As We Were

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is one of my works of poetry. Please enjoy! :)

Submitted: October 15, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 15, 2010



 In those few solitude moments of revelationary disbelief you know who you are. You see the joys of who you can be...within one human soul. And it shouts again: "I can be anything! No strings attached! Nothing to hold me or bare me down now!" And you want to let it go.... To just let everything go without tears involved in it. Through the time...the punishment...the self torture the life in past tense has made for feel the pleasure of it all again. When you were a thought as a child...and now it's time to feel again. Once again. Once more. The second time to know that whatever is wrong the Lord himself has you in his arms. And he's swinging...swinging...swinging you to sleep again. Just like it was when you were once a young one

Just the way that you remember. Like sweet lemon or cherry candy. The taste stays until you taste again and remember it again. And's all better. The scars are gone. "You don't need that bandage anymore", the doctor tells you. And you can enjoy the company of someone who screams in public just as loudly as you do.

And again you don't even care what people are going to say...or if they will shun you from whatever or wherever your happiness is lingering in. What you know, is all you know until you know some more in the later times of minutes, hours, days or eclipses to come. But whatever happens to you now is fine all because you know you're safe. You have mommy...and daddy again. You have those tender and warm arms surrounding you again. In the pouring rain you can feel the happiness drip dropping from the cloudy, gray and blackened blue skies. No colds or flu or pnemonia. Nothing makes you fearful...for you can do anything. You find you haven't done any anger to anyone and you haven't caused yourself selfish hurt in a long, dragging time.

It feels really good to be who you are again. Now you understand what you've hated to hear. That you've somehow changed and you're wanted back by the voices that you hold so very close to the veins pumping in the ventricles of your heart. You're not nervous to sing out loud or live out loud or make yourself clearly known and understood again. Everything is a memoir of beauty. I can write...I can draw...I can sing and I can hush again. I can make the world twist beneath my thumbs by making the happiness in others come closer to the words in a song. I don't worry about you, little stains of meloncholy and anguished, hurting faces. If you wanted to be fine, you would be fine. Just as I am okay can you be if only you remember that look on your love's face. Whatever your love my be. Whoever your love may be. Recall the deep, red sensation of taste.... The one you craved in your mother's womb.

The taste of comfort and of submition with faith that whatever covered you took care of you. And you began to trust what you did not know at all. Why not now? Why not trust those feelings now? Has the earth, vile and hellacious, contorted your soul so that you become what you never were concieved to become? No, you're still there. And though it may not be in a hospital blanket and wet hair from your mother's body you are still the little one that was once in their mom's and dad's loving grasp. Laughing. Oh, you remember the sound? Do you remember the sound of that sweet vibration? The edges of your cheeks, making your mouth appear, crinkle up and lift your cheekbones to the sky for every life and sight of eye to look at. That smile is lusted after, you know? The kind of miracle it shows.... The miraculous imagery that they're all staring at with a jealousy that isn't needed. Why should they envy when they as well could have the same? And that's what we all should realize. That should be the announcement made to a thousand men. When life hands you decide to throw a lemon parade and furnish the whole earth with them. Now, does that mean anything to you? Does that tell you the happiness and the generosity we were made for?.... The love. the more tender of all that we've said to eachother. What is a love that only cares for itself? We would call it selfish love. We call it abortion of the heart. We call it...destruction in the highest. Oh, but here...right here in this place where love is a painting that we capture and hold is the place. Now is the time. "Time has ended",  as he says. Once the love is taken it can't be destroyed...easily, if at all. But what is possibility? When faith is existing...why must we disbelieve at all? What is there to disbelieve in when there is faith to make it all possible? How dare anyone call anything impossible...hopeless...unrealistic? Who are they to say...but mere people? With faith...comes trust...with trust comes love...and with love...comes The Healer.

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