THAT’S THE SPIRIT

Not your conventional bed time story……. but it Made me read it twice..

The Lab

The little girl looked on, a greedy gleam in her eyes. The table was more laden this year than the last, but there were still not enough presents. She gave a little frown and wandered off to look for her parents. Hateful parents. How selfish they were being. Everyone knows Christmas means more presents. They needed to have “the talk”.

She found the parents in the yard. They were standing next to a large box, which was wrapped in very pretty paper. For a brief moment, she was distracted by the large parcel. Then she remembered the other presents at the table, and her anger returned. She stormed out into the yard, face scrunched up into an ugly mask. With arms flailing madly, she launched into a high pitched scream. She felt a rush of rage wash over her. Her face hurt from the forced tears. Why couldn’t they understand…

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Guilty

Very reflective stuff

Cleopatra's Granddaughter

I should be crying, if I’m looking in the mirror and not seeing myself I should be crying.

I feel the pain, yet I’m so cemented outside I show no reaction.

I look around trying to find safety, I find darkness swallowing me.

I close my eyes, I pray for my soul to be cleaned of this guilt.

I feel those burning tears trying to breathe, but I’m holding back.

I feel weak, I know I’m weak. Yet I keep my strongest face on.

I see the danger, but like a fool I walk through it then wonder why I get bruised.

Back to being guilty again, I’m sick of this shameless game.

Seeing people walking around, holding guilt like a winning card.

Am I mad??? Or maybe its just guilt giving me illusions???

Like a coward hiding behind my words, I won’t do a thing – I can’t do anything -.

Like a coward writing…

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What We Fail To Learn…

A must read….. Truly thought provoking

Another Wandering Soul

Two households, both alike in dignity
nemesis, blood feud of old
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
in our mother’s womb we battle
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
prejudice, evil’s spawn blurs our sight
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
forces hands to do its bidding.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
we are equal; our hearts all follow the creator’s drums
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life,
but fall victim to hatred, passed on through the ages
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows
unmoved; set in crumbling stone
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
a thousand deaths won’t make the frenzied eye see ~
The fearful passage of their death-marked love
so we tread; siblings’ blood drowns sacred ground
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
wrath and envy still on the march;
Which, but their children’s end, naught could…

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