If I could write a letter to my past,
There are so many things I would say
If I could write a letter to my future,
There are so many things I would ask
I would say “it'll get better, stay strong!”
And that would be a lie
I would ask, “does it ever get better?”
And I would hope that it does
I would say “you're strong, you can hold the world on your shoulders!”
And that would be a lie
I would ask, “did you make it through this?”
And I would hope the answer's yes
If I could write a letter to my past,
I would only be able to lie
If I could write a letter to my future,
I don't think I'd want a reply
We endured so much in the past,
Scraping by, clawing through the dust and into what we thought was sunlight
We'll have endured so much in the future,
And hopefully we'll have emerged in the moonlight
We suffered so much pain in the past,
But it feels like nothing but a sliver under our skin compared to now
We'll have suffered so much in the future,
That if we're still around I will truly be shocked
If I could write a letter to my past,
I wouldn't warn them
If I could write a letter to my future,
I wouldn't ask for help
Because this pain is what makes us who we are,
This pain defines us,
It binds us and shackles us to our broken version of reality.
If I could write a letter to my past,
I wouldn't give help
I wouldn't warn them of the dangers to come,
Because that pain, the pain that defines my very reality
Is all I have left.
And if I could write a letter to my future, I wouldn't ask for help,
I wouldn't ask for a heads-up or a warning of everything to come,
Because that pain, the pain that defines my very life,
Will continue to antagonize my every breath,
Leading me to become someone beyond our imaginations.
If I could write a letter across time,
There wouldn't be much in it,
Because if there was,
Those letters wouldn't be addressed to me,
They'd be addressed to someone completely different,
Someone who hasn't suffered the pain that defines me.
I need that pain.
Without that pain, me wouldn't be me.
Write and write, then write some more
Oh how some have said “It’s a bore.”
What do they know? They don’t see
The magic of these words on trees
Tiny strips of once grand woods
Hold whole worlds, even in death
The tree is gone, but life is there
And it grows with every breath
To create such things as worlds and lives
To build them up and rip apart
The power, the emotions, oh dear writer
Here is a portal to your heart
Look at how each person changes
Look at how your worlds expand
Do you see lives rearranging
And all within your master plan
Oh, the excitement! Oh, the joy!
Beauty is here, beauty and life!
In the quiet of humble homes
A universe hides inside
Some poor souls won’t understand
They’ll never see what you have done
Don’t live for them, don’t mold your worlds
To show the cruelty they’ve become
Take a breath, then get to work
Go live within what you create
Be surprised, feel admiration
Feel love, joy, jealousy, and hate
Don’t be afraid to stray away
And wander down an unknown path
Surprise and awe aren’t just for readers
Not everything will need a plan
Just let the life grow on its own
Let the people all be free
And in their freedom, you will find
A world where you may wish to be
Life isn’t set in stone, my friends
And your writing is the same
Your words are alive, so just relax
And walk within your stories
Always remember, your world is living
It’s not just scribbles on a page
And always know, it’s your creation
Be proud, and please, keep writing
It is what it is.
A stroke of a pen,
pixels of light,
A heart scrawl,
Screaming emotion
Or pleasant thought,
Wether it pops out
Or is coaxed,
from the ether of consciousness
a soul's awaking yawn
It is what is
and lives as it is born
Tinkered and toyed with
all manner of distortions borne
It sits in its reality
a nieche of existence
A poem waiting to be heard and judged worthy
because it speaks to a another soul.
It is what is
not a jot or itoa more
If words on a page
and pictures in a frame
are what you want,
then so be it.
but just know that one day those pages will fade
and those glass paned frames will break
as that trophy love you thought you had
slowly disintegrates.
I may not be a writer
or photogenic like her
but the love I can give you
will not deter.
So just remember,
the next time she writes you a poem,
or snaps a picture,
those, unlike my love,
will fade.
.
a poem is the funeral pyre
of pulsations, once exhumed
but now still present;
fueled by the flame of our
rue-filled memories
a poet is the gathering together
of thought and hope
that intermingle with the
burnished trim of
a late afternoon sky
and poetry is a dream
garbed in bilious words
whose raiment is laced
by meandering verse and
be-jeweled by barely parted lips:
It takes but a whisper
to free the wandering soul.
.
Oh precious Lord
Your love sustains us
Your ways give us peace
We long for your touch
We love you so much.
Even when I don't see
When I'm asleep you dance over me
When I'm asleep you sing over me
How I yearn to be where you are
Oh Lord touch us today
Give us strength to keep going and keep giving
Keep us under your wings
When I fly I will fly home to you
Your my one true love
To you I give my all
Keep loving us
For your love sustains us
Written By Betty Bolden
Jesus is my joy Ministries
Copyright
10-25-11
Why do you listen?
Is it because the meaning behind my words are sensible?
Or mearly because you enjoy the instruments they play even if they're entirely non-sensicle?
But pay no mind to those questions,
After all my verse is free only so you find your own way over, around or through it?
It is no business of mine to ask you weather or not this poem is fluid,
I'm just...but a poet...the messenger...
This poem is addressed to you and only you,
and i am to know nothing about it but...
I cannot truthfully say I lose no sleep from curiosity,
But like sheep, I am to follow and not question,
and question i will not...
but feel free to answer.
why do you listen?...
Why do your eyes glissen?
what makes your heart race?
what makes your heart stop? or rather...
Why don't you listen?
What makes you fume with rage?
what makes you spit on the page?
what makes you frown?
what makes you yawn?...
yes...i know...i know i can't make you smile all the time
and my rockstar sounds like church hymn sometimes...ok maybe all the time but...
all my rambling, is defined by a burning question,
typical in a poet's mind,
and if you can't answer that...
answer this...
why did you listen?
Who dares to write the truth,
Who dares to write without fear,
To write what we need to hear
Not what we want to,
Who writes what's real,
What the world really is,
Who dares to criticize
What no one speaks up against,
Who writes,
Who really writes
For the world?
Will you write the truth,
Will you speak up,
Be the rebel,
Ignore the consequences,
Lead the people,
Demand your say,
Your own opinion,
Condemn the drones,
Programed in dull,
Dreary schools,
The ones with minds like mush,
Fed lies upon lies.
Don't ever trust everyone.
Will you speak up
When called upon,
Are you the brave one,
The only brave one,
The one one who speaks their own mind,
Who's thoughts are their own,
Who fights the drones,
Who leads the vigilantes,
The rebels,
The ones who are able to think,
Will you lead them out of pointless war,
Lead them to stand,
Alone,
Wind at their backs,
The majority all around.
Will you lead them to stand,
To stand up against
The feeders of lies,
The drones and the cons,
They will claim to help.
Don't listen.
There is no good or bad in war.
Will you be your own person,
Live in your own mind?
Will you stand all alone
If no one will fight?
Will you lift your voice up,
Let yourself be heard?
Will you soar like an eagle,
A strong-willed bird?
Is this your own life
Or are they living it for you?
Are those your own thoughts,
Or are they programed in?
Have you seen with your heart
And not your blinded eyes?
Have you heard the voices,
Those shrieking cries?
Do you dare to write the truth,
What others have strayed from,
What may leak from your mind,
Will it spill on the paper?
Do you dare to speak up,
Support the minority,
I'm not the majority,
I refuse to stop thinking,
I refuse to stop fighting.
Write the truth.
When the gunshots cry out
And the flags wave high,
We will unite,
The minority we are,
We will fight
But draw no blood,
We will win,
Because we know the truth,
We dare to go against,
We will let our voices be heard,
We will be heard!
We are the minority,
We will fight,
We will win,
We shall not draw blood,
No one shall die in our hands,
But we will fight
But not with the others,
We will stand,
We will not move.
Who dares to write the truth?
Who dares to speak up?
Who dares to voice their thoughts?
Who dares to lead the march,
To let their voice be heard,
Who dares?
We are the minority.
Let us be the truth.