Natives

Customs and ways I don’t understand,

Strange creatures in a stranger land,

Build each other up- they do this first-

Then sit back to watch the bubble burst.

Then pick up the pieces from the muddy rain,

And start the process over again… (???)

Marcas

The black sheep is different, so he is shunned,
But not for anything wrong he had done,
All he had shown was love and affection,
But for them, he was too far from perfection.

Those snobby llamas, they hold their heads high,
Looking down on him with only harsh eyes,
They step on each other and claim to be wronged,
As the shunned one just stands by all along.

One of the pack fell down and got stuck,
They congregated; disparaging the luck,
And they walked away to continue as before,
Helping their own was too much of a chore.

Ah the outcast gathered his strength, enraged,
The holier-than-thou were otherwise engaged,
The only one in the field who helped the fallen,
Yet condemnation’s what those rats are calling.

Who has more honor? The shunners or shunned?
We can tell by observing what each one has done.
The expression is common, as we all have heard:
Actions, ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS!!!!

On Edge

Perception is off, I don’t know what to think,
Inching up to the edge, is it really that deep?

Staring down into the darkness captivated,
Was I justified in all I loved and hated?

Confusion falls over me drop by drop
I wish these whirling thought would stop.

Wish I could stop wondering and know,
If I should stay or jump or turn and go.

Moving Forward

I catch a whiff as I happen by-
Sadness envelops me like the night,
The fragrance invites and pulls me in,
But I realize that those hopes went dim.
Wilted and no longer able to grow,
Despite the beckoning, I still must go.

Getting Through

The weight of the world rests on my back

Like the dead carcass of an unrealized dream.

My shoulders hurt from the burden of it all

But I can’t put it down, I can’t put it down.



I’m trudging through the desert of pain

Under burning disappointment by day,

And bone-chilling confusion by night.

On the other side is my garden of peace,

Where I will lay my burden down,

Sit under the weeping willow,

And cry until I am cleansed.

All that Remains...

My stomach is turning, eyes are burning, I sit here paralyzed,
My heart is yearning, but am I learning?  What's left to realize?


I am forgiving and never unkind, I am a woman of worth.
So why then?  Why every time, do I seem to be under a curse?

It's a mystery; it's a cruel reality, one I always hope will change,
Each time, a few months in, and the heart break is all that remains.

Betrayed by hope again... The heart break is all that remains...
Optimism be damned... The heart break is all that remains.