Tag Archives: free thought

Writers BLOCK

I wish it was easy for me to write down my thoughts.

At first the words are dormant, suspended in the deep, black abyss –

A dimension in my mind.

A place where I yearn to swim.

Sometimes, I can only access it in my day-dreams or in my restless sleep.

My place is a quiet beach.

When the world gets too loud, and the chaos is stifling, this is where I escape.

Where alone- I am me.

I watch the words, my feeling, my loves, floating in the ocean right there –

in front of me.

They form fragments of sentences with each break on the beach,

only to get lost in its retreat back to the endless sea.

Help me find my words!

I scream out across the turbulent ocean.

Bring them back! – I demand.

The roaring laughter from the waves just drown my requests.

I must look so silly.

So I just sit and wait for my words to return to me.

RaMBliNG ThOUghTS

So, I sit and write.
Not in the right state of mind, but still I think.
My lightbulbs are broken and cracked open so my ideas flow free, while my body is locked down by gravity.
These chains.
These chains are heavy, can I still break free?
I cut up a magazine for pictures of where I want to be.
A jigsaw puzzle of blue was the sea.
I used different hues, from different views trying to piece together me.
I couldn’t find the right part for my nose and there wasn’t a way for me to express what’s in my soul so I scrapped the book and decided to write a simple poem.
So I sit in the dark and write using the illumination from my phone.
I wonder if he knows?
I cry alone.
The pit in my stomach is as deep as the Pantheon’s dome.
My feelings untold like Egypt’s history hiding in Africa’s sand and soil.
Mysterious even to me.
I don’t understand my body language.
Foreign feelings, foreign dealings just revoke my passport- I’m tired of visiting.
The silence of the night creeps in over me like a blanket for a baby trying to be rocked to sleep.
Maybe I should just sleep?
Maybe it will come to me in my dream- the reason why I can’t get rid of this feeling.
I’m alive but not living, but I am breathing.
I have a pulse, so that means my heart is still beating, I just have to figure out the rhythm to the beat of my drum.
Time for me to write a text message to Mr. Sandman and ask him to send me a dream.

Nightfall Overture

Emerald, green lanterns with wings.
Watch them.
So serene, as they float suspended in the nightgown of the man in the moon’s mistress.
Midnight, black silk- translucent lace adorned with trapped hopes and dreams.
So bright, they shine.
In awe I stare .
Never have I seen such beauty.
Never have I felt such despair.
Whispering winds carry bedtime prayers.
Up, up, up!
The rapacious clouds consume them to the point of rupture.
The scent from the woes of man soon fills the air.
Let it rain.
Remind us of our flesh.
Let the tears pour down upon the hardened soil.
Let it seep down, deep, down and awaken the sleeping seeds and encourage them to grow different.
Encourage them to push harder, expand their roots into barren land, land that was said to have no chance of growth and you prove them wrong.
On this summer night your forest will grow from concrete under the magic of the moonlight.

The Last Tree

One sentence touched my soul today.
I didn’t catch it right away.
Eight softly spoken words.
Strong enough to pierce through the anger and resentment that I held.
“I am in the autumn of my life”, he said.
I no longer saw him as a man.
He became a lonely tree.
In a barren field he stood tall and was looking down admiring me.
All around me swirled his falling leaves.
Piles of unspoken memories scattered around my feet.
I questioned what their stories told and he said, “No, let them die with me.-
Only share what warms the heart and let the cold stay dead.”
Silence was all I had to give.
My soul had no words to speak, instead it ushered me to take a seat.
I offered company while his leaves continued to fall around me.
I enjoyed his shade because I know that the present easily becomes heartfelt memories, sooner than most wish them to be.

Note to Self

Maybe one day I will get a hold on this thing called self.

I will understand why I cry.

I will understand why I’m so angry at things that are supposed to be beautiful.

Some days I think I’m winning, but it’s only a brief thought without any substance called proof.

I don’t know.

My answers just keep digging bigger and bigger holes of unanswered pits of questions that I keep finding.

One day it will all make sense and I can throw my shovel away.

T.K.O

Written by: Mariana Golphin

Have you ever felt so alone that even in the sun you only see darkness?

So empty that your thoughts echo as if they are bouncing off the walls of a long forgotten cave.

At that moment you question life and nothing you do seems to fit the job description of what’s involved with living it.

Breathing hurts because your lungs collapsed from a knife that ripped through them and went straight into your heart.

How can something metaphysical hurt?

How can something so seemingly intangible hit you like a professional heavyweight boxer.

It leaves you laying on the floor of the ring.

You are drenched in a pool of your tears.

He stands over you and starts the count.

Ten!

Nine!

Eight!

You don’t want to stand.

You can’t stand.

Paralyzed, you have forgotten how to walk.

Seven!

Six!

Five!

Your conscious is trying to wake you up yelling.

Listen!

Dammit it listen to them!

Four!

Your red, bloodshot, swollen eyes fight to focus because the tears are still falling.

Slowly they appear out of the darkness. 

Get up!

Get up!

Blurred images turn into familiar faces.

They are screaming for you. 

They are cheering for you.

They want you to fight.

They need you to fight.

All isn’t loss.

Three!

Two!

Don’t let that bastard count to one.

Solitude

I walk alone.

My footsteps are my own.

My choice.

My path.

My love.

My pain.

I don’t remember the street names.

I don’t remember their names.

Sometimes I ran.

I needed to feel alive, so I ran as fast as I could.

I needed to feel the fresh air.

I needed to remember that my heart was still there.

Even though I’m out of breath, the pounding in my chest vibrated my soul and kept me alive.

I ran for days.

I ran for weeks.

I ran for months.

Stopping gave me time to remember the things that hurt.

So I ran for years.

I won alot of races.

My trophies are invisible, only mines to see.

You get the end product.

Me.

60 Seconds of Clarity

And I think to myself
Where is the wonder in the world?
Can we have a moment of silence for those we lost in the battlefields of deferred dreams.
Kings and Queens dethroned and brainwashed.
Profound amnesia.
Breaking news!
They have learned to manufacture hybrid marionettes with real skin.
See them swaying in the wind.
Unable to think.
Unable too move.
Unable to love without the invisible puppeteers approval.
Prisoners to a system that banished creativity, and individualism.
A plague that devoured traditions, cultures and civilizations.
Popcorn!
Fresh popcorn!
Monday through Sunday free matinee.
Watch them idolize the minstrel shows.
Watch them glorify the hate.
Profound amnesia.
What a sad state of affairs.
Isn’t it depressing?
Everyday, to walk amongst the living dead.
Ones that have lost the spirit to live.
Ones that have lost the spirit to love.
Mental oppression, leads to servitude.
Servitude leads to loss of identity.
With no identity, how do you teach your youth who they are?
Invisible man, damn.
Damn, invisible man!
No reflection in the mirror and you aren’t even scared?
It hurts to hear the truth.
It bludgeons your ear drums until blood drips the sides of your face.
Even as the blood stains your dress or your freshly ironed shirt, you continue to get dressed in the mirror for church.
Not the reflection you expected?
Of course not.
Tunneled vision is humanities crutch.
I
Mine
Me
Not ours
Not us
Not we
Queen me.
King me.
Everything else is just a pawn.
The last of humanity.
Every sunset draws them closer to extinction.
So they hide from the world.
They hide because they fear rejection.
They hide because they don’t want people to know their secrets.
They hide because it’s safer to exist in the shadows.
They gather in the moonlight and dance amongst the fire pits barefoot.
They are old.
They are young.
They are children.
They are the ones without a voice.
They are the ones with the story that no-one wants to hear.
They are me.
I am you.
So, I will stay true and continue to be the voice for people like us.
I will remind them all about the wonder in the world.

Have you seen her?

Battered soul.

Beware.

There she stands, beautiful and rare.

Seemingly laughing without a care.

Don’t stare, don’t stare.

She is the one, who everyone wants to be theirs.

In the sun she glows of golden hues.

A tan that hides her black and blues.

Skin so soft, overtime the scars got smooth.

She learns a friend isn’t a friend and love breaks the heart when it’s supposed to mend.

So the moonlight serenades her tears again.

When the sun rises she puts on her mask and blends right in.

Alive to the world but confused and lonely within.