Naive little souls

It's a little bit like a hole in the road.

We didn't see it coming. 

The shadow of the trees might have hid it there. 

We could have been watching the birds for a little too long.

Or a bed of leaves was covering it up for a while?

But there's a hole in the road. 

Can we walk around it and leave it behind?

Would we pretend it's not there, act a bit blind?

Could we tell the hole to fill itself up? 

Should we stop by it and wait until it is no more?

Holes in the road, unexpected turns of things, 

Words that dig deeper than they seem, 

Faces that turn from benevolent to pernicious, 

Silence that reveals to be manipulation, 

Control which for so long disguised itself into love, 

Family that prove to be wolves among the sheep. 

They all come without warning.

Did we look up to long?
Did we want to think of the birds and the sharp blue sky, 

More than we were looking for direction?

We might have simply thought that life had been sweet and easy and it would always be.

We didn't know love could turn sour. 

Naive little souls we were. We took discernment for suspicion

And love never suspects evil, does it?

So we walked around, head in the clouds, 

Dreaming of tomorrows painted in pastel colours, 

Finding todays tainted with anger.

Naive little souls we were.
Shall we keep on believing?

That hearts can turn, situations change and scars heal?

We are waiting. For the sweetness of yesterday to come again tomorrow.

We believe today is a simple hole in the road that isn't meant to stay.

We believe you'll come to your senses.

That you'll see, that we were naive little souls, 

with open arms and gentle hearts, 

That we are hopeful stronger souls,

 with open arms and gentle hearts.

Wanderer

I am a wanderer. I have been going in circles, 

Thinking I was walking a different path

Trotting along, whistling, hoping for new scenery, 

Just around the corner. 

But the scenery is the same.

Over and over again, the scenery doesn't change. 

The same tree, the old dry footpath, the piles of leaves to the side

The grass that neither seems to grow nor die.

The flowers ready to bloom but forever stuck in between. 

I am a flower, not a bud,not blossoming.

There are leaves around me, keeping petals in place

Open, just enough, so I can't retreat in my green shell, 

Sufficiantly closed so I can't spread out and sprout. 

I've grown too much for this pod.

It's keeping me in.

But maybe, just maybe, I am not big enough still.

Big enough for this world out there, 

For the wind that blows, the sun that burns, 

The rain that drowns, the cold that bites.

Not big enough, too big, grown, in the making

Ready, under prepared, humble, proud, 

I'm everything and it's opposite.

I'm strong and weak. 

I'm a hopeful flower stuck in its bud, 

Will the time to prosper ever come to me?

Will my tiny green shell ever set me free?

I am a flower, stuck in between, 

Looking for space to grow

I am a wanderer, going in circles, 

Looking for a newfound land.

I am a dreamer, bound by reality, 

Looking for a promise.

Unwritten

People stir up poems in me that can never be written.

For words rarely truly match the value of hearts and souls.

I have many pages blackened by ink, that hold so many emotions,

Yet the shape of the letters, the rhythm and sound of sentences

Lack in expressing my love, my grief, the things I've longed for, 

The faces I've lost, the dreams that never came into being 

and the parts of my heart I gave away and were never returned.

Some inspire light, bouncy sonnets, that float in the air, 

Translate the feeling of being in love, of receiving a smile

as the greatest gift ever given.

Others fill me with words like pebbles: small but heavy, greyed by the years

That will pave the way to my next fears.

Verses will draw the silhouette of old loves, they will paint the colour of their lips

Say the sound of their laugh, the smell of their skin.

But memories can't be held in a few lines. 

They keep on unfolding, emotions persist to disrupt my day to day life, 

With small flashes of light or deeper holes of dark. 

Words sketch the outline, but the weight or the light in my soul, 

Will never fully hold in a couple of letters.

People stir up poems in me that can never be written.

Live to the point of tears.

To the point of tears, live. Walk a little further, 

Stop a little closer, explore the caves you nearly ignored.

There are cliffs to wander about, mountains, hillsides, 

Birds to listen to, animals to watch and tears to cry. 

They sing in other languages and melodies, in places you've never been.

There are trees to sit under, their shadow hovering over you like a light blanket,

There are mysteries you know nothing about, awaiting to be sought after in the nest of your heart.

You were not destined to a static life. 

You were not designed for sitting around and waiting on the world to change.

Dangers need facing, hopes long to be fostered. 

There is beauty to witness and behold, if only you look up and marvel.

With hills come the valleys, for every river you will find a desert, 

Each corner will provide a curve, a dip and a high, colour and grey, light and darkness.

One thing brings the other. 

If you can't have it whole, you shan't have it in part. 

Embrace the world completely or reject its blessing and curse.

To the point of tears, live.

May they be birthed through joy and sorrow, abundance and absence, company and loneliness.

May you know life and the world so well, so deep and high, 

That each step will get you closer to home.