A Poem Of Dark Sided Things

Rage
Anger turns to something black
that slithers on your tongue.
Under your brows to darken your eyes.
You feel the tenseness in your shoulders.
You hunch them to shake it.
It builds inside you
You want to scream
Nothing comes out but hateful words.
Like lyrics to a death metal song
You spit flames.
Hold back the dark side.
Try to breathe.
Sit, count to ten.
Don't let these words get the best of you.
Do not go gently.
Do not go sweetly
My darling rage for your anger
You are not alone.

Dedicated to Natalie aka Little Isis

A Want For Leaving

I dream of open spaces.
Montana, Texas, places where the sweat sticks to my neck.
I dream of history too
Places soaked with the blood of Romes, Celts and my own family.
I dream of holding hands
With the statues of the holy fountains in Rome.
I dream of flying the plane
That will take me to my destiny off the coast of Japan.
I dream of fog thick cities.
Cloaked in the darkness of a torrid after life.
I dream of the soaking wet rain forests
Vietnam, Washington, and Vancouver slick like rain coats.
I dream of ice cream colored homes
They line the streets made of cobblestone and water.
I want to go.
I want to get out.
I can't hold my spirit in any more.
I feel so muffled here.
This city made of steel and money that's fading into the lake.
The lakes and rivers used to bring us things.
Now it catches on fire.
Brings us fish dead on the sand dunes.
For now I will dream.
I will dream of getting out of this rust belt city.
My future is waiting a head of me.
Stretched out to the sky.

Heartless-A Halloween Poem

They took my heart you see.
In the deep dark night they came for me.
Unseeing eyes of black and little.
Dancing in the light as they wittle
My skin gives away to denser bone
White, red and a softer tone
Pink heart beats in my chest.
Dark hands grasp and tear the flesh.
I sleep no more but I cannot rest.
Until my heart is beating in my breast
I shall come for yours.

The Black Birds of Leaving

The best stories always have the characters thrust into the life they're suppose to lead. Whether it's a ring, a girl or a dream that leads them there they take charge knowing exactly what to do. Those stories are full of adventures that bring the character a piece of mind or love something to take away from the experience of a lifetime. I wonder if they yearn for their old life back when it's over. Maybe when the quest is done it's a relief, a heavy burden lifted off their shoulders. I have no such life. No drama, no terror only corn field after corn field.
Some days I feel like my life would be easier if I was one of these characters. If I were Frodo I would walk to Mt. Doom, if I were Lucy I'd pop through the wardrobe, decisions like this take no more then a thought. Instead I sit filling out papers for college, papers for work and papers to take my families farm when my Father dies. The will states I get the whole kit-and-kaboodle since my brother ended up in jail. If I had the choice I'd run away to some small town in Maine far away from Arkansas. I'd eat clam chowder all day while watching the sea bring in fishermen. I'd marry a crabber or something, open up my own restaurant and die happy.
Here I feel like I'm Choking on all the dead black birds that fall from the sky. The river fills with the dead fish I used to throw a line out for on a warm day. I remember seeing the birds and the fish, eyes shining black with a white film over top. Dead eyes staring up like whatever killed them came from above. My Mother says it's God's Will. The nerds in my class say it's an omen of 2012. I feel like it's a message. Alice if you stay here you will be smothered by the air and the river. Your heart will dry up like the beds of the stream, your eyes with black out like the red shouldered black birds. There will be nothing left.
I want to collect my hearts, climb in my beat up station wagon and leave.
But not today.
Not while the black birds are still screaming behind my house. When they fall silently over my town I'll fly from here.

To Much Earth

Center me, center me, center me.
I ground myself.
I am the dirt. I am the trees. I am the grass.
I am afraid.
It creeps into the cracks of my lips.
Seeps into my mouth.
Pours down my tongue.
Tastes like bitter, like bark, like dirt.
I can't find my center here.
There is to much earth. Not enough water. Not enough fire.
The sand bunches between my toes.
Water laps at my ankles.
I am drawn in.
The air blasts me in the face with the scent of calm.
No candle can recreate the scent.
Waves slapping the shore free my mind.
Gentle, calm, blue, green.
The rocks are sharp but my mind feels clear again.
I go to where the lake connects with the sky and the glade.
A fire awaits me.
The blaze slicks it's self across the bark.
Crackling.
Here is my center.
I take the place into my mind.
Wear it like a bindi. Place it on my minds eye.
So when I open it, I can see the safety. I can see the calm.
My center is here, my center is here, my center is finally here.

Written August 15, 2011

Autumn Bound

Today I tried to become one with the Earth.
I hoped I could slip into the ground.
Force myself to become a liquid.
I would sink in to wear the mantle like a crown.
Instead all I could hear was the call of the crows.
The hiss of the wind in the trees.
The blessings of autumn.
As one leaf fluttered down from it's perch.
The season is upon us.

Written September 5, 2011

Moth

The moth batters against the window screen.
Fighting towards the light.
It's delicate wings dusting against the iron.
I hear it fall to the ground outside.
A gentle plop.

Written September 5, 2011

Grasping

Bright light blasts me in the face without kindness.
I try to squint to hinder the agony in my corneas.
Computer screens are bloody bright.
Slumber edges away at my eyes.
I can feel the dust crumbling away.
When I scrap my hand against my eye,
sand tumbles out into my palm.
It feels like my face is falling away.
I scramble to the banks of a sea.
Somehow transported a million miles away from my bed.
This does not feel like a restful dream.
The sea churns with a black light from with in the depths.
I shield my eyes away from the ocean.
Around the thrashing mass of black the ocean turns red.
It's me under the water.
A gnashing set of teeth dragging me down to my watery grave.
The me on land shivers as the me under the waves lets out one last scream.
Bubbles replace my last breath.
This is not a good omen.
I grasp at waking, the alarm has gone off.
This is the first time I am thankful to be woken.

Written September 10, 2011

First Post

Hi, my name is Helen. I'm a part time beauty blogger, full time student, and hopeful writer. I wanted to start sharing my poetry. It may not be good, heck it may not make any sense but it's mine.

Please enjoy.