Don’t give up

When we tire of this world,
With our vision slowly going.
The darkness seeps through,
Starts with a trickle to a roar.
Staggering through woods,
Painted black with our fears.

Insomnia learns our name,
Whispering taunts and jeers.
Waterfalls flow eye to cheek,
With an indeterminate pitch.
Gasping for air but choking,
Falling faster than a bullet.

Lying scattered in 100 pieces,
Like a puzzle with no box lid.
There’s a white flag to reach,
And stop the black dog’s barks.
But we must not try wave it yet.
Our final chapter lies unwritten.

© Fi S. J. Brown

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B.I.A.

I’m like the pieces of a broken glass vase,
So many shards that there is no glue to fix.
I’m dizzy from all the circles walked,
And the games from the amphitheatre,
Not able to escape.

I feel like all the paths ahead are blocked,
Filled with more false starts and wrong turns.
In the forest of my mind,
I’ve been looking for an axe,
To find where I belong.

Tired of jumping hoops and skipping beats,
As I try to play life by the rules,
Bitten by bugs growing in number at my feet,
And strangled by words in tears.
But believe it again echoes on.

I’m just the outsider watching the world,
And it seems like I’m forever to be sat in the wings.
I never wanted to be a leading lady,
But at least wanted to be on the script.

How many would walk a mile for a day in my shoes,
With a ball and chain that interrupts the rhythm.
Feeling like a bird who wants to fly,
But there is nobody to set her free.

Tired of jumping hoops and skipping beats,
Looking for a break but not in sanity.
Drained so that my battery is always red,
Why can it not be green like in nature,
With birds echoing believe it again.

Tired of jumping hoops and skipping beats,
Time to skip with hoops and jump to beats.
Rising like the phoenix one more time,
Burn down the trees and find that path,
Whilst singing believe it again.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The Patchwork Doll

Nobody heard the tears from the years of hurt, which rained down in a rhythm that matched them beat for beat. Nobody saw the pain of a stomach filled with razor blades ripping away at the confidence of a newborn lamb. And nobody saw her trying to fly the white flag, surrendering to the end the pain.

Questions that were never answered; left like rhetorical questions lingering in the springtime air. There were no reasons why their words and actions were now scars upon her soul. For hers was a muted song with only their laughter echoing from wall to wall around her childhood bedroom to be heard.

Nobody saw the barriers to the cage that trapped and protected alike. The effort needed to rise from the ashes of life on a nearly daily basis. Craving hugs of love and support, so absorbed the ones of treasures friends she found near and far, using them as thread to sew on patches over her deep scars.

With the sensitivity of a glass vase in a toddler’s hands, the patchwork doll took to writing what she could not sing herself. Collecting songs and stories of others as she did, so they too could be seen and finally heard. United in sound to breakdown barriers, no matter what the number of bruises.

Nobody can stop her now. She had found her life’s purpose, even those that hurt her can now no longer hold her back. Yes, still many tears flow like the River Nile, but seeds have been sown in confidence, hopes and dreams, which are watered with love and respect, now blooming and blossoming.

Does the past really matter now, for the present is building a foundation to the future and the past of tomorrow. The patchwork doll has learnt to believe it again and never give up. And now she will never raise that white flag till she has told the tales and sung the songs of all life that lives on Planet Earth.

© Fi S. J. Brown

Giving up

Some days it feels like the best course of action is to hide away from the world as fed up trying and trying again but seems to fall in pieces at our feet, shortly follow by ourselves. However, we must remember; as much as this world and its people may hurt us giving up is not an option. So take time out to do something we enjoy without feeling guilty about it, even if it is hiding out among the leaves so blend in or hide away, just for an hour or two.

© Fi S. J. Brown

Flowers