Moonlight Insomnia

I cannot sleep when the moon is bright,

I simply can't, try as I might.

Silver light streams across my face,

And slips through the leaves, turning to lace.

Down the windowsill, and spilling on the floor,

It saunters into my head, banging open the door.

You, them, her, It and we,

Him's and I's are all set free.

Bright eyes and moonlight are dangerous things,

They'll keep you awake like the song someone sings.

And I have to get up, you know that I do.

The moon should keep to herself, all these visions of you.

But there's not much to be done, I just squeeze my eyes tight,

To wait it all out and for morning light. 

p.s.

'ear 'ear

My whole body shook with terror.
I sucked in a breath, to appease my gasping knees.
Or tried to.
But my lungs weren't taking oxygen at that time.
Which was a shame, because my heart was already off and racing.
Desperately I tried again, but it was too late.
Too late.

~

I was ready. I was braced.

The world was going to end, everything was going black.

I saw you then. I saw... You.

But the world was still so wonderfully green.

Isn't that all wrong?

But, oh.

Oh right.

p.s. 
I totally found a piece of wood that looks like an ear. How cool is that?

Walk

   Walk. Stop running from care.
In fact, sit down and crawl for a bit.
    I'm lying here with you.
My knees are bleeding too, our wounds are twin expressions of integrity.
    So hold my hand and stop for a bit.
Walk. For once, slow down.
    Say hello and smile at me with your eyes.
Or better yet, smile with me,
    And we'll brighten the day of every passerby.
Walk. Walk with me.

xx

everything you'll never have

Welcome to something you'll never understand
To something so wild, it will burn the heart out of you

You may never know how you got here
Tumbling in a whirlwind of happenstance 
But this is everything you'll never have and more

You came, thinking to splash in a puddle
I still remember the look on your face when you fell down a well instead 

It's almost a shame, for you to be so blind
But the we both know the truth would sear your soul so badly, 
You'd never see again.

The confoundingly simple truth. 

p.s.

I woke up before everyone this morning and made this flower wreath. Then I went and woke up my little sister to wear it. This is approximately five seconds after she woke up.  

i don't care

back in the summertime

"i let a piece of my heart slip

i'm good at that, you know."

but that doesn't mean i have to like it.
and it doesn't mean i have to care.
you're all smiles
all kindness

so don't you dare tell me i'm charming.
don't you dare tell me my voice gives you chills.
i don't want to hear it.
 i don't care.

this is a plea.
this is me begging.
they're just words.

but somehow,
they still mean more than you'll ever

know.  

p.s.
This post was inspired by Cally's over here. Go check her out. 

Also this, in honor of being a copycat.

The used up light

So rich in hue

The dawn so bright

The fragile dew

The heavy shadow 

Of evening cold

The last hurrah 

In vibrant gold

The first grey shaft

In silver fey

With light quick steps

Draws night away. 

                        -Lady Gargoyle

                        p.s.

We tripped over time they placed as our stumbling block

Forced to acknowledge the tick of the clock

Too swift and too slow, they somehow expected both from us.

So tread softy through this world, and don't let them catch you.

x

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alterations 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 wandering 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 even 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. 

                                       -Shakespeare, sonnet 116

Sometimes, you grow weary of your own tiresome words. 

So you borrow someone else's. 

When she saw their stories as colorful strands, she couldn't help but tug on them.

She gently coaxed the silver out, to discover it knotted tightly to the black.

And the pink was tainted with a sickly green, from being wound so tight about it.

But one color was always intact, and that was the desperate strand of gold,

hidden at the center of things.

Not always long, or bright, but always to be found.

She worked some strange magic she didn't understand and unraveled them down to their souls, 
till all that remained was a raw, tangled pile of colorful string.

But what to do with them then, she hasn't yet figured out. 

*dances*

Source

I don't have time for all this

That's what I think.

There are things to see, places to go, bugs to find and people to love. And I don't have time for all this extra stuff.

And then Someone tells me I have time. All the time in world.

So I believe Him and breath again.

p.s

This is the result of starting community college and stressing and dying and praying like crazy about it and finding it to be nowhere near as bad as you expected it to be. And having fresh memories of wonderful times doesn't hurt either.

p.p.s

It's a Bastille kind of evening

i died today

It didn't hurt

With a salute to no one, I shoved off the bank and plunged into the river

The cold embraced me lovingly, and wrapped long fingers all around me

Now I am dead

It's not that bad, you know

The empty nothingness is bliss compared to everything before

It's like sleeping 

So much like sleeping
                               
                               But now
                                                 I realize 
                                                                   It's time to wake up
                                                                                                      And come back to things
                                                                                                         
                                                                                                     Back to life 
                                   
                                                                                                     Back to everything
   
                                                                                                    And back to nothing

                                                                                            

                                                                                                                                   But better me than you

P.S

  ow.
P.S.S
depressing poems, wooo

Pinterest

How are you? You're fine, of course.

I'm the same as always.

Same old ache, same old remorse. 

Nothing's really changed, not for me.

Not true of you.

You gave up on me, ever so slowly. 

So how do I say I'm sorry? 

To someone who never asked for anything.

How do I forgive,

Someone who has never wronged me?

And I hate that my words are the same as everyone else's.

But I have something they don't and to that I am forced to cling.

To the comfort of a King. 

P.S

Guys, I am leaving on Monday for Alaska. And I won't be back until the end of the month, so farewell until then.  :)

Pinterest

Can you hear creation moaning?

The cry swells up from all the depths

What the enemy is condoning,

Leaves it gasping for its breath

Yet the world continues lying,

Even to their closest kin

Giving no hope of anything but dying

Presenting death with painted grin

And those who should know better

Those who claimed to fear the Lord,

Have broken themselves that ancient fetter

Abandoned faith when things grew hard

Now can you hear creation moaning?

And me on melody, our cry is this:

No more! Desist!

Come quickly, King of Kings.

P.S

If it was unbelievable, I believed

This Sort Of Animal

Pinterest 

If I were a bird, I think I should be a hawk

The sort no one would think to mock

 For I would be wild and free

Just like everyone wishes to be 

If I were a beast, I think I would be a wild cat

The sort nobody can long look at

For I would be the picture of stealth

My secrecy would be my wealth

If I were an insect, I think I should be a beetle

The sort that causes laughter so gleeful

For I would run hither and yon

Here and then there over a child's lawn

But as it is, I cannot be them all

So I must be content being this sort of animal

And all that entails

For now

P.S

Come Fly With Me

Growing Up

There once was a boy, who was about to grow up

And he knew it too

Nothing would save him from what was ahead

That also he knew

But he wasn't afraid, not that one special boy

In him dwelt no fear

He lifted his chin and he clenched his fists

The thing was now near

The boy walked the woods,  through the bare trees

Till he found the one

Inside he crawled, crept in and shut the door

And he was gone

Winter was bitter and went on forever

Snow ruled over all

Then spring broke the spell and the tree was broken

A man stood up tall

He smiled

And he walked away

P.S

I think it would be better if humans grew up by pupating like a butterfly.

Has anyone told you lately that you're beautiful?

Because you are.

Has anyone told you lately that you're okay?

Because you are.

p.s

This applies, even if you're male. 

The Play

I'm tired and I need a change of scene

This play is good, but it is old

A new character might be the thing, 

Someone kind and maybe bold

I've tried to move but stuck is what I get

This play moves all around me

Can someone please change the set?

I don't seem to be able to

Whisk me backstage, change my costume

While people in black rearrange the place I know

Remove the furniture, hang up a moon

Once it's made new, then out again I shall go

Things have been busy around here, which is why I haven't posted so very much. We just finished making all the hay on our road during the sunny weather, and still have several more fields to do a few miles away. There are now 95 tons of hay in our barn and us kids even got some money for our work. 

This isn't our field and my mom is the one who took it but I am using it anyway. :P

We have also been insanely busy with making blacksmiths forges, something our family does as a business. After a popular Youtube guy published an interview with Dad and Cori, everyone went and bought a forge (right after they left some comment about Cori's muscles. Weirdos.)

Zack, working on forges

Last Friday, there was a folk dance. These dances we go to are awesome and full of other homeschooled, Christian people, for the most part. But this one was particularly fun for me, because in addition to awesome, high-speed dancing, the host family's son and his wife brought their six week old baby, who they were kind enough to let me hold for like 30 minutes. I don't get to hold infants very often, so I enjoyed that.

  

The dance

So that's a little bit of what I have been up to lately. What about you?

dance me into the night

You're wild 

Don't you know that's why I love you?

 Never passive, neither tame nor mild

You're a dangerous thing

Don't you know that's how you were made?

And it's befitting for a king

So do me a favor 
And don't ever be tamed

p.s

The Things Nobody Else Sees

The things nobody else sees

The things I see alone

The lovely grace in my grove of trees

An ancient bovine's crumbling bones

These are a few things I see alone

An mammal is breathing I N and O UT

It's breathing.

Don't you get it?

No, you don't.

You've never seen.

\\\///

An insect is moving, creeping, crawling

It's moving. 

Don't you get it?

No, you don't.

You've never seen.

You may have looked,

A fleeting glance granted

But you've never seen,

You just looked and were unenchanted

Looked and kept on walking

Have you ever seen?

Are you another who comprehends?

How often I've imagined you,

Imagined being what they call friends

But maybe it's just me....

Seeing the things nobody else sees.

p.s

 to accompany a rambly post

Do Hard Things

I don't like it

and

I don't want to

How many times have I thought this phrase?

So often, it starts to amaze

But why? 

What does it cost you, to do what is right?

After all, it's not by your own might.

It's hard

and

It's painful

So what if it is? 

You've forgotten you're His.

But why?

You're a child of the High King

Preparing for ruling.

You're a child of the High King

So do hard things.