Friday, September 27, 2013

Sunshine

 
I'm holding sunshine in my hands
it's warm and inviting
it burns a little
yet, I hold it still
it smells like joy and happiness
so sweet, so precious, so familiar
I can see the sunbeams of hope
I squint my eyes at the brightness
Do you hear it?
it sounds like peace and laughter
it's loud but quiet, quiet but loud
But here comes darkness
it passes by
it stops to demand my attention
but I can't grasp it
my hands are filled
I've got sunshine in my hands


Friday, September 20, 2013

Lost

I’m running.
Running faster and faster
I tear through the branches of heartache
They scratch my face, my arms, my legs
I keep running
Blinded by the darkness
I hear noises
They scream at me.  They call for me.
I’m afraid
I can’t drown them out
What is it? Who is it?
Running, running, Stumbling, falling
I get back up.  Run again
Past the fear, Past the doubt
I can’t.  I won’t.  I shouldn’t.  I don’t.
Run?
I run. I ran. I stop.
Stopping.
Stopping to face fear.
Stopping to face the unknown.
To stare it in the eye
To tell it here I am
I turn slowly, Oh so slowly
I stare blankly staring
Staring at what is
Staring at what was
Confronting  the face of challenge
The very thing I was running from
In the darkness,
I found me.

 

Thursday, September 19, 2013

The Wrtier Within


The writer within me is trying to get out.  She’s screaming.  She’s pleading.  She’s fighting.   In search of the voice she knew she had, she’s begging to be heard.  But I had buried her.   The shrill sounds of her voice were cast deep within a well of the unknown, of the fear, of the forgotten.  I didn’t know how to bring her back to life.  I didn’t know if I could.  So I went on living.  No.  Not living.  Un-living, because without her I couldn’t be me.  I tried to suppress her but she kept coming out.  Her words.  On the backs of receipts, scribbled on envelopes, jotted down on any and everything within grasp.  They bombarded my head.  All these thoughts, all these words and I didn’t know where to put them.  Because I was afraid of her.  Her voice was so much bigger than my own.  She was bolder than I was.  She had no fear, no shame, just ambition.  Her words spoke, they stung, they soared.  I didn’t know if I could keep up.   I didn’t know if I could fly or if I wanted to.  But time and time again, she keeps rising up reminding me that she’s still there.  The reason I stare off into no particular place for no particular amount of time.  The reason I’m there and not there all at once.   I’m lost without her.  Her words.  They’re always knocking.   Banging on the outskirts of the once upon a time.  Screaming.  Pleading.  Fighting. …. And I’ve decided to let her out. 

Miranda Evans