A quiet spark in my chaotic mind

A delicate flower in a decaying heart

It grew with every "hello,"

Every hug,

Every "I promise."

It threatened to leave with every "Bye,"

Every invisisible kick,

Slowly dying with every heartbreak,

Losing heat,

Losing light.

But it stayed,

I held on with my last strength,

Let it grow again,

Now it fuels a fire,

It's my saviour,

My reason not to fall,

Drown in sorrows,

Drown in fears,

It's all my heart hears.

My most prized possession is nothing else but knowledge. To question everything, to gain wisdom, to understand. Through experience, information, education I am acquiring it as it is an ongoing process. Awareness & understanding of our surrounding is what we need to achieve. Although I am still a teenager I am learning and exploring because life is a adventure which is to be elated. Knowledge is the gift for which we should be thankful for. It's valuable because it tells us in its entirety the meaning of everything and it's yearning never stops.

My most prized possession is inside of me..to draw..to paint…to create

My art is like a catalog of events and thoughts of my life…like a journal of living..that's always been around

Art allows me to meet people I wouldnʼt ordinarily meet, travel to places I wouldnʼt normally go to..all through my eyes

My possession is whatʼs inside, there is no price...what I acquired is for others to see..

I canʼt think of a single thing that I now possess

that is most prized and special.

Oh I confess that once I did hold

many things untold

my hearts treasure, all my pleasure.

In the last year I lost the last of those I held dear,

So now my heart is empty, never to have that life or love again.

What I held most dear, what I loved the most?

My children and grandchildren.

My Soulmates, my horses, especially Zeus.

So you see I havenʼt anything else left.

I guess my prized possession is my

Broken heart.

Love is like the wind, powerful yet unseen - like faith in God. 

I lay and I wonder - I feel the rain, wait for the thunder - feeling rain yet... Why am I untouched? 

Time passes like the wind and the love - powerful yet invisible - like hope like despair - intangible in life. 

My love is my solitude and precious is my time. time falls through like the water onto the rocks - filling all the cracks and leaving its marks. Holes in the rocks, holes in time - we can never get back 

I place the highest value upon

The one who helps me to be strong

The light of my life and favorite boy

My son, Richie, is my pride and joy.

I acquired him through a bad choice

But I quickly learned to use my voice

Got us both up out of there

Life's not perfect to be fair

But we have made it pretty far

We saved up and got a car

Now we're getting our own place

Our little journey has been a race.

The lines beneath my fingers tracing,

excitement flows, my heart is racing.

Georgia to Maine.

Given to me by an odd man,

Dreamer just as me.

It lies in a shoebox full of pictures,

and in my poetry.

The one true way to lose myself in mountains green, white and blue.

Bounding down a twisting trail with only time to lose.

Blistered feet and mountain streams,

I'll have it no other way.

And while I trace this map I'll wait a year, five months, and three days.

My most prized possession does not exist

For my material possessions won´t be missed

I could leave my house with nothing tomorrow

Without feeling any sorrow

I have no bond or connection to anything that´s not alive

I only need to know my family is happy to survive

My belongings are frivolous buys

They hold no special ties

All I need is a food and a bed

That is enough to fill my heart and my head

Now if you were to ask me what I hold most dear

I could tell you my loved ones are whom I revere

© M.Withers/M.Strudwick . All rights reserved.

Both the name The EriduSerpent/EriduSerpent

and any written material is owned solely by the above named.

Permission granted for all written material to be shared but not for profit.

Printing or publishing is prohibited without seeking permission first from said owner.

One year ago, six months after my best friend passed away, her mother gave me her favorite hoodie. It's worn, pilled, the drawstrings chewed on, and the elastic starting to droop, but it smells like my friend. I wear it when I miss her most and imagine she's beside me, holding me while I reminisce, laugh, and cry. To anyone else, it's a cheap sweater. To me, it's all I have left of my best friend in the world.