http://allpoetry.com/poem/11002335-Behind-The-Eyes-by-KaylieRosenberry

This was just a poem I wrote in response to a writing prompt on allpoetry.com.  Figured I'd post it here too along with a link.

Behind The Eyes

Behind these eyes the world turns slowly
Ever moving, yet standing still
And I move past melting into the colors of the wall
Like a chameleon in the sunset
Who feels the fire, yet casts no blame
Blinded by the passion and the subtlety
You feel the agony and the ecstasy
Dance in the spring rain
Bask in the summer sun
And rest through the long winter

Behind these eyes there are closed doors
More than one might imagine
Rooms full of scars, veins in the lining that run deep
Like ore; less precious, but no less protected
I can drown in my own mind
In the sea of fervid wandering
Or fade into the shadows of my own silence

I can be a rock-star without a song
Or a gesture-less mime
Content to let the world go by

I can see but not understand
Seek but never find
Feel but never embrace

© KaylieRosenberry. All rights reserved, 4 days ago

The Difficulties Of Flying

Flying is so hard to do...

Our spirits, we are told

Are to be light and worry-free as air

Flying is only natural in such a state

Our spirits are called to fly

To never fear the distance around us

Or the predators who stalk us daily

Never fear injury for something greater is planned

Never fear death because new life is coming

Never be afraid to sing because it is natural

Singing is how we express our praise - our joy

And we cannot help but sing along

With all creation

To be free...

Like a little bird

Small and hollow-boned

Cannot walk for hopping

Cannot speak for singing

Who walks as a dancer walks

So light on their feet as to tip-toe

Prance about on their toes

So lightly touching the ground

Flying almost without wings

Balancing on the slenderest twig

Never fearing the distance below

Yet still... flying is so hard to do...

 So often, I find, flying is just running

Running on air

My hollow bones are splintered

My spirit just as broken

My wings are tattered instead of full

There is always a predator bigger

Someone else who holds the power over me

I feel insignificant in the eyes of an enormous, holy God

Who demands perfection from such brittle, crippled bones

 And freedom feels... as hollow and distant a word as green in the winter

Like a little sparrow crouched down against the chill

Another pecking, pecking, pecking

Testing to see how much we can endure...

I can't cry for fear of drowning
Can't fly for fear of falling
Can't run for fear or running into you

Thirsting For Living Water

How I long for cooling rain
For rain to dress this dry parched earth
Saturate me with your healing water
Removes the shackles around fist-tightened fear

Though I am weary, wounded and torn
Be the spring in the wilderness my spirit desires
The only answer worth finding
In this desert of searing questions

I cannot count on man alone
I cannot hope beyond my flesh
But only thirst for higher ways
For truth and righteousness

As the sun melts away my pride
Restore my soul anew
Burn for me Holy fire
Replace all of me with You

Through the crucible of desert nights
You've led kings and prophets
I am just a lowly child
Who cannot bear this weight

Time blows like ever-shifting sands
Peppers my hair with gray
My heart with pain
And the storm shows no sign of letting up

How can one grasp at flame that burns the flesh?
Or view a holiness that sears the soul?
How can I stand and face the judgment
That comes from my own unworthy soul?
When I am judge, jury, and condemner?

utter

I am hanging up my sword.  At least for a little while.  

Hope feels a false pretense.  

I am an exile in a foreign land that has little to do with me

And I little to give or to credit it

You give much

And yet I fail utterly

Why is it You did not give up long ago?

Of what worth can I be to You?

I hang my head in shame

And cannot look up at the sky

Progress drives away a million miles past

And me somewhere staggering far behind

What I once was, I am no more

What I thought I could be

Is some false memory

In so basic a trust, I fall short

In so natural a task, I am a farce

Can I say that I have had enough?

That I can bear no more?

Or is despair an even greater failure than defeat?

I cannot bear the results of my own sins

And cannot laugh in the face of myself

All I can do is grimace in disgust

At what I have so poorly made of myself

How weak an utterance is this excuse

How poor a vessel to hold any truth

Faith can disintegrate like sugar in the sun

And leave behind a bitter vapor

You rain down blessings
And I catch them in a cracked siev
Empty because I cannot let go
Grieving because I cannot heal

Purple sand in a sin-sick sea
Sinks and builds on the floor
Collects the wearied, broken dreams
As they decay and fragment with time
Sand is a cloud of fog around the ruined, drifting trove

Assignment Two: Heaven's Shadows

Note: This is, I believe, the beginning of a comic book/story idea I had for my son.  There is a company of angels and a company of demons who fight in the heavenly realms, invisible to mortal eyes, and this story is about those two opposing factions.  'Elder' angels have been around sometimes for millennium and train the younger recruits in 'war'.  Many of them have miraculous stories of being with great saints of God and leading them to victory through the power of The Lamb.  'Young' angels are a bit like military recruits going through boot camp.  They have tasks to complete and each is assigned to one person for a period of time attempting to guide them towards the light of God.  Then of course, there is the other side, doing everything in their power to thwart the work of God and his glorious army.

Young recruits to the angel army are very much like humans in their emotions and their short-comings.  They can be punished and demoted and also rewarded, but are always encouraged and instructed by the most noble and loyal teachers - the angelic warriors themselves.  This story begins with a young female named 'Laylee' and the text is purposely deceptive to have the reader assume this is a girl on the brink of suicide.  Things change quickly.

*     *     *

The cold wind stung her cheeks and made her tears burn.  The chasm stretched before her, wide and dark and her eyes were riveted to the depth she could see.  Birds flew in the canyon beneath her and a hawk cried forlornly. This should not be hard.  How much courage could one step take?

Above, beneath, all around her the wilderness rang in its open complexity.  Miles of untrodden wasteland stretched in all directions.  Rocks jutted up from the cracked ground like ink drips on some upside-down canvas.  Hollowed out crevices and caves perforated the rocks and sand hissed eerily as the wind tossed it hither and thither.  One girl, she knew, barely registered on this great forgotten tapestry.  The mountains and valleys would not cry for her and she would not make the eagles sing.  The vultures might laugh at their fortuitous lunch and chatter amongst themselves into the late evening.  But no one would hear them.  No one had the ears to hear or the eyes to see.  Not through her melancholy eyes.

A strong gust pushed past and she caught her breath as it rocked her precarious balance.  How impatient the wind seemed.  "Laylee?"  She started and fell back a few steps at the sound of her name.  Nathan stood there as implacable and serene as he'd always been.  "It's not going to work."  He said.  "You can't fly anymore."

Her features turned suddenly sharp and challenging.  "Who said I was going to try?!"  He merely looked back at her calmly.  She wilted.  "I'm sorry."

He nodded barely perceptibly as though a request easily granted and took a few slow steps toward her as he began again.  "Laylee,"  There was compassion when he said her name.  "Your wings are broken."  

Laylee did not bother to look at him or argue, though her shoulder muscles instinctively - and ineffectually - twinged.

Nathan shook his head and sighed.  "Come.  I will take you back."

"Like that?"  She said skeptically barely glancing back at his human get-up.  He wore a fawn-colored jacket, yellow shirt beneath, faded jeans and leather shoes.  His hair was sandy and fell to his shoulders.

"Oh."  He said.  "Force of habit."  He shrugged and his whole persona seemed to melt and change in an instant.  He now stood tall, hair so bright and blonde it was nearly blinding, pure white robes belted with a golden sash, sword glistening and sheathed at his side.  And most prominent of all, two large, snowy and spectacular wings branched out from behind his shoulders.  "There.  That's better." 

Laylee turned back around and said quickly,  "I'm not ready to go."

He walked up to her and laid a large hand on her shoulder.  "We'll go the long way."  His smile was warm.  "Come."

Laylee sighed, but the anticipation of flight, even not of her own power, was too strong for her to fight.  Moving around behind him, she climbed carefully up on the strong back and wrapped her arms around his neck.  "Hold on."  Nathan said and then alighted powerfully into the air.  Laylee gasped at the rush of wind, but quickly felt her adrenaline rise to nearly unbearable levels as he flapped the massive wings and they set off across the wasteland.  Far below them, the blue and purple shadows seemed to melt into the contours of the rocks themselves and lengthen as the sun sank lower.  The rocks and crags blurred past in a shimmering haze until the great crooked length of the river broke its cracked plane.  The wind whipped through her long brown hair and stole her breath, but she thrilled at the exhilarating freedom that was now denied her.  She knew Nathan could have moved even faster, so fast that the scenery below would be lost in a blur, but he did not.  He took his time and allowed her the chance to enjoy these moments.

Gradually, as they followed the river, the land became more lush and green, the land more fertile and rising now in gentle planes.  It was not lush, still dotted with scrub brush and cacti, but more life flowed here than in the miles of trackless wastes behind.  Laylee's heart sank.  They were near.

Nathan slowed considerably and circled only once, then the two figures descended smoothly to a high plateau where much activity seemed to be going on.  He dropped lightly down at what seemed to be a command post and Laylee slid down reluctantly beside him.  "Commander."  He said and smartly saluted the angel manning the controls of some sort of mapping device.  Commander Kyle stood to face Nathan and returned the salute.  They began to talk of business, and Laylee wandered away having no interest in being lectured by her superiors even if Nathan had given no indication he was negatively reporting her.  

A young band of recruits stood talking not far away and looked over as she approached.  "Laylee!"  A young man greeted and rushed to her.  "What happened, you left so suddenly?"

"Just out exploring a little."  Laylee told him.

"But your charge,"  The young man countered worriedly.  "Is she alright?"

"Her charge is fine."  They looked up at the firm voice standing behind Laylee's shoulder.  Laylee was surprised to see that Nathan had followed her.  "Her charge was left in our care.  Laylee wasn't gone long."  His tone was kind, but it also indicated that they should not question Laylee further.  She smiled at Nathan gratefully.

Assignment One: The Trials Of The Accuser

Author's Note: I recently decided to give myself an assignment of sorts in order to keep myself writing and the creative juices flowing.  I am going to either come up with a new 'project' idea, or build on an idea that I'd already created at least once a week.  I know many writers do this to get themselves into practice and also for the discipline, and I feel its something I sorely need to do as well.  I want to do this for a living, and its been confirmed and encouraged by many I know.  I feel God pressing me to keep moving with this and hopefully that also means I will soon be published, or at least well on the way.  It really should be daily, but... right now, once a week will better fit my schedule.

I'm posting some of these to the Blog so that there is a record of the stories/ideas and then I can build on them later.  I just need a written record.

This first entry/'assignment' is from the idea of writing a novel/story from the perspective of one of the accusing girls involved in the Salem Witch Trials.  Its always been a fascinating subject for me and my favorite movie 'The Crucible' with Daniel Day-Lewis and Winona Ryder, among others.  When thinking of inspirational material to write about - 'hatching' I call it - this has been playing around in my mind.  So this will be a story from the perspective of Ann Putnam Jr. , age 12 or 13, who, ironically enough, is not even mentioned in the movie.  Historically, she was one of the most vocal of the accusers, yet also the one who publicly confessed and apologized to the church for accusing innocent people (particularly Rebecca Nurse) once the incident had died down.  I have done some research and plan to do more in the future.  Can you IMAGINE the guilt and emotion that these girls must've gone through once everything had quieted down and they realized the enormity of what they had done???

On a somewhat divergent topic, I have often found in my own writing that, as a writer and introvert both, I  introspect even as I delve into the lives and stories of other characters.  Sometimes, a piece even takes on an exploration of a certain emotion that I myself struggle to figure out in its entirety.  Although I had not seen it as such even as the ideas and words began forming and then flowing onto the page, this work will be one such a case.  It is an exploration in many ways of guilt....  In the sense of introspection and relating to my work, this one seems to run very deep...

*     *     *

Ann Putnam stared at the hard ground and its lace-work of frost that lay beneath the oak's branches.  She did not move.  In the distance, the elders were huddled in a small group speaking to each other in hushed voices.  She knew they spoke of her.  It did not matter what they said.  They could do nothing more to hurt her than had already been done.  They could not damage what already lay broken.  An icy numbness tore at her hands and cheeks and settled somewhere deep within her breast.  The harshest penitence was the one she gave herself, and no demon's dagger could pierce as deep or as sharp.

She felt eyes and turned her head slowly as though dreading what she would see.  Reverend Paris was looking at her with a gaze horribly full of fearful dismay.  She quickly averted her gaze.  Paris' eyes lingered on her for a long moment before moving back to his conversation.  Ann could feel his gaze every second it lingered and she waited tensely until  his attention had gone.

Then, movement somewhere in the field ahead of her caught her eye.  A blackbird taking flight?  Or a misplaced shadow...?  Her breath instantly became quick and shallow stuttering from her blue-tinged lips in frosty vapor.  Her pale skin seemed to lose any color that had remained and she stared from her blood-shot eyes to see if the movement would come again.  

A sudden sharp caw came, not from the field ahead, but from the tree-branch directly over-head.  She started violently and stared back into the beady eyes of the crow.  It looked down at her curiously and cocked its head in study.  A young girl it saw, thirteen at most.  Red veined blue eyes looked back with fear and with a tormented reckoning that one normally saw only in one far older than she, a veteran of war perhaps, a condemned prisoner who spent his last days in a stone-cold cell.  The impression sat ill on a child lending an unkindly light to the society that had born her.  Her brown hair was, as was proper, pulled back and hidden beneath a ridged bonnet, her budding figure hidden beneath a shapeless black dress.  Somewhere beneath the too-pale skin, the red nose and veined eyes, and the haunted look there was beauty, and one might assume she would be lovely given a few more years.  But the prettiness was largely lost now, hidden behind unconscionable care.  

The crow opened its beak and laughed riotously, merciless, devoid of pity.  Ann turned her eyes away from the bird and back to the jewel-frosted field.  She saw no more movement.  But it had been there she knew.  It was aware of her every movement and every passing, every gesture and thought. 

She could endure the cold no longer and so turned and ran for the house.   Many eyes watched her go, but none followed. 

*     *     *


Ann headed for the common room of her home to warm herself by the fire.  The gabled house was empty at this hour as most of the adults still lingered outside and the servants shivered around coal stoves in their quarters.  Night had not yet fallen, but it was bitterly cold and all were bracing for the icy wind that would buffet the town once the sunset had completed.

The large stone fireplace welcomed her, but as from a great, impersonal distance as she approached and lifted her hands towards the flames.  The warmth seeped into her cold skin, but it did not run deep enough to melt her icy insides.  Her face contorted and she could not suppress a sob.  How had it come so fast and moved so far?  It had been a year since the accusations and the trials began and she and her friends had stood by and cheered as nineteen souls hanged on the gallows for crimes they had not committed.  Countless more had been accused and languished in jail for weeks, five of whom died there.  And Giles Corey, pressed beneath the stones...  She closed her eyes as tears fell to her cheeks, but the images of each face as they were led to the scaffold would not disappear.

The shuffling of a soft footstep startled her and she whirled around.  The girls were come to her.  Ann felt as great a dread from the sight of them as she would from an army of imps. Once she had been one of them.  Now, she was as displaced even among them as Lucifer from glory had fallen.

 

Frustration

I thought I had posted this as an inclusion with one of my other poems recently, but I can't seem to find it... Oh well, if its a repeat, its a repeat.

You bang your fists against the sky

And cry to heaven

You try to dislodge the stars

But only bruise your hands against air

 The physical manifest, but no relief

To the pain that will not go away

Bleeding on the outside is so much easier

And sometimes those scars will fade...