Poetry

Pride keeps me in shatters

Pride keeps me in shatters though I’m begging to be healed Screaming for relief but my clutch will not yield

I say I’m doing fine and I promise I’m okay. But my heart is gently peeling pumping blood of disarray

Ruins

In spiritual ruins

That’s how I entered your throne room

Bright with promises you know I didn’t keep
Brokenness mixed with shouts of bravado.

I turned my back to rebuke myself, ashamed you should see me this way

Desperately trying to piece myself together

Forcing parts to fit but always losing my grip. Crying ‘cos it only hurt more.

Yet you waited

For me to forgive myself and allow your healing

But I’m too ashamed so I’ll continue hurting, yearning, bleeding

Poetry

The Star question?

The birth of a new Star, by means of imploding or exploding, beyond the heavens, means a new Legend has made it up there

Maybe they were well known, maybe not many knew them

But they still had a story

Whether or not you found it to be interesting is not the point

Someone did, someone else would

I dare you to find the person

That would willingly contaminate this star

But then if they were a bad person…

Should they be allowed to get this far?

Should they be a fallen star. Or just fallen?