Tag Archives: growth

Now I Sleep

So now I go to sleep

and hope that tonight will forget today

and leave tomorrow untouched,

pure.

I so long to forget of so much,

so many faces burned into my mind,

so much anger scorching my sight.

I wish for that peace and clarity of solitude,

and it is there that I am complete,

that I am real.

I sleep now,

praying to stay in dreams a bit longer,

in dreams where I am alone,

for no one is real —

just false memories.

I ask to stay

and to cleanse myself of those impurities,

to wake and to forget this life

as one forgets a dream.

I sleep far away.

No one can see me there,

and I can see no one else.

I wish to be complete.

 

March 19, 1998


How Are You?

“How are you?”

What do you want to hear?

My honesty will be ignored

as much as my lies.

I cry out to you,

very, very silently,

and I think you hear,

but you are afraid to help,

to listen to what you know is coming,

what you fear.

I am wiser than I let on.

I know that if,

if it gets better,

it will most likely,

no – most definitely get worse.

The thunder compliments my mood,

and the timing is right,

but no one will get hurt.

I will not hint at good-bye.

 

For my mother,

June 24, 1995


Familiar Voices

Familiar voices echo in unlistening ears —

worthless,

both the ears,

and the mindless chatter to fill time.

Do you ask,

why do I ask,

questions I won’t answer

unless it is done in a riddle,

for in truth,

I do not understand

myself.

 

Vacant eyes,

drab,

dreary,

unrecognizable in the mirage of my joy

clouds of deep purple happiness

cover my soul like the storm covers the sun

then you ask yourself,

the quiet voice of doubt,

“Is there a sun,

and so a soul?”

I will not answer,

I no longer care for anything I once did.

I am now self-centered,

the sun of my world of imagination

and closed whispery daydreams,

noting of the old life remains

save those familiar voices,

tombstone worthless,

only a faint memory.

 

March 15, 1998


Introduction to Christina’s Invitation

The Invitation

..I proclaimed to myself that all things I knew or experienced were sacred.  To share them, even with those I held dear in my heart, would be near self-sacrilege.  I became aware of a strange sense of privacy, and a desire for self-pride.  I yearned to become a silent, mysterious stranger.

I pondered this privacy, this pseudo-religious thought, and realized that, as with all religion, the belief by one of that which is sacred does not necessarily hold true for all. My life, my inmost thoughts, my values and dreams and yearnings — these were mine, sacred only to me.  To speak of these would cause me to doubly betray myself.  I would have uttered that which I believed should never be wrought into words and I would have made myself the fool in their eyes, invariably destroying some little part of myself, a piece of my pride.

Why then did I speak my mind?  And not only speak it, but brashly proclaim it, impatiently await the moment at which I could release my thought into the very waves of my voice?  Perhaps it is because I believed that for every soul, there exists one who holds the same values true.  Perhaps, by wearing my beliefs openly, I was searching for that person, the soul that could help me complete myself and realize my potential.

I had, on rare occasion, found an opening with another.  At that moment, for a few glorious minutes, my soul could touch that of another.  I could gaze into a face and through meaningless prattle, feel the deepest portions of our beings unite and commune in the basest language.  My body would come alive, each part sensing the union, and I would glow as my emotions escaped.

And then I would sense release.  Two souls, desperately hoping against truth, accept that they are too different, not quite able to completely join.  I would feel my strength, my joy, my peace seep from me as though I had been pierced buy a thousand swords.  A slow, painful bleed sometimes lasting longer than several hours.  For days or more afterward, my soul would recoil from others, too hurt to reach out.  It would shrink upon itself, leaving my body weak and vulnerable.  Untrusting and reserved.

Yet still I felt I must advertise my philosophies.  In some fashion, I must make known to the world that which I held dear and that in which I believed.  The bait must be set to lure the perfect soul to mine, to grant us both peace.  And so, I wrote.  I described my life in symbols of unfathomable depth.  Surely a soul similar to mine could decipher my plea, understand my poetry, and seek me out.

And my insanity grew….


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The Dinner

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Wherever you go, there you are.

And here I am, Judith Clarke, writer.

HASTYWORDS

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A Word From The Raven's Beak

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Syl65's Blog

Poetry, music, creative writing and a desire to inspire....Isaiah 45:2-7 I will go before you and will level the mountains[a]; I will break down gates of bronze and cut through bars of iron. 3 I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord

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"Come with me, and you'll be, in a world of pure imagination" Willy Wonka, 1971

Just breathe.

Life is beautiful. And there is so much to be grateful for.

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A work in progress

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Art, Text, Code, Design