I'm writing poetry again, after a long absence of wanting to. It's hard because I hate so much of what I write at the moment, I feel so rusty, but at least I'm writing again. I've avoided writing for a while... It's something to do with seeing my ugly side I guess. Although I have a much less ugly side after what God's done in my life... I guess that's why I'm ok with it. For a while I just couldn't...

Anyway, it feels good! Like I said, a little rusty and I'm not sure it all makes sense to anyone else, but it makes sense to me right now, so I'll keep working on it. I feel a new depth though which is amazing. Of course that means I can't write long laments about the numb deadness... Oh well. Not sad to say goodbye to that! :) Here are some I just wrote, they need tweaking, but I'd like to know what you guys honestly think... All criticism is welcome. Unless it's something like, "Well, I just hate you and want to rip apart pieces of your soul..." And, in that case, you probably shouldn't be reading my journal... :P

Umbrellas

180 degree turnout;
she’s practically perfect…
faultless.

by the time the weathervane moves,
scores have felt her touch.
her unsoiled character:

spit, spot, spic and span.

refined from head to toe…
faultless.

unique, efficient,
she’s practically perfect.

Veneer.

Undercurrents,
melancholy notes,
issued in quiet corners to
no one.

He’s no one and yet, everyone.

He never hears her cry, but listens intently to her tears.
He sees the loose tresses beneath a practically perfect dress-hat.
He knows the pain that hides behind her.

He’s in the lowest of places and yet, is highest.

He knows.

Practically Perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking.

Still… He will set her free from the advice of ignorant parrots:
tie-me-downs that lift her to the air in deceit,
umbrellas that never stop the heart-felt rain.
Only He the shelter from self-inflicted weather-changes.

Don't Like Goodbyes

No matter the hindrance,
there is Ever to be said.
A song indeed,
But never before sung
at such
a slow
tempo.

To say “Goodbye.”

A thousand different times
Goodnight.
A thousand different hugs
So long.
A thousand different tears
Farewell.

As such should it never be uttered.
A love that has shifted
the unfathomable
and brought
a heart
to that which was just stone before.
How can words be enough?

Never! The cut is just too much.

But I must board the train now,
So it’ll have to be a silent wave,
A quiet tear echoing a tidal sweeping of the Ever.
Unsaid.

Say I’ll see its brother on your face,
Telling me all I need to know as I step aboard.
Begging to be seen one last time.
To be loved and to be lost.