Year 2001-Age 15: Bittersweet Frustrations

One More Taste of Innocence

Father, don’t you know that I am weeping

over things I never guessed could happen

If I could only be a little girl again

dancing in the summer wind

laughing, playing shake-a-paw with Sasha

and crying only over my skinned knee…

Father, being a woman’s not easy

especially when all I've wanted to be

is a perfect child on your shoulders

Scenic and pleasant

with Mother,

and ice cream

Not here in the dark

I'm afraid of the dark

And I want one more taste

of innocence

Impossible

Burning, burning

my head’s turning

hoping, praying,

spirit breaking

Pining for impossible

reaching for implausible

making, shaking

time and taking

Burning, turning

painful learning

teasingly not feasible

in every single way

Hoping, praying

spirit breaking

I have lost the day

Lady Jane

Young and bright

and pure as light

she was thrust on the throne

after family passed

And so she learned to love

her arranged spouse

and then they flew passion

aroused by ideas

To bring goodness to a land

embittered with bloodshed

blame, shame and guilt

and sly, crooked clergy

While thousands lay begging

they brought back the shilling

and put bread in their hands

but one would not stand for it…

The Roman Catholic Mary

And so they were taken

into a dark tower

where they had nothing, no one

no one, but each other

Bodies embodied

with love for Heaven

broken free of stringence

as the guillotine fell

Stop and listen

Stop

to hear the sound of people chatting

Stop

to hear the words

that they are saying

Stop

to pass the words

and listen to the tone

Stop

to pass the noise

and hear the breeze flow

Stop

to hear your body

the footsteps

all your movements

Stop

to feel the sunlight, feel it shining through

Stop

to look past the clouds

and hear your own heartbeat

Stop

to hear the rhythm

your individual rhythm

Stop

to hear the notes, the notes of your breath

Stop

and hear a song from this

Stop

and hear what's in the song

But, Just, Stop:

to hear a song, by you

with harmonies from God

Where is my voice?

Where is my voice?

it comes and goes

with all my woes

or woe is me

contradictory regards

this hypocrisy of cards

to you, to me

and…

where is my voice?

Butterflies

Flitter, flutter

but never stutter

keep inside

those butterflies

lock them, bury them

suppress them

and

let them help you

fly...

Overcast Light

Serene, the window

through overcast light

the shadows, none

the quiet, not quite

Grey, with light

singing delight

the birds came to perch

through imminent might

Loving to want

to love, and to not

the overcast light

is beauty contrite

Swept into the night

admiring the stars

through clouds and contraction

I see only fractions

of my destined actions …

And I think of my dreams

and I long for the means

to look them in the eyes

and demolish their disguise

Plastic World

Pain

I register is all ways as

feelings that don't always appeal

to the plastic, plastic, plastic world

With walls that are chemical

crooked and cracked

with sparkles adorned

though ceilings are packed

But away from their eyes

are all their true lies

as they fix with their left

until nothings' left

Empty-Hearted Ocean

Most things that are in my head

connect straight to my heart

it seems a clever endeavor

a journey much apart

From sameness

of the game-S

yes, that functioning factory

of Satisfactory

Or even less..

the people

that just talk and gab

they talk and gab

and all of glib

On the surface

of this empty hearted ocean

where I must swim profusely

with this tank on my back

Glass

I have so much to see

I have so much to learn

there are so many little things

that make the fire burn

For young love is but understood

by only hearts that deeply beat

in passing

through the darkness

Broken down, and near defeat

there's now a silent wanting

that cannot be quite be reached

the moonlight’s light is blazing bleak

as all the lies are preached

I can't help be astounded

that great things become rotten

turned upside down but grounded

the real loves' not forgotten

I'll suffer in frustration

I'll want angels to take me

but in time I'll pick up the glass

and swear

It will not break me

Conscious wish

When I see sunrise for real

and smell sweet grass

in my front yard

I'll feel the air and

I’ll feel the real deal

I'll feel the truth flow

through

unbarred

The First Week Of September

The first Week of September

time to begin again

with sulking oak tree branches

their leaves their dying friends

Above the mighty mountains

the iridescent rays shine

powerfully upon them

preluding the ways of time

The breeze blows in a whisper

and tells us to remember

it’s song of summer’s last grace

in the first week of September

Copyright © N.M.Rose Guedes 2011 (originals 2001)