Soul Searcher

Faint as a whisper,
I hear in my dreams,
But it fades to silence
Drumming in my ears,
My spirit hovers over my body.
I feel my senses fading,
And am overcome with a feeling,
Of deep perception,
Flowing through the space.
A single being
Could not encompass this feeling,
It’s growing; spreading into the air;
It is growing for the world,
A world of souls
Who are calling out
To the great expanse
And wondering what is on the other side;
Sending out calls over the great expanse
That will undoubtedly be lost;
Gilded promises for lost souls
That they will find their way,
But the light still shines from far away;
A promise
For wanderers;
They will feel alive,
And a promise for the returned
Of an eternity.


Clinging for dear life to broken walls
As the souls become nothing but wisps,
And the voices are silenced.
Behind closed doors
Spirits are hidden,
Shushed from tears.
In the shadows,
Hearts turn cold.
But their fingers are still writhing,
They write their names in blood;
Bleeding themselves dry,
And their blood runs amuck in the streets up above
Where dead souls linger.
Haunting the living,
Lurking along the walls.
But the living don’t stir,
They carry on,
By the hands of the dead,
But they’re digging themselves deeper and deeper into a pit,
Clawing to escape
layers of brittle shale.
As blood runs down,
And they collapse in a heap,
And succumb to their fate,
But up above
Where sunlight reaches
The open plains
Blood from the captives
Streams with red hot fervor.

Flowers and Ashes

Some people look up at the sky, as it is shaken with thunder
and ignited by lightning,
and seize it’s power
as lightning illuminates their silhouettes
and streams slide off their gleaming bodies.
Under the same sky, the rain drizzles it’s way through my veins as I cower and shrivel from the dreary fortress.
I suppose some people are woven from a smooth fabric,
the kind that billows in the spring breeze;
making chopping noises as it breaks the wind,
but I’m formed of mismatched pieces stitched together
that break apart thread by thread
in contact with the air.
I’m disintegrating;
shredding apart into a million pieces
while they’re still glowing bright.
It blooms where they set foot;
daisies spring up because their step is so light.
The dust falls off my worn out souls,
covering the hills as I walk through my own graveyard.
They dance on the flowers,
and I tread on my ashes.


I’m not writing off raw emotion,
I’m dusting off the corners of the box That holds my soul:
A soul that can’t escape.
It’s like gasping for air;
Trying to sound out words.
If someone would just listen;
If someone would care,
But there are no words
To fill this space.
Only silence echoes off the sides.


Since I was little
I craved for something more,
But gazing off in the distance,
At the mountains,
I knew I was looking through rose colored glasses.
And I went to those mountains
And I thought I had reached a kind of heaven
At the summit,
But I had to come back down
As the rosy colors were fading,
And the world was turning black and white
But it gave my life a spark,
That can’t be burnt out.

You’ve already made it through
the thunderstorm they handed you
after you wouldn’t buckle
under their burden.

You’ve already pulled
all the hurt from the clouds
so it could wash the dirt off
your cheeks.

You jump-started
your tongue
after it was muted
by the words
swarming above it.

Now drag your body
through the blood trail
of your heartache.

Ride on the rumble
of your shame
to the edge
of your ease.

It hurts to be so soft
sometimes, doesn’t it?

Make the quivering club
in your hand
a torch instead of
a weapon.

That fire
can burn,

That rooted light
can bloom
bright enough
to cause fever
in your knees.

It can be so fuckin’
to realize how red
& raw you are
under that dress
of slogans
you’ve been
spitting on yourself
since your skin
knew stroke.
Since your belly
knew flock, hive
& herd.

No matter
how many times
you turn over a leaf
the shadow is always

But there’s a window
that you don’t have
to smash,

use your flame
to find it.

Reach out
just in time
to open it
like summer
in your ear,

be witness
to the moment
before the bird
learns its song.

This Always Opens to the Story Within  Amanda Oaks (via amanda-oaks)


The warmth of spring
Has started to glow on the edges of me Brightly;
A spring bloom opening to the sun,
But you’re shuddering,
shrouded in darkness,
Huddling for warmth in blankets of snow.
Winter’s harsh and unforgiving
Except for promises from the evergreens.
The “eternal trees”
I used to call them;
Branches break into thousands of shiny green spikes
That shine so bright snow slides off.
Frost said nothing gold can stay.
The evergreens aren’t gold,
But brilliant green
Peaking through snowdrops
Against a blanket of white
I used to be one of them,
An evergreen,
Before you emerged from the shadows And lit up the valley with your warmth,
But I no longer need your touch;
The feeling of your warmth
Spreading from my frozen heart
To my icy toes.
I’m in the sun’s belt now
You’re the one who needs me,
But I can’t be your sun,
And it breaks me to tears.
Please learn from the evergreens.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

He wanders
In darkness;
His shadow looms
As old memories haunt him
So silent,
You can only hear the plop of water dripping continuously.
If only I could yell,
You could hear the echo
Of my voice,
Telling you there is a light;
There is a light at the end of this tunnel.