Monday, November 30, 2009

Soaring Deep

Within seas - Within seas
Silent, with a quiet
Frightened attitude.
Alone, with an increased need of sharing,
Unsure, with an obsession
Of the man-made guilt.
Blurs of emotions,
Rushing throughout my body.
My spirit has been set free to fly,
On a journey through
Lapses within lapses of extended time.
Forever going - Never ending.
Blurs of emotions and
Rushes of energy,
Bursts of sharing.
Simultaneous experiences
Of being,
Acknowledging the atmosphere,
And the presence of this energy.
Capable of showing the inner being
And never knowing the man-made guilt.
Energy flying,
Soaring deep within
Seas within Seas

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

My Own Wound

Wounded without real reason,
It seems so unfair
When love does come
And one cannot share?
It's desire to be known
And quest to learn more.
As a wounded child
Needs to be comforted
So does a love need
To be shown
If it is a two way street
Or a one way dead-end.

Wounded without real reason,
With desires to be known,
Can a one-way street
Become two way
Without major reconstruction
Unearthing what is shared?

Wound without real reason,
And knowing it's there,
To over come the obstacles
To be able to share.

Monday, November 9, 2009


As if the howling wind,
Knew of my only sin.
As if the dark night,
Knew of my only plight.
As if the cold morning air,
Knew of my longing to share.

My emotions are rare,
'Causing my ability to share,
To bellow from deep within my heart,
Wishing our togetherness never to part.
And it seems to me,
As if you knew,
The next direction
The wind blew. ©

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Minuscule Point

I've looked into the past
Through words written,

In early am, and
In the dark night.

Through journals of a ramblings drunk,
Some too high to even re-read or re-write.

Yet a line or a phrase
Stands out,
And again I am transported
To a time of my life,
A year,
A month,
A moment ago.

I continue to exert the powers
Of my mind,
And force it through
The minuscule point of a pen.

Just to point or express:
All I am,
All I've dreamed,
All I've seen,
And where I've been.

So someday I may know myself. ©

Saturday, November 7, 2009

A Poem

 A poem is unique:
Only one person can write it,
Many may read it,
Yet, the response will vary.

All who read it,
Will ponder;
Their past,
Their future,
Or related experiences,
Then react to the effects
As it penetrates one's soul.

So, to genuinely enjoy
Another's poem; one must
Understand the words chosen by the poet,
Feel the words within the self
Ponder the underlying unstated.

Some may never grasp the meaning:
While others will remember
Its heart-felt touch forever. ©

Friday, November 6, 2009

The Artist’s Gift

The artist’s gift of illusion
Spirited by soul
Enhanced by love
Sparked by life.

Within the artist’s eyes
The mundane, is presented with flamboyance.

The discarded, is transformed to be useful.
The unpleasant, is interpreted and given new life.
The real is given an inspired twisted demeanor.

With the laying of the hand,
The artist
Breathes life of illusion
Creating Beauty.
Ellenelizabeth  ©

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Take My Hand Take My Hand

Echoes of a long since forgotten time
Begs to become a rhyme.
Take my hand; I'll escort you through

To explore the world
Which I once knew.

Take my hand; I'll glide with you
To places, and among their people who,
Have cluttered my mind's heart.

Take my hand, I'll see through your eyes
The experiences and maybe some lies,
From where I've said many Good-byes!

Take my hand, let us embark,
Through captured moments,
Of my heart

As hand in hand
We Start!

Ellenelizabeth ©