid aspirations because we have responsibilities; this type of avoidance can lead to regret.  “I got bills to pay, mouths to feed, ain’t nothing in this world for free.” Far too often we push aside our hopes and dreams as we douse the passion of fervent youth when reality begins to settle in around us and we take that job to pay the bills.

Then, we comply with the rules of society and work ourselves into graves. Yup, that sums up the whole of existence. Some work themselves into lavish graves while the rest of us meander through to simple boxes in hallow ground.

What will remain of you when you die? Or me for that matter? (This post is really all about me, everything is always about me.) The progeny? Eventually that dies out too.

What will your legacy be?

Ha!

Cliché.

Personally, I don’t want any more regrets. I don’t want to say I should have done this or that I want to say “I did it.”

So I am going to say I did it.

No ragrats,” right?

I am able to say I’m writing that book and other things. In my copious spare time I am liberating the ideas locked inside while listening to Daddy Yankee’s Shaky Shaky.  My book is a contemporary multicultural romance novel and I am compiling sordid short stories with women as the central focus. My women are unconventional standards of imperfections; they’re the Kate of my mind. They embrace everything we should not be, explore the not so nice parts we like to hide while discovering the quirks and kinks that make us—well “Freak out Le freak, see’est Chic.”

Don’t fret the regret. Don’t give up the dream. Unless it involves becoming a rocket scientist when you aren’t inherently bright or really good with numbers and whatever else that sort of stuff entails. But if your dream involves learning, or visiting a new place, writing a book, becoming a ski instructor, starting a business I say try it.

And, if it doesn’t work at least you know and you can always say “I did it.”

The Soul of My Blog?

Blogging is an adventurous outlet, with an innate freedom of expression that allows you to explore the weirdest ideas that could come about. Maybe you are able to traverse the confines of your soul and release them with new words, or maybe you just write. One time I told someone they wouldn’t find my blog, to which they responded that they would. I was told they would, one day.

Then this question arose.

Why do you want me to find your blog, who said I wanted to see your soul?

I laughed a bit at this. My response was it’s really not my soul.

I never think of my blog or my writing for that matter as a way to view my soul, but today I thought about this comment and thought about my blog.

Why do I write?

I always ask myself this question and I never have a concrete answer. I write just because I like to and I think I have a way with words. Sometimes my emotions may gear my writing, life might influence the words and other times something around me just sparks the fuse of my imagination and the explosion of words erupts with a big bang (it’s usually the latter). For instance, Would You was inspired while I was at the gym and Shawn Mendes’ Mercy started playing on my Pandora station. There is nothing very deep or interesting about where the inspiration for this particular poem came from but it turned into something; it popped into my head, poof! just like magic.

I would be lying if I said life didn’t inspire me but it doesn’t always move my inner soul to reveal itself. There are times when I write these sordid tales that might make you cringe or a sappy love story at times when I might not believe in love. Then, I will shift gears and write a poem about a ghost, that’s Casper’s cousin. I may even kill someone off in a tale and smile when I’m done writing it and it’s not because that’s what lies deep inside, it’s because that’s what the muses pushed into my mind.

I’m not sure if they ever found my blog, I don’t know if they will ever read the posts but I hope they keep in mind there’s more between the lines. Writing is a part of who I am, it is a part of my soul but it does not reveal my soul. Writing for me is a journey of exploration and a way to let my imagination run free.

Love

Love falls from the stars above
To guide us through a change.

One in which our lives converge
Finding our new way.

These bodies shift into new forms
Faltering through the lust,
Then
Emerging out of sin.

Walking to the light of love,
Removing all our fears.

Without a broken heart you see
You can never know the bliss;
Of whence true love’s kiss, awakens you within.

Thoughts On Poetry

This post was inspired by my cousin who hates poetry because he does not want to look for meaning in anything! He doesn’t have to like poetry but by golly gum drops he will learn to appreciate it! (Insert higher power reference here) as my witness! You will learn to appreciate POEMS! (Waving fist maniacally in the air!)  Keep on reading!