Poetry
Lost Broken Winged Angel Masks Fire
Shattered Circles
The Path Within
When Spring Begins
The Machine
Untitled
A Cry in the Night Untitled
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Lost
Who am I?
Where did I go?
In all this noise and confusion
I really don’t know
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Broken Winged Angel
A broken winged angel
her face bruised and bloodied
walks through a place lost to peace
Fearless and frightened
she holds her head high
In her wake
courage and hope plant seeds for the future
watered with her tears and the blood of the fallen
Onward she travels
touching one shattered life after aonther
beaten but not yet defeated
Her shining with pain and pride
reflecting the souls of a shattered land
rising above and leading the way
Will she suffer in vain?
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Masks
All around me I see
people wearing masks with empty eyes
faceless forms
interchange one with another
they're all the same
Hard shelled, armoured against the world
what lies behind the walls they build
to keep eachother out?
the truths
about themselves they refuse to show the world
Hiding behind their shields
to spare themselves the pain
of having what they really are
rejected
torn apart
or worse, ignored
Looking out
between the cracks in my wall
I see myself
reflected in their masks.
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Fire
Walls closing in
a light up ahead
orange and flickering
darkness behind
darkness on both sides
the only way out...
through the fire
purified by the flames
to be born again
as the pheonix rises from the ashes.
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Shattered
I look upon the window to my world
Seeing light and laughter, green and gold
A dischordant note that breaks the glass
And darkness falls across the land.
Once I saw a world bright and happy
A soul filled with innocence
The illusion was shattered and a discovery made
Reality is filled with infinite shades of grey.
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Circles
Endless circles, spiralling on forever
each one joined to the next
no end and no beginning
because every end is a beginning
and every beginning is an end
life and death and rebirth,
life begins again.
The colors fade, the seasons pass
the cold creeps in and ice covers our souls
all the world is dark and cold and dead
then sunlight breaks across the black
spring dawns, the cold receeds
the wheel turns, the seasons change
and another circle is complete
and life begins again.
Space, so vast and empty
but filled with energy, the begining of life
time goes by and stars are formed
radiating energy as they live and as they die
and in the end, their energy returns
to the space from which they came
and life begins again.
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The Path Within
(thanks for the title Whitedog!)
Lost within the tangled night
No place to go, no friend in sight
How far the travel to find the light?
Where we go no one can say
How high a price must we pay?
To see the path, to find the way
A way we seek, out of the cold
The roadcan be found, so we are told
Within ourselves, as in the stories of old.
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When Spring Begins
The Earth sleeps
energy quivers beneath the frozen ground
Glowing, pulsing
waiting to surge upward
When spring begins.
Life is waiting
the world holds its breath
All is dark and cold
soon the light and warmth return
When spring begins.
In winter's night
snow and ice and cold winds blowing
Fire and ice beneath
forest, meadow, field, all will blossom soon
When spring begins.
An inner darkness
deep within a match is struck
A spark begins to glow
a fire to light the winter of the soul
When spring begins.
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The Machine
A mass of people without faces,
faces without names.
Moving through a forest of steel,
lost and alone.
Empty eyes stare like glass marbles,
at mindless work.
Millions of people so close together,
strangers in the dark.
A grey machine without a soul,
vacant and cold.
All is dark and grey,
light is lost, hope is gone.
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Untitled
Numb, detached, empty
Adrift on a sea of smooth obsidian
Neither cold nor hot
Surrounded by inky black nothingness
What is this place?
This world without feeling
A realm of energy and potential
Frozen in never ending night
Detached from reality
Empty of feeling
Numb with a cold not felt
Cut adrift from the world
To feel the light and burn would be so nice.
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A Cry in the Night
A cry in the night,
remains silent, goes unheard.
A world clothed in blackness,
endless night without hope.
A cry in the night,
remains silent, goes unheard.
A soul cut off,
needing help, needing light
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Untitled
The pictures that my mind would paint
if only it had a brush
The worlds that live inside my head
and pass in such a rush
These things I wish that I could grasp
and set down on a page
The words though, never come out quite right
the scenes seem faded with age.
Copyright© calenna 2006