Jan 162010
 

Stoke the Fire

Many distractions try to inhibit or completely cut off my creative  impulses – but I know that my creativity is a God given Holy Spirit inspired gift, that God has given me to compensate for the struggles I have had to face within my life’s journey.

Weeds have their anorexic knuckles
Clasped around my melancholy neck.
Ready to wrench my head clean off my body –
In a vane attempt  to stop
My creativity flowing through my extremities –
Because it knows my soul needs to stoke
The fire of passion to do more than just exist.
Oh weeds loosen your death grasp.
My passion fire is too strong.
Words nourish my soul.

Mags Alden, June 17, 2009
Jan 092010
 

Complex Enigma

God; is the only one not restricted to a box.

Life source, Higher power, God; is the only one not restricted to a box. If this being is, man has placed him there. We are not puppeteers, placed on Earth to tug his strings. Higher power is not instant coffee. His lessons and perplexities take our life’s journey to fathom. If then, limited understanding is gained.

God is not a plastic surgeon. His cuts are far from precise. He does not sew neatly to cover up our scars.

On the first step of my journey, my foot will move forward soon. Your journey is different from mine. We are all travelers moving. Take courage along for the ride.

Mags Alden, Mar 30, 2009

Flower

 Courage, Pain  Comments Off on Flower
Jan 062010
 

Flower

Written passing something personal

The river of Gold turns to River of Scarlet
I lay in pain on the grass
Though stones of this struggle be round or sharp
They will pass I know
But as I lay in pain on the grass
I spy a flower
A simple flower white like a daisy
With a simple yellow centre
And near it a ladybug
I see a butterfly flutter overhead
I lay in pain on the grass
The pain is still there.
But I know it will pass
But the beauty
Now a flower
Now a beetle
Now a butterfly
Will always remain
I will forget the pain

DWPenner 10 July 2008.
Jan 052010
 

The Next Cut is the Deepest

The quest to relieve mental anguish.

Blades have an urge
To cut beneath my skin.
They become enraged
With their inability
To hit the very bottom –
The more they cut
The less satisfied they are.
With each new day
The blades have to inflict
More pain and disfigurement
For their thirst to be quenched.

Mags Alden, June 21, 2009