Melancholia

The Dark of the Moon

Night is swallowing
Light's remembrance,
Moon looking askance at the stars

Depression following
My repentance,
Thoughts dance with my scars.

Hearts whirling,
Faces smiling,
It's all a masquerade.

Emotions twirling,
Words beguiling,
Just let your self fade.

A Fairytale of The Imagination

A Hallucination of Charming

Come find me in,
The forests of forever night.
Unblind me then,
And give me clearer sight.

Show me the way,
Out of this endless maze.
Bring the bright day,
To clear the deathly haze.

Give me your hand,
So that we may leave here.
Dodge the quicksand,
And swallow up my fear.

It's such a shame,
You don't actually exist;
Just my figment,
A shadow in the mist.

Small Epiphanies Come Everyday

Phoenix

Bury the bird,
deep in the ground,
For it has died again.

Somebody stupid
freed it from the cage;
it flew into the lion's den.

Who can we punish?
Who can we blame?
Only ourselves, it seems.

Bury the bird,
six feet under,
next to my broken dreams.

Hide the bird,
shade it from the light,
For it has risen again.

Somebody stupid
gave it flight,
and blinded it from sin.

How can we catch it?
What trap shall we use?
Feed it sunshine and lies.

Hide the bird,
cage it inside.
Only good comes of its demise

Free the bird,
into the sky,
For it sings pain again.

Somebody stupid
ensnared it alive.
Its song spawns sorrow within.

Where will it fly?
Where will it flee?
East of the sun, west of the moon.

Free the bird,
let it fly.
We all know it's doomed.

Observation

Classroom Journal 2007 (age 17)

Season's Embrace

Sleeping in our tightly wrapped scales
We await the warm breath of the day
Feel it blowing on our backs
We awaken, peeling away at our cold shrouds
Buttery new, we face the sun
And watch the world come alive
Smaller than seems possible at first
We quickly expand under the cerulean sky
Our skins grow verdant
As we drink in the light
Losing the memories of the last snow
The days grow longer
The nights grow shorter
Our lives are just beginning, we know
But all too soon
Our world is ending
Nights lengthen, black and cold
Frost enters our veins
Blushes them rosy
Pretty to onlookers, we are
But to us
The world holds no joy
And we disappear
One by one.

Out with the Old...

2003 Journal, Undated (ages 13-15)

Immobility

Still strikes
When you least expect
It rides on a backhand
A chokehold to the neck

It trails on the command
Of "shut your mouth!"
It reveals itself
When your runaway plans are found.

It always comes
When you're told not to cry
It is the ancestor
To an angry sigh

But still never comes
When you try to hold your pain within
Still never comes
When you try to cover some minor sin

Still always waits
For the sounds of trouble
Because still is the toothpick
Before it hits the bubble.

Into the Deep!

To be honest, I'm a pretty open person. But when it comes to things I create, I behave as a hermit. I hide away, and avoid the public as much as possible. It comes down to a simple fear of judgment. I've never been afraid to pass it on others, but criticism may be one of the banes of my existence. Why create a blog then? Because I realized that paper and pen are tenuous materials, easily destroyed in fires and floods. I'm still going to shelter my creativity. I'm just opening a few windows and installing a screen door.

I write mostly poetry and lyrics, and my postings will start from the very beginning of my writings--all the way back to the dark ages of middle school. I promise no regularity or schedule to my postings, as I'm pretty irregular in schedule anyway.