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The Master Artist has spoken.
His words are a priceless gift
Carefully chiseled into rock
An everlasting love letter
That can only be read with the heart.
Listen to the silent song
The mystery of music
That is not heard, but breathed.
The One True Author smiles
As the eternal echo of His voice
Paints the world with peace.
The Edge of Two World's
Come with me
To the place
Where you can't remember,
But you can't forget.
It's that place that you dream about.
And that place that you fear.
The people you love, yet hate,
Are there waiting for you.
I will be your guide,
But you will have to hold my hand
And lead me.
I admit,
I have been there before,
Yet I have never left my home.
I am afraid of going back
And yet, I love it there.
As I stand on this hill
Looking past the doorway to the world
I love and hate so much,
I am not fearful ~
For you are with me.
My love,
We stand on the edge of two worlds
And I do not fear either one.
I fear nothing when you are here,
And yet I trust only you.
So let us go this world
Where I cannot forget my torment,
But cannot remember my tormentor.
Let us go, together.
With or Without Him
Without him:
The sun will rise,
The moon will shine,
And the stars will fall.
Without him:
The artists will draw,
The poets will write,
And the dancers will dance.
Without him:
The earth moves,
The clocks keep ticking,
And the children are born.
Without him:
People will live,
People will die,
And people will love.
But without him,
I am nothing.
Sorry?
I'm sorry...
Those words are so empty.
We say these words over and over,
But the pain doesn't ease.
What might have been
Runs through our minds
And takes the place of
What is.
Her pain is over,
But ours is just beginning.
The guilt flows through me
Like blood in my veins.
Being alone only allows me
To feel the pain with no distractions.
I wait for the numbness to take over,
But it never does.
And for the first time in a long time
I question my existence.
Please Stay...
Please stay; don't go.
Don't leave me here to grieve alone.
Please stay and catch my tears as they fall,
Please stay and love me why I sleep.
The night closes in around me when you leave.
The clouds block out my stars,
As if threatening to lock me in everlasting night.
When you are here all is calm,
All is well and sweet.
When you stay with me,
My innocence returns,
The pain of my loneliness disappears.
When you stay,
I am loved once again.
Paperdoll People
Your plastic eyes search my figure,
So different from yours,
Unique and hideous,
A creature you have never seen.
You shake me violently, and turn me over,
Looking for my seam -
The place of imperfection
Where you can rip me apart and find out what I am made of.
I am different from you
And it scares you.
I have disrupted your neat order,
Your common-sense geometric world.
You hate me,
And all because I chose to be my own person,
And I am not you,
And I am not like you.
But I want to be like you...
I try to stand in your rows of paperdoll people,
And I pretend that you won't notice.
But I am always found out.
I want to be accepted...
But I refuse to be like you.
The happy medium I'm searching for
Is no where to be found.
So I sit by myself, cowering,
Hiding in the corner of our world,
Watching as the single file lines
Of paperdoll people go by.
Another Gift
Another gift.
A parade of stuffed animals with smug faces stands at attention in my room.
The sweet yet sickening aroma of "get well" bouquets permeates the air.
As if these thoughtful gifts will heal me.
I'm in their prayers
and positive thoughts
but I'm still lying in this hospital bed.
My negativity is my savior.
Protecting me from the disappointment
that seems to hold hands
with lab results and second opinions.
Positive thinking is a cyclone
that tosses me up
into a cloud of false hope.
My burden is too heavy,
the hope is too thin.
So I fall slowly,
back into my hospital bed,
where I am met by a darker face of false hope.
It drips through my I. V. line.
Another gift.
This one from someone I have yet to meet
and probably never will.
I'm in her prayers.
It will probably be another animal
or a box of candy.
More chocolate coated positivity
being forced down my throat.
A journal.
A journal?
What could I possibly have to write,
that would be worth saving?
My days have no surprise beginnings,
or happy endings that I would want to keep
and read again later.
If anything, I'd have to write fictional days for myself.
I could write of the day I wish to have
or the things I wish to do.
I could go back and say the things I never said
or take back the words that stung as they passed my lips.
A journal.
Something empty that I can fill with something other than false hope.
All works on this page Copyright by J. Francis
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