Daily Archives: November 2, 2010


“Perfection” by Kayla Willis

As the cold rusty razor touches my boney tensed wrist
I wonder if this is the right decision that I am about to make
Would my parent's hectic and distraught life be fixed
Without me to trigger the avalanche of their disasters
The world would not even be any different with me gone
And no one would even notice for a second that I was not around,
The years I have spent striving to try to reach the ultimate goal of perfection
Which has left me a frail pile of just skin and bone,
But who makes the unrealistic standards that must be met to achieve happiness,
No matter what sweet poetic like words or actions I would make
It always seems like someone was always there to criticize me with every step that I would take,
As the derogatory remarks ate slowly at my self esteem
Like maggots upon fresh meat,
I realized that the goal of perfection is an unconquerable mountain
That no one will ever be able to defeat,
As my trembling hand drops the rusty razor
I finally realize that I am happy with myself for being imperfect
And it doesn't matter what others think about me
My imperfections make me the unique person that I am.

“Toy Soldier” by C. David Hay

Little toy soldiers with little toy guns,
All formed in rank and file;
Many a battle they fought and won
For the shine of a little boy's smile.

Now the cannon sits tarnished with age,
The soldiers stand frozen in stare,
Awaiting the touch of tiny hands
That loved and placed them there.

But little men grow up, alas
To march in wars of their own,
And the pain they feel and the deaths they die
Toy soldiers have never known.

Little toy soldiers with little toy guns,
Wearing dust on helmet and pack,
How sad your wait will be in vain -
Your Captain won't be back.

“From Where I Stand” by Susan Payne

In this space that is mine
I am called out of myself
A challenge to transcend boundaries
One that leaves you behind
To invent your own purpose
Though I am surrounded by clouds
You are my shadow
I feel your presence
I see you in the tangible signs
You leave behind
My breath is moist and deep
As I let go of expectations
To remain at peace
My truth is not your truth
Nor should it be your doctrine
For you should know
A wind that rips the heart
Can surely sever the soul
And taking the saliva
From another's mouth
Will never fill your emptiness
No matter that you consume
You must be able to digest
To ever be satisfied
When freedom is confined by shadows
It is almost meaningless
And words are incomprehensible
When they come from that sacred place
That does not belong to you
Though you are within my landscape
I can not be your bridge
Nor can I soothe your storms
While riding out the furies of my own
I find a deeper resolution
As I scatter your ashes
Do not think I abandoned you
I was never yours
I have no need for validation
Because I know I am
However, I wonder
If I were to be born again
When I turned around
Would you still be there

“Little Ball” by Robert H. Sarkissian

I caught a little ball under the floor
In a silly still, halfway through the Fall
And it told me to go weep in the barn
Or the old man would close the store

Another ball fell between Winter and Spring
Will the little ball come bouncing on the floor?
Will it roll with kindness and delight
Or jump in anger at the storm?

Next time a ball tumbles by my feet
I know what I'll have to do—
Hold it in my hands and laugh like a nut
Or kick it all the way to hell's door

“Ink” by Courtney Hedgecock

Spilt ink on a mended heart
Its degrading factor seeps in
Eroding what secrets the heart may hold
Hollowing out all that was once known
A distant echo of something that was once great.

An echoless hallow
Distant and cold

The ink seeps in and destroys
Is nothing safe?
It leeches the heart hindering the soul
Defecting the mind
An untold depression sets in
The end proceeds before life had a chance to begin.

It was spilt ink that made the heart cry
It was spilt ink that made the soul wilt
It was spilt ink that made the body die.

“And the Light Returned” by Robert H. Sarkissian

The fire is in the center, as we surround it
And sing without words or music, well-sounded
The fire keeps us alive, barely
The fire burns our insides, rarely
But it inflames and brightens a darkness so dark
Mr. Brimlow keeps looking at the fire
In the center, as we surround it
The fire melts our hearts, so hardened
The fire brings out smiles, so sudden
Was the eruption of the joy it brings
The loving embrace, like a kiss in the rain
Gives us the courage to live it again
There is peace in the center, surrounded
The call is quite certain, and surely well-founded
The light has returned and is blindingly bright
On a day so deserted, it's absurd to delight

“As It Ought” by Robert H. Sarkissian

I saw a bird fluttering over a lake
With purpose and drive in its quivering flight
A passion so singular without any pause
It took as much time as the time it should take

I watched a tall tree wobble in the wind
It leaned and returned to its original height
Sunlight bent through the branches and leaves
And reached the ground considerably thinned

A man whom I knew walked a lonesome way
And took every chance he thought he should take
He kept straight ahead, and a bird hovered by
And landed on a tree on a bright sunny day

“Hate Me” by Jacob Kreutzer

Please, just hate me.
That's all I ask of you.
Hate me for who I was,
for who I've become.
Hate me because all I've ever done
is let go, fall apart, and shy away.
Hate me for what I've done,
and for what I'll never do.
I'm worthy of nothing more.
I'm capable of nothing less.
Just hate me.
I'm too weak,
too dangerous,
too pathetic.
Pain is all you'll know;
it's all I'll ever give.
Just do yourself a favor.
Get up,
walk out,
and never look back.
And for only this once,
do as I do,
and hate me.