A Writer’s Prayer

Composed 1/4/17
Description: For me and (maybe) for you too.

Give me peace tonight
So the words may start
Give me peace tonight
To make a fresh start

Let calm descend like the fresh falling snow
So that all the worlds and realms may know
That an artist breathes within these bones
And that she lives and that she grows

Let the outside voices quiver and shake
And stop at the lips of those who hate
While the voice within speaks and flies
Beyond the heights and beyond time

Give me peace tonight
So the words may start
Give me peace tonight
To show the fire in my heart

Ghosts

Composed 4/29/15
Description: Having a life gets in the way sometimes.

We must be lonely
It’s the nature of the beast
If we are out playing, engaged
Our minds are filled
Our hearts, content
We have no need to explode
On the page

Lives
Anesthetic for the mind
No time, will for introspection
Comprehension of the connotation of our days
We must be lonely
Outsiders
House hiders
Ghost writers

Psychic

Composed: 6/12/13
Description: I have not posted in a long while it seems. This is partially because I am currently readjusting to working full time and partially because I have been inspired to continue working on a novel-in-progress. In fact, it has come to the point that I come up with backstories and events so randomly I’ve resorted to carrying around a notebook to write ideas as they come to me. This random inspiration that occurs throughout the day also makes it very hard to focus on work, hence this poem…

I reside in two realms
One reveals to me the past and future
The other strangles me with the present
Though I struggle to remain
Constantly slipping
Sliding
Seeing
And scribbling down pieces of lives

The world grasps me with its claws
Reeling me back to a pool of the numbest gray
But I am enticed by my premonitions
Unable to thrive in the world of the living
Unable to relinquish my soul
And let it be dragged down and drowned

The disjointed
Random realm
Of adrenaline and twisting lines
Of smoke and blood
Of rain and startling colors
That flashes before my eyes
Rolling back into my skull
Are a blessing
And must be written down for the good of man
Though I must record my thoughts in private
Lest I be cast out by those who judge

Thus is the life
Of a psychic
A clairvoyant
A writer