A Poem

        if my soul could be seen it would look like a tree,
       with a long slender trunk and small shining green leaves,
        the bark, white as milk, is just like my skin,
        tender and fair but with strong growth within.
        the dark colored knots that peek as from a face,
        show beneath the first layer, there's wisdom and grace,
        the butterfly leaves, trembling in the wind,
        sing a song of a story about to begin,
        and so, like the birch tree I'll reach up to the sky,
        and show the world poetry is what I live by.

It Rhymes!!!

I have never been the best with rhymes. At times I try to write a poem in rhymed verse, but it never turns out the way I want it to. Sometimes, rhyme and rhythm can seem so...confining. Like I can't express my thoughts properly or correctly with these boundaries and restrictions that I have to adhere to. But for some time I've felt that a rhymed poem is just a necessary part of my experiments with great writing.
But last night after watching a lovely sunset, inspiration came and I jotted down this little poem....and it rhymes! It's really short and simple and not really that good but it rhymes!!! So just let me be proud of myself:)

                                         the day's sunlight was nearing death,
                                        but before it drew it's final breath,
                                        one last gift it gave to me,
                                        I opened up my eyes to see,
                                        a golden kiss on pearly clouds,
                                        that laughed in the face of a funeral shroud.

Anyway, that's all.....what should I call my first ever sort of successful rhyme?

today

         

                 
                  the sky looks like my soul, confused
                  tears fall out of bright cloudy eyes, drops making a pattern on cement
                  what would the droplets show me if they were permitted to stay?
                  would they tell a story on the sidewalk, paint a picture on the pavement?
               
                 but they dry up, leaving me to wonder, why does the sky cry?
                 do you cry at the beauty of the earth you look down upon, where flowers drink your tears                    like sweet champagne and get drunk on laughter and color in a world of grey?
                do you cry in sorrow over the little lost kitten, wandering through tall streets and among                       strange unfeeling faces?
                Or do you cry in remembrance of a beautifully sad day, when a sacrifice was made to save                   a broken but hopeful world, rising out of the darkness clinging to it like a shadow?
               This is one of earth's many unsolvable mysteries.
             

summer

           
.........summer and i used to be such good friends. every morning when i awoke, i would breathe in the scent of a summer morning, a thrill with the possibilities of the day. i experienced freedom and carelessness in the form of long, hot days, taking wild flights of fancy. the hill in my backyard became a magical staircase that i could climb up and down, taking me through different lands and times. i led a group of wide eyed little girls on adventures conjured out of our own minds, filters that caught bits of that fascinatingly obscure thing called the real world and created bits of magic where the holes were. my little neighborhood and the people in it were all i needed to feed the universe inside my head. i was happy to pretend that the neighbor's trampoline was a stage and i was a famous dancer, or that the swimming pool was an ocean and i was a moonlight mermaid being rescued by a handsome sailor. sometimes we made lemonade. sometimes i spent the whole day lost in a book. sometimes i stayed inside and watched movies with my grandma. summer evenings were the best time, and we ran around the neighborhood breathless in the cool twilight for as long as our parent's would let us stay out, and sighed at the unfairness of the world when we had to go in and everyone else got to stay.
  i miss those summers.
but lately, summer feels like a prison. the long days that turn into long weeks are filled with loneliness, and wishing for things that i don't have. i spend my days reading, filling my diary with useless scribbles, and crying over lost things. friendships, joy in the simple things, and the wonderful ability of a child's imagination to make you content anywhere. i miss it. i miss being able to add romance to any situation. if i were to be in one of my old imaginations now, i would imagine myself as a princess, locked in the highest tower imaginable, looking down at the loveliness, joy and simplicity that is the world, longing to taste it for myself. but trapped, gazing out between thick metal bars, so strong that they seem impenetrable. the princess of course, is beautiful, with tragic blue eyes, and long silky hair the color of the midnight sky, but she is lonely and heartbroken inside. she waits for a prince, who is off in a faraway land, having grand adventures and saving the world. her heart aches with missing him, and she dreams of going on adventures herself, fighting dragons. or...saving children and lighting people's hearts on fire.
my prison is self made, and the bars are only as thick as i allow them to be. i am working diligently to break out, little by little, one bit at a time. it's always easy to build these prisons, but if you let them become strong enough, breaking them down is a much harder process. but i can do it and i will, with the help of a loving Heavenly Father. and in the meantime, i'm going to go out and ask summer if she wants to be friends again.

The Journey

The baby pulls herself up to a standing position. Her dimpled legs tremble a little as she balances on her unsteady feet. The bright eyes look to the challenge ahead, sparkling with excitement. She stands for a moment, unsure of herself and the unknown territory before her.  Her little foot lifts from the ground, and takes a step as her balance wavers. It feels shaky, and she grins at the newness of it. She takes another step, and she tumbles to the ground, landing hard on her bottom. So many bruises, so many falls, so many tears. They come over and over again until the baby has learned to walk, taking unsteady steps and laughing triumphantly and beautifully at her success.
Before you find a destination, you have to have a journey. Some people resent the journey, or think it a bother. Some people grow frustrated at detours and unexpected obstacles in their path.
The happiest people in life learn to love the journey, because the journey is what makes life beautiful.
The journey is the spirit of life, growing, stumbling, blooming, reaching, never satisfied with what is handed to us, always reaching for more.
The journey is full of uncertainty. We can never be sure what will happen, what fruit our choices will bring to us. We can never be certain our decision is the right one. The wisest people in life learn to embrace the uncertainty, because without it, we would never grow.
Break out of the safe shell of certainty that surrounds you. The adventure, the mystery, the beauty of life is waiting to be experienced when you immerse yourself in uncertainty, in trial and error, in stumbling and falling.
Laugh along with life, and let your laughter be raw and honest and bubbling from a real place within you. Laugh at your mistakes, and laugh when you fall. Laughter makes the journey beautiful.
Believe in yourself and love the journey. Because the journey is what makes the destination the most rewarding.
This is the outlook which I wish to have on life.