The sun never apologizes for being bright,
For giving life
For dispelling the darkness
For its beauty
For being “too much”
For giving you all that it has.
The sun never apologizes for doing what it was created for.
Neither should you.
Hope is the lone star shining in the darkness.
The coolest of breezes on a summer’s day
Refreshing and revitalizing,
Gentle enough to bring a smile to your face in the midst of the heat and sweat
Stinging your eyes.
Hope is the slight tinge of blue at the edge of the horizon,
After spending an eternity becoming acquainted with the blackness,
Almost forgetting what colour is.
It is the faint, familiar whisper of your name after you felt
You had been left alone and abandoned.
Hope is watching a flower bloom,
Seeking the sun, opening up to receive love once again.
It is the sunshine after the storm.
Hope is the extra skip of a stone on the water
When you knew it was too good to be true.
It is a child asking their father for one more ride,
Their mother, one more story.
Not with words,
But with eyes.
Hope, often found in short supply.
I confess, I don’t have much,
But it seems that you could use some,
I will gladly share some of mine.
A breathtaking masterpiece to be.
Waiting to be seen,
To be beheld.
As we behold the Creator,
Beauty is in his eyes.
He has fashioned every detail,
We should stand with heads held high with pride.
How many pieces of artwork can say
Their creator died
So that they may have life?
Crafting art with traces of gold.
We stand bold as we come to know
The story though half has only been told.
The quiet is as deafening as it is frustrating.
Blank faces with nothing but blue streak running across their cheeks,
With vacant stares, they express their desires.
I can read between the lines.
They mock me:
They quietly whisper,
Knowing full well
That I can’t.
When it is all said and done,
The path has been lost
The fire has died and the embers are cool,
When the hand is unsteady
And your confidence is as solid as a sandcastle with the tide rolling in.
When the light that once shone bright has grown dim,
And the passion seems to be gone,
Take your time.
And begin again.
The beginning of the end.
All good things must.
And bad things must too.
But the end gives birth to new beginnings,
A setting sun gives way to the shinning of the moon.
The harshness of winter subsides for flowers to bloom.
I’m going to break convention for a moment. I haven’t been posting as much, life has been busy, and I haven’t been on myself to write as much as I should be. But in the meantime, I did recently have the opportunity to perform at the Living Arts Centre/Mississauga Arts Council’s Best Of Open Mic Night. So here’s a clip of one of my performances. I’ll get back to writing and posting soon.
UPDATE: So since I can’t actually post videos to my blog yet, here’s the link
Hoping to be able to share the pieces of me that broke,
So I can show you and hope that you know too.
I’m just trying to tell you my story,
And expose you to my mind the best way that I know how.
So bear with me.
The day after the storm,
Where the winds have turned to whispers,
Wiping away the last of the tears from the trees
Who bore the wrath of heavens.
The chirps of warning the day before have become
Songs of comfort for those who were frightened;
There is no longer reason to fear.
Flowers bloom and greet the sun above.
Creatures appear, surveying the landscape.
The grass shrugs off the aftermath — collateral damage was minimal.
The stillness in the air is of peace,
Creation no longer holds its breath in anticipation.
The world is quiet here.
The last time I stood here,
You shook the very earth beneath my feet,
Destroying what we had built together.
Walls, fortresses, cities, we had spent years solidifying.
You tore my world apart, and left me in ruins,
All without lifting a finger.