Frankenstein:

 

The world is full of what we can’t see--

Too spun with lies  and hurt.

These are ridicules masked with time…

And they say Time heals:

Time is never present among the still cold,

Time never waits for humanity to keep up.

 

If we stopped and looked around--

If we gazed up at the skyscrapers reaching tall,

the once-melodious valleys now embedded with

metal and rot,

the brown waters,

and the burning sun--

 

What would we feel?

 

Would we see what is invisible?

A land running rich with milk—and honey?

The Promised Land?

Would we see that we have advanced so far—advanced

everyday closer

to a Dark Ending?

 

Or instead would we feel nothing?

 

Would we be content with our

Frankenstein?

Would we submerge into a numbness

too deep to swim out of?

 

We would—because

we already have…

…Snapshot:

 

Earth’s photo captured,

frozen in time--

forever on that one squared sheet.

 

Humanity’s photo captured,

frozen as well--

forever, as long as it keeps.

A series of snapshots,

all in a day,

of the Church and the Land,

and the Sky--

the wind in the trees,

the sun and sea,

and even the tears being cried…

 

these photos weren’t for looking,

they weren’t even for show,

they weren’t to be kept in dust,

never to be known--

 

to make them aware,

was my mission.

to make them see what they had done.

 

not to punish, or to change

but to leave that up to them.

to make them know that

there is better,

out there--

somewhere,

calm. 

When youth is gone…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When youth is gone,

what will we have?

memories, love, fear?

 

Memories of happiness

and frolic,

memories of dreams older than

yourself.

 

Love of someone,

perhaps?

Love from family,

friend,

or heart?

Will you have anyone near?

 

Fear of dying, maybe?

The fear whose foundation creeps

closer—everyday.

There is nothing we can do

to stop the black menace from taking life.

 

Would you live on in such a way?

As a scared old woman who tears

for days passed?

 

Well not me.

I will live as an elder,

wise with age,

and elder who understands,

who interprets,

who ministers.

I will not give up the life

that youth gives,

because when old,

life is not over yet.

 

I will live until I die.

 

Will you?

Shattered:

Splintered amongst old books of falsehood,

telling not a soul:

Shattered are our morals and beliefs,

Hell is no different from our heavens.

 

We kill for not,

we cry for not,

What else matters?

What else is held dear than these selfish hopes?

 

Permeating life itself

…and combining the elements—of hate and love;

to far gone are we.

 

Backs turned from the warmth, the light

the love…

eyes forward, burning,

 

toward hate.

Birds can Cry too--

Birds can cry too—she said,

although they chirp and fly,

one may—be happy, but still

they cower and fear.

Only to tear for these

emotions never shown,

for the world frozen shut by gluttony,

to open it now—would break.

So it remains an icy tomb

for all those belonged to its chill--

and where love can never bloom,

madness surely will.

Insanity lurks at the corner

of our black alley hearts,

what’s to Fear but Fear itself?

that which drives apart;

all the brave and shinning,

like the sun—in joyous mirth,

but we lead along our misery

to swallow up new birth.

The world comes old and slows,

pain again—consumes all.

and around the fire we will tell…

of Earth’s tragic fall.

Lady Jane Grey: England’s Shortest Reign:

Okay so, this is a little story about a girl named Lady Jane Grey. She was the great-grand daughter to King Henry the VII, if you don’t know who that it, go Google him. Anyways so, Jane. This girl has a cousin who is the current king of England, Edward. Now Edward and Jane love each other, I know, gross, incest, whatever. So Edward is dying of some horrid disease that is totally curable now, and according to his lovely, horribly greedy advisor, John Dudley, on his deathbed he proclaimed his cousin, fifth in line to the throne, his successor. Now you can imagine the horror of Jane after hearing that the love of her youth, her best friend, and her king, had just died. But then along comes her evil, terrible uncle. Now this uncle has nothing but the little dollar sign in his eyeballs if you catch my drift. So Jane Grey is this sweet little innocent thing who doesn’t realize that her horrid Uncle is lying when he tells her she was proclaimed successor by Edward. He never uttered a word of it, but he knew that Jane wouldn’t take the throne unless this was the case. The throne really belonged to Mary Tudor, or as most of you know her, Bloody Mary. Oh yeah, she’s real. Really a Queen. Yup. Anyways, Mary hears that this little girl who is only sixteen has just taken her throne, what’s rightfully hers, and how do you think she feels? No one told her that Jane’s words, when told she was the next queen, were “The crown is Queen Mary’s”. No one told her that Jane had been lied to. Maybe she would’ve acted differently. Jane was brave and dignified as she was thrown into to tower only nine days after her rule. She was to be beheaded within the next couple days, and everyone convinced Jane that since Mary was her cousin, she would not kill her. Surely she would give her a pardon. Surely she would not be that cruel as to kill an innocent, close, friend and family member. Surely. They were wrong. Jane was carried past the dead body of the husband she had been forced to marry by her uncle and John Dudley, and laid at the block. She blindfolded herself and told the executioner to “dispatch her quickly”. She kept waiting for a pardon, but it never came. Her last words were to God, begging him to take her into his hands. Jane died at the age of seventeen, had been married to a man she despised, had been Queen of England unwillingly, and had never once made a decision of her own in her short life.

 

Let’s all not be John Dudley here, Let’s not be Jane’s uncle, who forced her to be something she never wanted to be. Look where she ended up. Her parents were cruel. They always beat her and yelled at her. She had no real friends, besides Edward, who died, and Perhaps Sir Thomas, a man she met along the way in life who promised to adopt her and take her into his home. This was yet another disappointment for poor Jane. She died calmly, and with dignity. She died after seventeen years of a miserable life, though she had been married in expensive clothes and had been queen. She went to all the parties, all the balls and get togethers. She wore all the latest fashions, and traversed England. She went to court at Christmas and frolicked with Henry the Eights wife (not all six of them, mind you). She lived the life of an English courtier. She was a Lady, a noble of fine stature. These are things that are supposed to make you happy, right? Wrong. I will bet you anything, that one of those last thoughts, while she waited for that huge blade to come down on her neck, was “What could I have done?” She probably looked back and realized she had never done a thing in her life that made her happy. Lady Jane Grey lived, but never fully lived. I guess the moral is not really, do not become a John Dudley or Jane’s uncle, the moral is, don’t be like Jane. Control your life. It’s yours, and it's the only one you get.