Wednesday, December 17, 2008

A story.

The Things He Does
By: Amelia Rose

Why is it that still, after all this time, STILL he makes my heart race and pound and do ridiculous back flips inside me! Still, he puts crazy, relentless butterflies in my stomach, making it twist and turn and ache. Palms sweaty, nervous, amazing cold chills.

These were the thoughts that entered the young Millie May after receiving a message from him while preparing for bed.

How can, after all this time, he still do this to me?
Yes, I still love him. I never for a moment denied that. I never stopped loving him. But I thought...I thought...
I thought it was different. That the way I love him had changed...
And it a way.
I know we’re not the right people for each other. That we won’t get married or have children together. And I don’t really desire it...anymore.
In any case, I think I always knew deep inside myself we weren’t right for each other. I think back to some of the conversations we had, and I think he knew it too.
But even that never could keep me from loving him.
Loving him so much I ignored those feelings because I wanted so badly to believe that he—that we were so right together. We both wanted it to be true. We were naïve though. And in my naivety, and more than once, I myself messed things up badly enough that if there ever was a time when we were right for each other, it came and went like a shadow.
But it’s okay. Everything happens for a reason. What’s done is done, and I’d say time has worked itself out pretty well. Somehow, it cleaned up the mess we both did so much to make. It has a funny way of doing that.

Still, I just can’t get over how I love him!

How I’ve always loved him!
No one can compare with the love I feel for him. No one does what he does to me. It’s hard to imagine that anyone else will be able to make me feel the way he makes me feel. In fact, no one probably will, which makes me love him so much the more.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m no competition. No girl involved with him need have any jealousy with me, and I feel none for them. My own prince will come some day. The one that was meant for me. But even now as I know this, I can’t help the way I feel for him. I can’t help what he does to me.

Oh! How I will always love him!
I don’t even understand why or how I love him so much. I just know I do.
But even that’s not true. He gave me so much. Taught me so much. He inspired me and shaped so much of who I am, I can’t even put into words everything he did for me, does for me. The magnitude of it all is confounding. I just wish he would understand why I love him like I do. Why it was so hard for me to let go. And why even now I still love him with a zany, irrational love that while it can be tamed and harnessed, can never be mitigated.

I love him. Like a fool I love him.
And I always will. Even when he doesn’t love me, I will love him.
With all of my heart.
He’s the only person who ever could do what he does to me.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Amelia Rose

She watched his expression with tender attentiveness, noting his every gesture, blink, breath. He sat across from her describing his day without any particular interest in it. He caught her eye and smiled his deep, easy grin and suggested the pair take a walk under the setting sun. The garden was fresh with the blossoms of early spring and it would be a good caesura from the stuffy indoors. The lady consented.
Her shawl was brought and the gentlemen helped it on. He offered her his arm and their stroll commenced. The sun had already begun to sink beneath the horizon as the pair followed the winding garden paths around the maison. They talked about nothing, and yet everything was said in their laughs and smiles. The gentleman, she had known him for years and had always found great pleasure in her associations with him.
They walked together for a great while. It had not taken them long to fall into step with each other. She knew him quite well. She knew he was fond of her and she admired him greatly; indeed she loved him. She was quite content in her walk with this man whom she loved, and cherished every second of it.
The sun had almost disappeared behind the foothills in the distance. The lady started with a chill. The gentleman immediately apologized for his imprudence and offered her his jacket. The lady accepted with glad appreciation. It was suggested they return to the house, but the lady assured him she was fine and desired to continue on their path.
In response, the gentleman pulled her a little closer—in hopes of providing the lady some comfort in his warmth. Only the last glances of bright hues cast in the fading sunlight remained for the couple to gaze upon. Twilight came quickly thereafter bringing with it the gentleman’s determination to bring the lady home unscathed.
As they turned their course, the lady noticed the dense clouds that revealed no stars. She expressed her admiration for the blazing entities and her disappointment that they two would not be, on that night, granted the privilege of beholding those heavenly orbs. All was dark, but for the one small aperture in the dense cloud-covering. It did not reveal the moon itself, but let its light reflect and rebound escaping only slightly into the night.
At long last the lady and the gentleman stopped in front of the maison. The gentleman sadly declined her invitation to come inside and talk for awhile. There were things at his own home he needed to tend to this night, but he assured her he would be glad to return on the morrow and promised her a special outing which he had not fully contrived as of yet.
The gentleman held the lady’s right hand and kissed it sweetly. They stood for moments that stretched on for decades gazing into the other’s eyes. The lady read in his sparkling blue eyes something she could not quite discern—was it love? hope? desire?
Warm passion evoked in her a longing which she struggled to repress. It cried out with force and determination. A kiss that had been on her lips for months—nay for years threatened to lash out and expose her, leaving her vulnerable and susceptible to cruel heartbreak and vivid sorrow.
She violently fought her impulses to reach out and kiss him. She loved him—how she loved him! But it was not right. Their relationship did not dictate such conduct. Oh the impropriety! Oh what gossip might preach! But this did not concern her. All that concerned her at this very moment was his eyes penetrating into her soul, his nose pink with the cold of early spring, his brow that furrowed into a warm, affectionate gaze; his lips that curved into an easy grin of comfort and peace as they whispered softly, “Goodnight.”
He was so close to her and suddenly the night air did not seem so cold. He still held her hand where his kiss lingered on her fingertips. She did not want him to leave. She did not want him to go and break this moment.
“Goodnight,” she replied, in contradiction to all the screaming impulses that had awakened in her being.
The gentleman nodded with a light smile. He gave her a meaningful glance as he let go her hand and turned towards the carriage that had arrived for him. They parted in heavy silence. The lady did not move from her place as the carriage pulled away. She watched it until it disappeared into the darkness.
A small sigh escaped her lips. She turned towards the maison, but stopped. Her hand was still warm and tingling from his touch. She had not succumbed to her desires. She felt pride in the command she possessed over herself, and yet, the pride did not wholly satisfy her; her lips felt the heaviness of the unkissed kiss; her mind felt the reproach from her heart’s tingling desires.
Thoughts, emotions all spun in her mind as the lady made her way back to her chambre. It was not so late, nevertheless, the lady retired to her lit.
Distantly, as she reclined her head to her pillow, she heard the little parrot in the foyer screech, “Suivez votre coeur, ma fille! Prenez un risque!” She made a mental note to tell the maid to cover the cage earlier in the day.
Her eyes closed, but sleep eluded her. The lady’s thoughts lingered on the gentleman, their walk, their time together. They spun in circles and she could not dwell on a single one before another took its place. The only thing she could decipher was that her heart wanted something prudence highly objected to; and her sage mind provided an ever-vigil watch over her heart’s deepening desires.
Fatigue, stress, and discontent eventually led her to sleep. But it was a disturbed sleep, uncomfortable, restless and with sketchy dreams that held no happy ending; or at least none so soon as would satisfy her impatient heart.

Friday, December 5, 2008

Some day my prince will come...da da da dee da dum....

I have just fallen completely in love. With whom, or what you ask? None other than Snow White!
I've seen it before and such, but I just watched it again, and it is incredible! It's so cute and sweet and everything nice! (except for snow's singing voice, but i can overlook that for the good of the rest) =D
The writers were brilliant!
Speaking of writing...I've been kinda in the mood...and now I have a love to inspire me....hmm...what shall I roll out next? i guess we'll find out!

I wrote this awhile ago to send to my missionary...guess i never got around to posting it. =)

Secrets of the Stars
For Ty

Waves lick the shore of the misty night
The fresh scent of ocean breeze lingers
As I squish my toes into the soft moistened sand.
Above, the stars whisper softly
Singing a euphonious poem
They twinkle in the darktime,
Pierce through the blissful night.
I stroll along the sand,
Humming my favorite tune
The waves play tickle with my toes
I gaze out in the distance
To where the diamonds,
Sprinkled in the sky
Meet the dark, heavy waves
Rolling stoic in the stillness of the night.
Engulfed by the close proximity
Of the stars, the waves, the crescent-shaped moon,
I am overwhelmed by my senses.
The tides drift in and out
Teasing my bare feet as I bask in glorious solitude; and yet,
I am not alone.
My eyes linger for a long moment
On the many little fires in the sky;
Watching me, protecting me in this moment
From all the evils of the world.
These stars, they are the same that watch over you,
Where you are.
This ocean stretches out, to a place my eyes cannot see;
And yet, the stars tell me
In a still, quiet voice
That on the other side of this vast ocean
Someone is looking across to me...

Amelia Rose

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Remnants of the Sunrise

Click, turn, sputter
The car comes alive
To carry me on a journey
That will take me
To the ends of the earth
Where I will find
The remnants of the sunrise

Only light pastels remain
As relics of the vivid brilliance
That highlighted the heavens
And colored the earth in magnificent splendor;
The trees whispered among themselves
The birds waited, hushed
All the earth stopped
To wait and watch
In awe and wonder
As the cloud curtains parted
And the radiant sphere emerged
To bring light and life
To the earth
Now the sunrise is come and gone
And tempered hues that have appeared in its wake
Begin to fade into daylight
As I gaze upon
The last remnants of the sunrise

Although mine have now vanished,
These glorious remnants
Always linger
In some part of the world
And I will follow them forever,
In search of their light.
They will lead me
Across the world
And I will follow them;
The remnants of the sunrise

Hope, Peace;
Beauty and Wonder;
These are
The remnants of the sunrise

Amelia Rose
Morning has broken.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

My life; the future;

Blank Canvas
By: Amelia Rose

Like watercolors my thoughts swirl
I cannot follow a pattern or a single line
For all the paint that winds around the page
I am a painter
About to start a new work
I've been looking forward to this opportunity for years
It's my time to shine
A patron has called on me to create for him a splendid masterpiece
That has the potential to be recognized and celebrated by many
But now that my time has come,
I do not know what to paint.
I've had ideas for awhile, about what I'd want this painting to include
I made a couple preliminary sketches
But now, I cannot decide.
My patron has given me freedom
To choose for myself what to paint
No boundaries, no requirements, no limitations
Just whatever I want this work to be
With one exception: it is all subject to his approval.
But he trusts my judgement, better than even I trust it.
I asked those close to me what they thought I should paint
But every opinion was different; conflicting
Confusing, befuddling
And now I do not know what to do.
I have my blank canvas before me,
But I only get one.
I must make it worth my patron's time and money.
Thoughts, fears mingle in my mind.
What if things don't work out right?
What if I spill paint on my only canvas?
What if someone comes to the door,
Or the phone rings and startles me while I'm working
And I make an unintended mark in a place I didn't expect.
I'd have to work it into the picture, I suppose.
But again, what if my patron, my sponsor tells me to add something
I'd never thought of; anticipated
What if I don't know how to paint it in?
Or worse, what if he tells me to take away something
I'd always wanted to include in my masterpiece?
I'd have to do it. I'd want to do it,
For my sponsor knows more about what my audience wants and needs from me. But still, it would break my heart.
I'm just scared.
Scared and unsure.
But I must stop this.
Where do all my insecurities get me?
Absolutely nowhere.
I must have faith.
I am no longer an apprentice.
I must have faith that my teacher taught me how to handle my brush well enough.
I must have faith that my patron will watch over my work and will guide me to know if I err.
I must have faith in myself. That my judgement is good, my abilities strong.
I must have faith. I must have confidence.
I must put aside my fears.
I am the painter.
I will paint my canvas as I like it, incorporate new ideas and people into my painting as they come.
I must put aside my fears and just--begin.
My patron trusts in me, therefore I will follow his example and trust in myself.
I will make my painting happen,
One brushstroke at a time.

Weirdness comes and wierdness goes, but it always keeps you on your toes!

The Tree At the End of the Lane
by: Amelia Rose

At the end of the lane
There stands a tree
That marks the street
On which to turn
To those that might not otherwise see

Every year the seasons come
And take it through its life
Winter comes
Then spring and fall
That change it in its blithe

Spring comes first and hallows it
Gives life to that fair tree
Blooms its blossoms
Then bursts with green
With beautiful pastels that quite agree

Where spring brings life, autumn brings death
A vivid, vibrant one at that
The leaves change to their many fall hues
They rid themselves of greens and blues
Falling, the breeze keeps them adrift

But now as I look at the tree on my lane
The leaves have all long gone.
Tall and firm it stands alone
Far and wide its branches stretch
To fill the open space

I gaze at the empty, leafless tree.
Tall and looming, its shadows reflect
Eerie monsters and shapes.
But it still marks the place to turn to the house.
And gives me hope that the leaves will return
In bright color and splendor
Just as they always do

The tree, like we,
Goes through many changes in the course of a year
But still, no matter what decorates its upper branches,
Underneath, the stark, stout trunk remains untouched
As it was; as it still is;
One of God's many beautiful creations.

The tree is a marker; a reminder; a guide
Through rain and sun and ice and snow
Its roots keep it firmly planted on solid ground
And it still marks the place
Where my journey will turn
It fulfills the service it was destined to give
That not even a delicate flower could do in its place

No one can be you as well as you can. We all, each of us has an important gift to share with the world. No one but you can give your gift in just the way you do.
So don't give up.
The world needs you.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Une poème

Parmi les Cieux les étoiles Me Regardent
De: Amélie Rose

Elle est nuit
Et les étoiles me regarde
De où elles se trouvent
Parmi les cieux
Le ciel foncé avec nuit
Chante une chanson silencieuse
Et je l'écoute
Allongé sur mon dos
Avec le vent dans mes cheveux
Et la pelouse comme mon lit
Je regarde les étoiles
Et les étoiles me regardent
Nous nous parlons dans la nuit
Parmi paix et silence
Nous sommes amis
Douces et suivis


Keep me balenced
Don't let me slide
Don't let go
As much as it hurts,
Don't let go
For if you do
I will surely
Slide away
You can do it
I believe -- No!

What is the most important thing in life?

Different people might answer this in different ways. For instance, one might say, the most important thing in his life would be to get a good job. Another might say family is his key priority. A devoted person might attribute importance to God and religion. An educated man might say learning and science is the most important thing in life. A musician would say his music, an actor his art. But who is right?

Life goes by us quickly--more quickly than we know. All of the above answers are indeed very important for success. For happiness. But which is the most important?
And I am going to risk sounding like a sacreligious hypocrite when I say that my answer is none of these. For we all have different beliefs. Different values, different moral standards, different passions, different things that define who we are and who we will become.

This taken into account, when asked, 'What is the most important thing in life?' my answer is... leaves.

"Leaves?!" you ask. And I reply cooly, "Yes. Leaves."

Leaves thrive on trees. They appear first in spring. They absorb light from the sun, make sugars that nourish the trees. They remain all summer, and then finally in autumn they change into lush burgundies, oranges, maroons, browns, yellows, reds and even purples. They then let go of the tree from which they started. They let go in a fierce plunge to the ground in some cases, in others a gentle drift into the neighbor's yard. They are then raked up and put into bags to be disposed of for the winter. Some of the rare lucky ones get raked into big piles and jumped in and played in. They disappear for the winter...but they always come back.

What does this have to do with life? Absolutely nothing. And everything at the very same time.

As humans, we obviously are not leaves. But we have two choices. We can either watch the leaves in all their beautiful stages, or we can ignore them. We can let life pass us by as we rush and worry and complain while the leaves just sit there, waiting, hoping even that we'll notice their new, vibrant colors. But we keep going, never stopping to even glance at them as they change colors and forms, and especially not bothering to rake them into piles to jump in.

In Mico's on Thursday we took a quiz that told what type of person we are. One of the questions asked, "Do you live for today, or do you live for tomorrow?" There was limited time, so i thought hastily and checked the box marked "tomorrow."
For me lately life has been all about preparing for tomorrow--from studying for tomorrow's test, to filling out college paperwork, to planning tomorrow's activity, to making sure i can get good grades so i won't regret it tomorrow, to preparing myself to be married in the temple, to preparing to be a good mom, etc.....but what happens when tomorrow comes? In college I'll be working for a better tomorrow after college. When i'm married I'll still yet be working for tomorrow's celesital life. As a mom I'll be working so my children will have good tomorrows. And that's all well and good--but what about today?

What about the leaf that at this moment is falling, unnoticed from the big tree in my front yard. What about the wind that carries it over to the yard three houses away? What about the rain that tickles my face in soft, warm showers. What about the feelings that twist my heart in a million different ways? What about the stars that twinkle in the night, serene and peaceful here; burning, vibrant, firey millions of lightyears away? What about the light from the equally vibrant sun that streams into my window every morning and lights my face with warmth? What about love and friends, and those that care for me right now? What about my Heavenly Father who right now--today, in this very moment is giving me such a sweet sense of peace and love?

Life is too short to take for granted. To be so selfishly absorbed in tomorrow that you forget about the beauty of today--the beauty of what you have right now in this moment--is inexcusable. The leaves won't be here forever. Appreciate them. Love them while they're here. Play in them while you can. Watch them in wonder while they change.

And I'm not saying we should just throw away our future for it. We should prepare for tomorrow. It wouldn't do to just stop in the middle of what we're doing just to jump in a pile of leaves...(or would it? perhaps in some cases it would..) Anyway, what I'm saying is that we should find a common balance. A happy medium. Instead of "living for tomorrow" perhaps we should...

Prepare for tomorrow; Live for today.

And always remember to stop and watch the leaves...

Saturday, April 5, 2008

twinkle twinkle little star...

Spying Eye
By Amelia Rose

I have a stalker
That follows me in the night
Watching, always watching me
For any sign of fight

Sometimes I like my stalker near
To protect me from harm
But more than not he is too close
And I shun away the charm

A sneaky little stalker
A reliable source and spy
He always has me pinned right down
Beneath his one bright eye

He’s a pretty little stalker
I’ve seen his face a few
Which by some fascinating miracle
Disappears with morning’s dew

Nervous though he makes me
I know he’s been well sought
He blinds and binds and then he twines
My stomach in a knot

Haunts my present, past and future
Won’t let time reset
Holds on to something tight within
Won’t let me forget

My stalker keeps me always close
Right beneath his sight
And reminds me, always in the dark
Of repressed, forgotten light;

I know not how long he’ll last there
In his blissful grace, sublime
Perhaps until it comes at last;
A peaceful, happy time

From car to street to church to school
My stalker gets his fill
Despite my weakened protests,
Against my throbbing will,

The darkness growls a bitter bark
The wind, it gives me chills
And yet my stalker still stands alone
On that special, sacred hill


Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Oh Dresden!

Some background before you read:
Dresden is a city in Germany that the Allies destroyed several times over in World War II with their firebombings. Last year in World History, Mr. Burchette showed us pictures of the city he took on one of his trips there. It is still a very beautiful city, but some of it still lies in ruins. Parts could never be rebuilt because the architecture was so old and ancient, people just didn’t know how to do it anymore.

This poem is based on that tragic story of the fallen city, however only people who know me well enough know the true inspiration and story behind this sad and accurate poem.
I hope you enjoy it. Leave comments if desired.

Ode to Dresden
By: Amelia Rose

Scattered ruins lie desolate
Beneath the whitewashed sky
Bits of rubble here,
A fallen tree there
A barren wasteland
Of burning houses
Fallen roofs
Open doors left hanging
By a hinge

O Dresden! Dresden!
How beautiful you were!
How glorious to walk beneath
Your ancient paths
To marvel in
The glory of the archaic
Art and architectures
Astounding beneath glorious blue skies
Dotted with green or red or snow-covered trees
That filled the landscape with your brilliant view
Dresden! O mighty city—now left
In ruins!
Why hast thou fallen?
And forsaken those who loved you dearly?

To rebuild such a remarkable city
To make it as it once was
Can never be done.
The ways and works that created you
No longer exist
The historic technology, ancient ways
Are gone
And this great antique
Preserved through the ages
In a snow globe of time
By the sleekest coat of varnish
Is destroyed

How then are we, your inhabitants, to survive?
Our homes, our families
Are broken
Lost forever to your fallen walls
What can we do?
There is no way to rebuild you,
Ancient wonder of wonders
City of cities
How are we to move on?
For each time we try to build back up our homes
Another fighter plane
Comes to break you again!
To wreck our beautiful city
That once was so strong!

Our beautiful Dresden
Shall never be again
Not as it was;
Nor shall it be
Until this war can end
And the fighting
And terror
And wickedness

We shall build
We shall keep building up our Dresden
As many times as it falls
We shall build it up
Not into the mural it once was
But into a mighty fortress
That no one may penetrate
No one may enter
And no one may leave
Without a fight.

O beautiful Dresden
Wherefore art thou gone!
Where didst thou go?
When did we watch thee fall
To join the ruins
And the ashes
In this cold, wicked war
O Dresden!
O Dresden.
Fallen; Forsaken
Thou art lost
But we will find you
And we will love thee
O glorious Dresden!

Sunday, March 16, 2008

"Get out of my car!"

Now, lets be clear. I do not enjoy driving. To me driving is just something I have to do to get from one activity to another. I hate all those judgements and decisions and risks you have to take when you drive. It puts a lot of stress and pressure on one, even if one doesn’t consciously notice it. There’s so much that goes into driving, and If I werent’ half so dedicated to my activities and responsibilities, or if I lived closer, I would never do it.
But there are moments where I do appreciate this dangerous, yet useful privelage. For when I am in the driver’s seat, I am in charge. I am no longer subject to the will and follies of another--to be a slave to his oh so imagninative mind, simply because I am in the passenger seat and he controls what happens with the car. No. No! Instead it is I! It is I who stops the car! It is I who dismounts from the car or decides the destination or the location where I shall park or how long I shall spend sitting parked! It is I who has the advantage and can expel a person from my car at my own leisure, and not another’s! When I drive I may say, "Get out of my car!" and enforce that, because I can just drive away!
Now, I am generally an indecisive and submissive person. I will ask a passenger’s opinion of things and take his thoughts into consideration to what happens. In the passenger seat I am indecisive, submissive, and flexable, and mostly grateful that someone is willing to take their time to grant me the service of a ride.
Oh, but how good it feels, how empowering a sensation it is, in any given situation, with any passenger by my side, just to know that I--me!-- I have the ability and the right to say, "Get out of my car!" And he (or she) must aquiesce to my request.
Because I am the driver. It is I who holds the key and grants the service rendered. It is I. It is me; in charge.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Oh well.

They say, when life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
What if life won't even give you lemons? What if you're given prunes, and still told to make the lemonade?

It's impossible. And you're stuck.
And then they take away the freakin prunes because you didn't do it quickly enough.

Ah, lame first post, I know. I don't have much more in me today.
It's all gone.
And every time I build it back up, get my hopes back up, they're ruined.
Destroyed. Just like my heart.