Soul tears…


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I dreamt, once.

I dreamt of a little girl.  A child adorned with ringlets of sunkissed gold and whose eyes told of innocence and love.  She played as she sung, a twinkling of sound that reached through the moment and stirred memories of a time long ago.  Before her a box carved smooth by the years and the hands that had touched it.  The treasures, the priceless jewels that it carried, to the child were mere trinkets that chimed to the heart song that breathed from the essence of her life.

And as I watched, my soul shed tears…

I longed for her to be able to choose just one, only one.  To choose just one of the jewels that she held in her hand.  Jewels that sparkled in the warmth of the summer sun reflecting stained glass patterns to the sky above.  Jewels that shone and spoke of beauty, jewels that would remain long after the girl had gone.

Jewels that were treasured and guarded with life. Jewels that would be left behind.

She could not see, she could not hear.

She was my past, yet she spoke of my future.

And I knew that not one jewel she could take, not one piece of treasure could go with her.

The sacrifice.  All to be left behind.

And as she faded from this life, a whisper of a memory, an echo of a song once sang, the lonely sound of a now forgotten dream hung in the gold speckled light.

What she did not know, I know.

And my soul shed tears for what I will leave behind


Inspired by: Daily Prompt: Ebb and Flow  A reminder that we can not take anything with us, just our memories.  A reminder that, even though for some of us life is painful, we only have one.  A reminder to live it well because the treasures we store, we collect, we keep, are only with us for a short time.  They are just trinkets, toys to be played with.  It is always the beautiful people we meet and the moments that steal our heart and leave us breathless that have true value and add true meaning to our lives.


The legacy….


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darkness remains…. pushed away, far away, to be hidden away

but never really away

a moment, the moment

heart sinks, sadness floods, surges, a torrent of despair…. no escape

Fighting in vain, delaying the truth

The truth a lie, the fight a lie, love is a lie, light a lie

The legacy of life, a life once loved, once lived…

a life twice taken..

and more than anything….

 ‘See If I could love
Don’t you think that I’d love somebody?
If I could trust
Don’t you think that I’d let you touch me?
Teach me to love
I hope there’s still hope for me
‘Cause I wanna love
 I wanna love’

More than anything by Rudimental

When it hurts…


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Nothing left to give…. no fight, no need, no use, it’s gone….

The tears do not stop, do not end….

My life no meaning, all pretend….

My mask it stays, never falters, stays…

My life it drifts….

My fragile smile weak….

Who sees?  Who listens when I speak…

Nothing left to give… Nothing left to live… Nothing left to be…

Yet I give, I am, I live….

When the book is closed, the story ended…..



The book!  The favourite book!  The book that is read over and over, then over and over some more.  The book that has been battered, torn and cellotaped together.  The pages worn, dog eared and yellowing, speak of a thousand turns, the cycle begun again and over.  The pages, wrinkled and lined with time hidden with a tatty cover telling of an age gone by.  The book knocked, discarded and thrown to crumple in a dusty corner hiding from the day, uncertain of its fate.

The fate that says stay, you are mine.

The cover once so bright, so new, so crisp, so fresh.  The cover once so ready to begin its beginning, begging to be lovingly held, to be gently opened to reveal the story.  The story to thrill, to excite, to awaken.  The story which calls to the soul with a whisper, a promise of a dream, an escape, an adventure.

And somewhere, before the story began, a someone begun. The ink scribbling and soaking into parchment, mapping out the dizzy wild moments of imagination, the dark of pain and the light of day.  Moulding, shaping a future that no other would feel.  A future that another could only ever visit.  A future so unique that would only be experienced by one person but shared with so many.  Feelings, emotions and surprise.  Love, betrayal and pain.  Tears, laughters and smiles.  Hope, fantasy and beauty.  Sunshine, rain and storm.  A path beaten to the drum of the heart.

Twists and turns of the road sewn and woven together with thread that binds a narrative and then deeply hidden within a cover.  Threads of time, of family, of society, of culture.  Thread of expectation, belief, morals and values.  Thread of the gift called life.

Pages and threads and stories all bound within a cover, a cover once bright and new now faded and worn.  For when we first are new, who knows what story we will have to tell, who knows what is within the pages of our book, what lies beneath our cover.  The cover used to protect and preserve the inner most depths, the vulnerability and the fear.

And that is the cover we judge…..

But our covers, our colours, our pictures are unique.  Some are bright and colourful, others dark and haunting, some fresh and delicate, some tough and heavy.  But we are are not the same.

We are not the product of a writer, a designer, a marketing team, we are the product of who we are, shaped by our experience, by our moment in time, as is everyone else.  True judgement takes time, time to explore, time to discover what lies beneath the cover, what shapes the story, what threads bind the pages.

The favourite book should be the one that colours the story of our life, the hopes, dreams, frustrations, the history, the family, the love and the pain.  The book that once closed, once the story has ended, lives on in the memories of the people we knew, the people we loved and the ones who loved us back.

Inspired by: Daily Prompt: Judgment Day


This time different…..


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This time was different.  A different place, a different time, a different life.

He was waiting.  Waiting for me.  From a distance I could see him – tall, dark, handsome and alone.  Alone, waiting for me.

I took a moment, a moment for the flutters in my heart to come to rest.  A moment to breath in the misty swirls that spiralled and curled through the hazy October sunshine.

This time was so different, yet no different.  Hope breathed new life and I felt a smile spread from my being, my core, to my eyes, to my mind and into my soul.  A rush of warmth, of love so tender and vulnerability so deep flooding and sweeping through my depths as I stepped, stepped across the threshold.

I saw the heads turn, turn towards me, towards my freshness, my spirit, my life.  Confidence radiating from the joy only true love can bring.  Were they reminded of laughter, of sunshine and blossom, moments of pure bliss captured in the memory of the heart?

Did they see the hope, the dream, the wishes for a future, a happy ever after…

But when he looked up I knew I had made such a mistake.

The cold dark gave nothing away.  Eyes that looked into and through and around!  Eyes that showed no emotions, no feelings, showed no remorse, no regret!  Dark emptiness glittered, threatening and weakening.

I knew I could not fight back.  I knew I was useless against him.

Tall, dark, handsome! Strong, cool and aloof!  Dark, cold and angry!  I knew I was nothing!  I felt as nothing!

And I knew that this is how he wanted me to feel.  I knew that he needed me to know that I was nothing.

Like a child blamed for something but not knowing what they had done, an abandoned puppy left cold and alone at the edge of a busy road, the sense of confusion seeped through my veins, drowning the glow, extinguishing the light, the spark, the flame.

What had I hoped for?  What had I dreamed?  I wanted to lay the ghosts to rest.  I wanted to know that I had not imagined the strength of our connection.  I wanted to know that I had been loved.

But I felt nothing, nothing but emptiness and pain, shards of shooting, excruciating pain tormenting and destroying the love that once was.

He looked down at me, he looked through me, he looked deep into my eyes as triumph played a smile on his lips.  And I knew.  All emotion was gone.  And I was nothing. Revenge was complete.

Revenge for a life he could not have, a love he could not feel, untold affliction, unspoken damage and torture of a tormented soul longing for beauty to ease its pain

The man I had known so many years before, the man who had come back into my life.  The man who had become my life.

The man who had stood beside me at my sons wedding.

The man who had swept me off of my feet and carried me into a world I had only ever dreamt of.  A life of beauty, love, flowers and promises.  Sunshine, rainbows and laughter, shattered.  The poison apple tasted.  The venom ebbing into the fairytale, draining the colour, leaving the dark grasp of betrayal.

A happily ever after that was never to be….

And now?  The whisper of now?  The whisper is a breath, the now is a new story, not a fairytale that speaks of happily ever after.  But a real story!  A story of a spark never quite exhausted, but one that sparkled in between the ashes longing for the sigh of a summer breeze to bring it back to life.

Because life?  ” Life: it goes on” (Robert Frost)

Inspired by: Daily Prompt: Happily Ever After

One day life won’t hurt anymore…..


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I cannot stay here, I cannot leave
Just like all I loved, I’m make-believe
Imagined heart, I disappear
Seems no one will appear here and make me real

There are no flowers, no, not this time
There will be no angels gracing the lines
Just these dark words I find

I’d show a smile, but I’m too weak
I’d share with you could I only speak
Just how much this hurts me

(Lyrics from AFI – This Time Imperfect)

Daily Prompt: Writing Room – My room is to be alone….


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My room?  My perfect room!  My room is to be alone!

To be alone, alone with my thoughts, my musings, my imagination, my memories.  To be alone, alone with my hopes, my dreams and my…. my fears, my history, myself!

My room?  My room where my fingers furiously drum the notes of my mind and the lament of a soul aching to be heard.  The sigh of loneliness whispering ‘please hear me, don’t let me go’.

My room is quiet, silent, still.  Murmurs of darkness, hanging precariously over a void.  A descent into obscurity.  Jagged edges scrapping and grazing.  An echo, calling, crying, weeping into vague uncertainty.

A spiral of hidden emotions, spinning and whirling, plunging deep into an abyss and consuming every fleeting moment.

And fear?  Fear of depth!  Fear pushing, pulling, snagging and somersaulting.  A plummet into a concealed heart.

But relief!  Relief flooding, drifting and winding its way through, drenching a thirst, renewing a spirit and refreshing a soul.

You see my perfect room!  My perfect room is here in my head, my perfect room the darkness which gives me light.  My perfect room is to be alone!

My window?  My window.. my eyes.  My window.. my soul.  My window.. my ears and my window is my heart.

And my window?  It looks out onto a world.  It sees and hears.  And only then can my fingers drum the beat of a rhythm called life, that only a heart that has been broken, only a soul that is alone can sing.

Inspired by: Daily Prompt: Writing Room

The diary…..


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“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you”   Maya Angelou

Captured moments!  Each year, each memory, written in the moment, about a moment….. laughter, tears, fear, smiles, agony and reasons for the pain.

Each moment, a moment in time to be re-lived again and over and just once more.

The darkness, the light, the rainbows, the sunshine, the storms.

The anger, the misery, the despair, the hurt.

The desires, hopes and dreams.  The wishes and the promises.  The secrets!

The goals, ambition and choices!

The comedy, the merry-go-round, the roller coaster of life and the hazy summer days.

The love, the enchantment, the romance.

The hunger and the longing.  The yearning and the passion.

The agony, the ecstasy, the tragedy!

The wisdom of a soul, the deceit of a heart, the questions, the answers unseen, intuition on reflection concealed and lessons to be learnt.

The journey, the adventure, the path, the road, the mountains climbed.

Moments to cherish, to treasure, to preserve.

The truth, no lies, no mask.

Each word penned with love, with pride, with fire.  Memoirs burning to be told.

And when the memories of the mind begin to fade and the narrative becomes blurred.  When the mist of time clouds the thought, when your light begins to fade.

The theme of a life, once lived, is still there.  A life written on pages waiting to be discovered, to bring back what is lost.  A script waiting to be shared, a novel to be read, a story to be told, a history come alive.

The pages of the diary….

Because I don’t want to be forgotten!

Inspired by:  Daily Prompt: This Is Your Life


Daily Prompt: 1984 “Don’t be afraid of the dark….”


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“It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us”  Marianne Williamson


Don’t be afraid of the dark!  Don’t be afraid of my dark!

My darkness?  A room, a small room, a dark dusty room.  Empty!  Desolate!  Bare!  A room which folds its arms around, holding tight, keeping you safe.  A dark, dusty room filled with tones and shades of gunmetal and charcoal, shattered only by floating particles, dancing so slowly, illuminated by the flickers of sunlight flowing through the closed window.  Silence hangs on a thread, offering peace, solitude and the promise of perfect seclusion.

In the dark my thoughts are clear.  In the dark there are no distraction, it is silent, totally silent.  Here I can sing, I can cry, I can mourn.  I can spin whipping up the flecks of dust and swaying skeins of cobwebs suspended from the rafters, making them dance in a whirlwind of movement before withering to my resting place once more.  Here I can sob from the recesses of the deepest, darkest places, the lament of my anguish spilling into the calm and I can be alone, alone with my shadows, insulated from the cruel, cruel world.

But in my despair there is light, it is always there, always tempting me back to life.  Always beckoning me to stand by the window, to throw it open and let in the new air to blow away the grime of this solitary place.  To let the outside in.

Outside the sun is throwing its warmth, winding its shafts of radiant brilliance through a mirage of summer blossoms showering perfumes into the soft breeze.  Children chattering and bubbling with laughter.  Birds calling their sing song harmonies from the shimmering ripples of lime, olive and spring greens of rustling trees.

And standing here at the window?  Away from life?  Opportunity to observe, to watch, to listen, to learn.  Because when life is at its darkest, truth is crisp and clear, senses are heightened and judgements have clarity. The pain directed away from the intrusive thoughts that evade the desolation and loneliness, toward creativity, simplistic and pure.

The light is always there with you, waiting.  But it is the light that is fraught with danger, not the dark.  Light emanates love and, like a child delighted and enchanted with life, a beauty that can only come from within.  And so like a moth to a flame, a dark soul is attracted by the light he cannot have.  A soulless life that needs another to make him whole, to make him feel strong, to make the light his own.

No amount of love, no amount of light will ever make him complete, will ever make him feel the beauty and the joy that loving another person can bring.  His darkness is his torment, his anguish, his suffering.

My pain is for him too, because unlike him, I can feel.

So my fear, my fear is not the room in which I hide from life.  My fear is never wanting to leave the safety of this dark, dusty room.  My fear is that I will stay forever in the darkness of my imagination, haunted by a dark soul who seeks a light.

Only I hold the key.

And so I wait, wait for the time when I will be ready to use that ornate yet rusty, corroded key that I hold in my hands always.  To turn the creaky, aged lock and throw open the door to once again embrace the light and love once more.  Because unlike him, I can live and love this life, my life always.

Inspired by:  Daily Prompt: 1984