Snow White

Snow White

The black stream cut through the white snow like a dagger blade
The forest was quiet but for its throaty voice
And the soft swish of snow, showering down from over-weighted branches above.
Soft puffs of misty air were pulsing solitarily.
It was cold, but non-invasively so.
The cold air seemed to require invitation,
With the slow, even breaths she took
And it felt both cleansing and numbing at the same time.

Indeed her mind felt leaden

Her vision was clear, more aware of her surroundings and her own physical being than usual.
But her mind felt slowed, as though the cold that should have numbed her body
Numbed her mind instead.

She stood very still and listened as a deer stretched its legs and trotted past somewhere nearby.

In every direction she saw only trees,
Black trunks laced with snow like decorative frosting.
It gave her a sense of infinence, a land that went on and on forever
Like looking up into a starry sky in the summer
A glimpse of eternity.

Thoughts slowly began to trickle through, the somewhat aloof mind aimlessly wandering

Losing itself in its own avenues.
A shudder ran through her and with bowed head and closed eyes
She began to sing.
It was a lullaby from she knew not when A part of her mind had forgotten.

Lullabies are stark and cold
Beneath the pale moonlight
With empty arms a story told
That none can now make right
Winter's touch on summer breeze
Time hazy in the dark
Remembering a distant dream
Children playing in a park.

I've lived a life-time in a day
Moments that felt like years
Whether by circumstance of fate
Or carried by my fears
Truth lay hidden by my tears.

I have seen a child grow old
Whose eyes have seen to much
Too much of life
In fullest pain
The bitter and the cold
And yet she clings onto the spring
Where youth had flawless been
Though wisdom has destroyed the hope
To reclaim that child again.

Written: Dec. 18th & Dec. 31st, 2009

~This is not finished. There is more to that story - she was not alone, and will not remain a forever child. She has grown. But she remembers.

Patient Hands

Written and Copyrighted by: Kaylie Rosenberry

Patient Hands

In my weakness, I have found

Your hand still reaching out

Whether I reach back, whether I resist

Believing my way to be better

You patiently wait for me to come back to my senses

And remember the bond that we have shared

How time and time again,

You have caught me when I've fallen

Loved me when I hated myself

Comforted me when I was hurting or afraid

Been there when I needed company

Someone to talk to never too busy to listen

Remembering the vulnerability that stripped away

All my pretenses

All my pride

All my sickness of spirit

And how you did not raise me up so much as

Meet me there

Join me in my suffering

Than hold on so that I can rise on Your wings

Not in my own strength

But fully relying on yours

You are strength to overcome my weakness

Joy to overcome my sadness

Hope to overcome my despair

And a magnifying glass to see the truth...

To see it, and to act on it

Not rely on worldly lies to enhance an earthly fate

My only hope is in You

Not in a false pretense of strength or confidence in myself

And what I can achieve
No

Only what You can achieve in me.

Written: Aug. 30th, 2009

Tears of Stars

Written and Copyrighted by: Kaylie Rosenberry 2009'

Tears Of Stars

Against this shallow sky
Whose depths I cannot perceive
The stars are tears who infrequently fall
And leave their sparkle in her eyes
Their glittering tails on her cheeks
Scandalized by the blackness
Few people keep their eyes fixed
Most turn away from what they fight
With no clarity on what they face
What could swallow them whole

* * *

And in the morning gleams
Like pearl and golden rivers
The sunrise those distant tears
Praise in the dark.
This dim tumult of awesome beauty
Stark and lovely its contrast
Like rocky, divine-worked rock formations
Stained red even in the shade
And the glistening, diamond dust sands of the sea

In the black deserts they find their reflection
Twinkling back beneath the sun
To their sun-dark skies


* * *

She keeps a weary kinship with those celestial tears
Constant the silent vigil they keep as the nights fill with weighty moments and remembered dreams.
Their aroma sweet like the flower petals as they brush inside the window
And past the gauzy curtains.

Gone are the days past and the days ahead too
When mocked in unfounded hopes cool shadow
What we can want
What we can need
What we can believe
Upon waking slips from our grasp like fog from our fingers.
The fancies of this beating heart
Beyond what her hands can touch
Only in her mind can come to be.

The song of wistfulness
A pillow beneath her fragile cheek
When memories repeated chorus
Is pleasant and precious
Only returnable in sleep

Drops of regret like rain in the sunlight
Thick screen of prismatic color
To flavor memories warm touch
But ill suited to beat the dust
And make remorse rise in clouds.
This swirling tempest to barrage the mind
Make no thought quiet
Bitter mingled with the sweet
The company of angels
Be they black or white Roaring in her soul

* * *

Pausing to make room
For the reflective eye
Hands pressed against the wooden sill
Head bowed
Mind consumed with the dizzying scope
Of nightmare and reality.

The solid, soft grain of the wood
Beneath her rigid hands
The bird song against the morning air
Simple and uncomplicated
The cool, misty air a drink of relief
From the drowning compression of these cerebral wings

...

And there, deeper than these wondering eyes
The essence of the wood beneath her fingers
Or the trilling of mornings song
Is the whisper

In the thoughts, in the dreams,
In the night and in the dark,
In the dawn and in the sea,
And yes, ever in the light from the tears of the stars
You are.

Written: Aug. 25th, 200Written9

Scarecrow

Written and copyrighted by: Kaylie Rosenberry 08'

This was another dark moment.

Scarecrow

Walking along a deserted path
Weed over-grown the grass on either side
Cold water pressing in from the river nearby
Laying a hand to my chest as though to contain the struggling beat
Limbs as numbed as the sticks and straw
The black, lifeless eyes of the scarecrow

Crows make their feet dance
Taunt with their laughter
Just beyond your fixed vision
Could you but uproot the stakes that hold your feet
Raise a raggedy arm that would blow in the wind
Still as a comical statue
Puppet of comic façade
Stitched up by twine and string
Patched and frayed as so many broken places fray
You bleed out through gashes that no one has bothered to heal

You are the silent sentinel that watches over the golden waves
Of this summer sea
Who watches the sunlit sky turn from blue, to gold, to olive green
Then turn purple and sink behind the hills
You are the sky-gazer who reflects the stars in your eyes
And dreams of places beyond
While ever rooted and standing still
Feet on the ground
Head in the clouds

A word to utter would be a tease to the breeze
Undulating the golden wheat and brushing your legs like feathers
A tear to cry would be to taste the rain that drops and bends the fair heads
Makes them cower and hide their faces, streaming in the summer storm
A song to sing would be the whistle of wind gurgling the pond
And whispering through the nearby branches

You are the hollow man
Stuffed with innards far too flammable to the fire of emotion
The storm of passion or the chill of fear
But you bleed…you bleed
And you fall in pieces that are tossed apart by the wind
Gradually ripped apart and scattered to an unknown sky
An unknown day

What is it to you the prick of a needle?
The tear of your clothes
Stitches scarring your face, your hands, your feet
Will they contain you forever?
Or will they eventually burst as ripe as new corn
And spill you out like an offering of gold coins onto the dusty ground

Written: June 15th, 2009

Bird On A Wire

Written and Copyrighted by: Kaylie Rosenberry 08'



I post my first poem as one that I wrote several years ago, but it has remained my favorite. A bit melancholy perhaps... but, it very much fit to express what was going on inside my head and heart at the time.

Bird On A Wire

A bird on a wire

Staring at the rain

Doesn’t wanna hear the thunder

Doesn’t wanna see the pain

Just rinsing off his feathers

But it’s not easy

To soften lightning’s flicker

Its forked tongue, it tears

A jagged rift into the sky

The wind blows colder

Gives a voice to softened rage

Howls about its self-destruction

But isn’t it just fine?

It’s supposed to be this way

Storm light flashes

Turns the sweet milling faces

Into monsters in the dark

Helpless in despair

Don’t think it’s easy

To watch them from afar

But when you get closer

Fly to give some aid

Some comfort to their screaming

The storm it only strengthens

So you hide yourself away

Close your eyes against the noises

Of a world that’s going under

You get accustomed to their pain

You feel it in your blood

As you beat your feeble wings

You smell it as you breathe

And you taste it in the rain

Why can’t you look into ones eyes

Without being tainted?

Affected by the strain

But they pull themselves away

Morning christens

The start of a new day

But you’re still mired in their pain

And you can’t run away

From what’s embedded in your memory

Just can’t ran away

So you fold your wings around you

Cover up the gaze

That betrayed you to the curse

Their never-ending bane

And fall from the sky

Like a star whose lost its way

Addicted to the love

That turned you to a drunkard

Heady on dismay

Going under

The dark gutter water in the streetlight

Never be a source of cracked reflections

Bouncing back the blackness

Of a broken soul

Never be a thorn inside a glass rose

Again

Only scattered feathers

That the wind will blow away

If not tomorrow

Than today

Solitude was bitter

But bitterness was sweeter

Than this constant hearts migraine

*Written Monday, May 22, 2006*

Beginnings

All poems written and copyright by: Kaylie Rosenberry

As this is my 1st time blogging, I felt an introduction must be in order. I am not organized by nature, but am precise and very particular when it comes to my writing.

Very simply - I write. Reflections/essays/journal entries, whichever label you choose, but mainly poetry. Occasionally, I dabble with short stories, and have an unfinished novel I still dream of publishing. But simply, "I write." is the best way to say it.

I am a person of conscience, I like to believe, and I am a Christian and dedicated to the love and service that bespeaks the term. I in no way discourage belief or full trust,nor do I have any intention of judging anyone wrongly, but I must say, all those with more sensitive eyes and ears may not always care for my writing. I do not lie and pull no punches. What comes out, comes out. While confident in what I believe, and I am in no way perfect, and in those most emotional moments, the writing pours forth. It is what it is. A moment of doubt, fear, questioning, confusion, pain... Writing is a free expression as I see it. How one interprets it, understands it, and hears it is subject to personal preference and just as freely embraced as the writing. My poetry is simply the truth as I see it, at any given moment. I do not seek to evoke criticism or a judgment from anyone. I write to inspire - to inspire thought, emotion, imagination, and spur on further creativity. That is, after all, what verbal expression and communication is about. It's real life, not fiction or what we would always WANT the world to be, though sometimes it dabbles into those illusory depths.

It is perhaps a journey into my mind and spirit, but it is also often intended to provoke a journey into the reader's mind. Some write to elicit a reaction - I write to express, but also to put into words something which can never truly be put into verbalization - emotion and all of its dark, joyful, hopeful, wistful, ambivalent glory. Perhaps someone would view it is as an impossible task, but I do not. I care little for degrees or for academic achievement and titles or rank, though I respect and envy those who have risen to that challenge. I believe to question is to prove your depth and your intelligence, and to search is to emphasize the divine hunger in each person that longs to be free. Searching and sometimes finding, is a purpose, and an accomplishment in and of itself... So, to you, I bid welcome, and deep breathing to keep a steady pace on your thoughts and your dreams.

-Kaylie