Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass... It's about learning to Dance in the Rain!!: They Mock Me II

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Monday, June 15, 2009

They Mock Me II

They Mock Me II

What need is there of love,
if love is so often lost?
What purpose does the sun, serve
when the rain never ends?
Why design such beauty,
when ugliness overshadows?
Why nurture the tree,
just to cut it down?

Lost in the endless monotony of nothingness,
Surrounded by mirrors of joy, love and laughter,
They MOCK ME –
showing only reflections of anger, loss, and hurt.
Fires deep in the soul rage on
The fight against nothingness endures.

MRW
06/15/09

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Pieces of Me

I am the soft breeze blowing on a Spring day, sunshine seen through the clouds, a rainbow of color on a sprinkled day. I am quiet and reserved, wild rarely seen. My eyes and smile seen on my boys. Modest me, simple inconspicuous Melissa, unnoticed by most. Beautiful Native, tattooed Hippy, hidden away, graceful and fancy saved for a special day. A Dragon Fly wafting along, predator, water searcher, and day lover. I am Athena, goddess of art and war. Heed my warnings, listen closely, I only speak when needed. Passionate, emotional, fiery, and fierce, girlfriend and mother. The many pieces of me.

MRW
03/03/2008

from "I Sing the Body Electric"

The love of the body of man or woman balks account, the body itself balks account, that of the male is perfect, and that of the female is perfect. The expression of the face balks account, but the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, it is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, it is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees, dress does not hide him, the strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth, to see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more, you linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

Walt Whitman

The Presence of Love

And in Life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee, the heart's self-solace and soliloquy. You mold my hopes, you fashion me within; and to the leading love-throb in the heart through' all my being, through' my pulse's beat; you lie in all my many thoughts, like light, like the fair light of Dawn, or summer eve on rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake and looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, how oft! I bless the lot that made me love you.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveler, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth; then took the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear; though as for that, the passing there had worn them really about the same, and both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

Eulalie

I dwelt alone in a world of man, and my soul was a stagnant tide, till the fair and gentle Eulalie became my blushing bride—till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my smiling bride.

Ah, less—less bright the stars of the night than the eyes of the radiant girl! That the vapor can make with the moon-tints of purple and pearl, can vie with the modest Eulalie’s most

un-regarded curl—can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie’s most humble and careless curl.

Now Doubt—now pain come never again, for her soul gives me sigh for sigh, and all day long shines, bright and strong, a star within the sky, while ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron eye—while ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet eye.

Edgar Allan Poe

Sonnet 116

Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments; love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wand’ ring bark, whose worth's unknown,
although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

William Shakespeare

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass... It's about learning to Dance in the Rain!!

Monday, June 15, 2009

They Mock Me II

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About Me

Pieces of Me

The Tattoo

from "I Sing the Body Electric"

The Presence of Love

The Road Not Taken

Eulalie

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Sonnet 116