Book of Feathers
As a fallen angel,
wings stripped of their feathers
by the demons from my mind’s hell
my strength slowly withers.
But I will rebuild my wings
with every new feather
adds a new page to the rings
that bind my book of leather.
This book of mine
tells the story of redemption
over the course of time
as I battle my depression.
The demons take my pen
and tell me to just stop trying,
to just give in
and get busy dying.
However I steal the pen back
before I can doubt
and numb myself black
to block them out.
This book of feathers is my mission
my scarred skin makes its bind
my blood of crimson iron inks its inscription
my bone makes its spine.
By finishing this book before I die
I hope these pages put together
will rebuild my wings and let me fly
so I can show all my book of feathers.
the girl swam the tides
of a broken building,
she fought mother nature,
tooth and bone,
and stilts and sand-
the current carried away
broke the home,
and unearthed the story she told
with layers of granite and wooden floor.
and that story held more words than he could ever have known.
Protect your heart, but don’t overpay for protection.
I can't guarantee you that more pieces won't be left at your feet for you to collect the next time you dive into something with your whole heart. What I can guarantee you is that you'll sabotage healing all the internal chaos by trapping your emotions and closing yourself off to authentic emotional experiences and connections. It's easier to withdraw, to stay guarded, to refuse everyone access (yourself, too). You reject light that tries to enter your stubborn pathways when you're hurting because you'd rather simmer in the darkness.
"I trust the night more than I trust the day." — Melissa Tripp
The truth is, pain overstays its welcome. Your heart feels like a thousand knives so you don't bother with a pulse. You don't care to reconnect because it's the connections you've hosted in your heart that have cut you the deepest. Find more productive ways to approach it (pain), to process it, to feel it, to share it. Let it water you where you hurt the most. Because, you'll grow from this.
Photo credit: veeterzy
Its stranger now
I guess i have
Attained one of my goals.
I feel my heart raging
Begging for release
Like ticking bomb
Like bursting drum.
My sanity grits its teeth
Not in despair, nor frustration
But in excited agitation
Rejoicing, almost in melody~
I look at myself
Once more, for review,
My face is stoic— I can't feel it
My voice is calm— I hear it,
Rush of warmth — is contained
No higher than my lungs—
No trace, no mud, no sleeves to cover with
There are no evidences, it is a perfect crime,
Ah, but It still isn't perfect
Under the blanket sheets
Although my eyes do not betray me anymore,
Tears rush down like faucet—
I drink it quietly once more,
As I wait for the drought.
Christmas Vacation in the Old Days
Christmas Vacation in the Old Days
October 18, 2017
Memories of our childhood at Christmas time. Sixty five years ago are quite different than it is today.
We were on Christmas vacation from school. We four got to sleep about one half hour longer than usual. Soon we alerted to get up, dressed warm and go out and take care of the animals and the chores.
Snow had fallen even more than the day before.
One of the adults made a few paths to the wood pile, coal bin and on out to the animal quarters.
We knew after breakfast we were going to do some heavy shoveling. This happened before we got to go out and enjoy our two week vacation.
After tending the animals and other chores we came back indoors. A warm hearty breakfast lingering a bit hoping the sun would melt the snow. That was a pipe dream and did not happen.
We were asked to bundle and gear up then collect the shovels so we could clear the driveway.
The “L O N G” driveway was where at least a dozen cars or trucks could fit in a straight line down the middle.
With a lot of kids and an adult that was not at work we got that all done pretty fast, well, within two hours that is. We also took a little time to make a few snow balls and cream each other laughing all the time.
We were all called inside where we took off our coats, scarves, hats and gloves. We hung the wet clothes in the backroom on the inside clothes line to dry near the roaring furnace.
Next we sat at the kitchen table near the fireplace for hot chocolate. Hershey’s brand cocoa, milk, a bit of sugar with a pinch of salt then slowly cooked in a double boiler. Next it seemed like dozens of Oatmeal and Molasses cookies were placed in front of us to have as many as we desired.
After about an hour we bundled up again and went out to build snowmen or forts. If the snow got slushy enough we went out front. The depression in the side yard along the driveway dipped down enough to make a rink. Smoothing the slush all around we groomed it as flat as possible. The next morning it was frozen enough for us to don our ice skates and play ice hockey to our hearts content.
We were pretty cold and hungry by then. After doing some little chores, tending to the outside animals food, water and other needs. We brought in wood and coal for the furnace. We all piled indoors for warm homemade soup and sandwiches for lunch. After lunch we played board games, read books or put a puzzle together.
Later on that evening after doing the same chores we had a nice warm dinner. We all piled up into the car and went off to look at all the Christmas lights all around the neighborhood .
The Nativity scenes, hand made and painted were brought out every year. and put in a prominent place with a shining light on them for all to see. If the driver was not too tired we would venture into the nearest town and look at the city kids light displays. Their houses seemed to have bigger displays with more lights than us kids in the country. The in town decorations were store bought. More sparkly as ours were. Country farm tractors were lit up with a single string of lights that did not blink. The trees in town were not real trees. Store bought trees were perfectly shaped. whereas ours were alive growing in the yard. Some people used real cut down trees. There were mismatched limbs. We always seemed to have fun decorating the gaps of the trees beautifully in our eyes.
Seeing the lights all lit up was a favorite thing to do back then.
Now you plug in a color “wheel” and set it in the front yard throwing a light on a wall, bush or tree. That’s suppose to be a decoration along with the blow up Santa, reindeer and snowmen that leak air in a few days.
No malls to go to or electronic games back then, not even talking on the one phone attached to the wall. We were happy and we grew up not at all deprived.
Our Christmas vacation was so much fun that we even remember sixty five years later.
©Julia A Knaake