Dear Sun,

You hit my face early, this morning.
Leaking through the cracks in my curtains to grace my pillow and face with soft warmth, your rays hitting my closed eyes, too bad it was a tad early for my liking, seeing as my sleeping habits do not grant me a full nights sleep. I love you, dear sun, but please, do not wake me when I still have thirty minutes of rest left.

                                                                                                                Sincerely,
                                                                                                                       Dani

Never Alone

Lord, how many times


must I stumble, fall and be in tears, 


before I learn


that with You by my side


I will never be alone.

Funny how a melody sounds like a memory......

I turn on the radio


and hear that old tune playing,


it floats through the air,


making me think of you,


and I smile

Whispers

That feeling in the air

getting closer and stronger,

a change is coming.....

as the wind carries whispers

of summer

Masks of Paper and Ink

 Hidden.......that is the status of many of my writings. Hidden......hidden away in a notebook next my bed, the ones that hold pieces of my heart, they hold pieces of me, those who write can understand this, I believe.

Sometimes what we write, it just wasn't meant to be seen by others, we pour our hearts out in a poem two pages long, beautifully written, but unable to be enjoyed by others, because for them to be read feels like a violation, as though someone caught you at your weakest moment when you fell flat on your face.

Pieces of our hearts get put into it, pieces of us, our dreams and our fears, the darkest corners of our hearts, a light shined upon them from our point of view, onto a piece of paper. 

The time we felt as though we were nothing at all, that we could turn to dust and be blown away by the wind, and no one would notice or care, the moment we felt such anger or hate, it tainted our thoughts before we felt ashamed. All these, woven onto a piece of paper in scribbles lines, written through tears or whispered through a smile.

The pain or the joy in your heart, fallen onto a sheet of white, held in a trembling hand. The emotion of the moment, fueling the words, more and more begins to pour onto the page, until finally............finally, it is emptied from your heart, like a poison cleansed from your veins.

Who could dare read these words? We keep them hidden for fear of what others may think, but why?

We are not alone in our battles, we are not the only ones who feel fear, regret, pain, sorrow, shame, anger........why can't others see what we feel, why can't others understand our fear, try to understand our sorrow, empathize with our pain? Why must we keep ourselves hidden? Hidden behind our masks of paper and ink...........

Because, we are in our writing, we pour ourselves into it, what you read from my hand, that.........that is me.

So now I look to my left, at the worn, doodled over notebook resting by my bed, the holder of my heart, the recipient of my fears and dreams. Why should this inanimate thing, this emotionless object, be the one to see my heart?

If you read the contents of my heart, what will you think? Will you feel sad, will you feel sympathy, will you experience understanding? If you read the contents of my heart, feel not less of me...... 

This song is.......chillingly.... relateable.....

My favorite lines being......

"The tricky thing is just yesterday we were just children, playing soldiers just pretending, dreaming dreams with happy endings. In backyards, winning battles with our wooden swords, but now we've stepped into a cruel world where everybody stands and keep scores........Everbody's waiting for you to breakdown, everybody's watching to see the fallout....."

Shades of Gray

                                                                     

The days when we were young

with no fears or cares 

or worries,

no lines to recognize.

The world was full of color,

but now 

there are only

shades of gray

Outside the Line

Standing

outside the line

peering across

do I dare

step over?

Writing a Story

A half written story,
so much to plan and research,


Elven names, Old English Phrases,


formal greetings and insults,
who knew it took so much time!?




*True story.....pun intended

Sometimes the words

spoken in a moment 

of anger and pain

cannot be taken back

or forgiven,

the tongue

a weapon of the strongest

and most fearsome strength

will cleave the deepest wounds