Tuesday, December 22, 2009

A chiasm.

There once was a girl with a rock in her shoe, and try as she might, she just couldn’t get it out. When she tipped her shoe over to let it escape, it hid from her. It became lost and she’d think she’d gotten it out, but really it was still there. And she noticed it every time she put her shoe back on.
One day she was walking from class to class, and the sharp rock stabbed her heel. She gasped in pain and stopped to make sure it was alright. Contrarily to this she took off her shoe and saw that it had started to bleed. She tried her best to cover it up, but the blood had already begun to congeal. Yuck.
At long last she finally got the blasted rock out, but it had already had its effect. Even though it was gone, it was still there in her mind. And she felt it. Still. That darned rock in her shoe.
As she was trudging through the snow one day, she broke the honor code and threw a snowball at her friend. It was really an ice ball though and it stabbed him and he started to bleed. She gasped, and a pain in her conscience made her cry out. She tried to make it up to him, but there was nothing she could do.
There was once a girl with a rock in her shoe, and try as she might, she just couldn’t get it out.

[and no robert, as much as you might be inclined to think it, this is not for/about you.]

Sunday, December 20, 2009

time travel

Soaring through clouds through a mist of pure white
brings me back to the place where I started;
my home, my friends, the place of temptation;
the place where I'm most brokenhearted.

Soaring through clouds through the light of sun,
watching the dancing rays shine;
my flight should have brought me two hours ahead,
but instead, I've gone back in time.

Standing on ground for the first time in months,
in two minutes I realize I'm back;
all of the hard things I'd left behind,
swirl before me in a chaos of black.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Sept. 18, 2009

On the rails
Heading toward the edge
Trying to
Before I fall off
Before we fall off
And plummet to the bottom
Of an endless abyss
Of sorrow; darkness
Spiraling out of control

It's a bad feeling.
Keep me safe.
Keep you safe.
Keep us...
Stay away from the edge,
Shall we?

Day 17, 2009

Making a House
by: Amelia Rose
For Hon. 150

A House; a home.
I am
In it will be windows;
To study by.
In it will be a dishwasher
So I won't have to toil over dishes
For hours.
A soft bed, with fluffy pillows
And my Tuppy to cuddle with
In it will be
A closet; for my prayers.
From it you will see
Gardens, horses;
Children playing on the lawn
Around it you will feel love
And at the very front of it
Will be a doorknob
Waiting for someone
To enter.

Sept. 16, 2009

For Ty
[i think]

Watching, waiting wondering
Trying to sort my life
While you...
are off in the Netherlands of all places.
Don't give up
Eight months is a long time.
Just because your more than halfway
Doesn't mean you're done
You can do it
Feel the spirit
And of course,
Have some fun (:
Sept. 15


Monday, September 14, 2009

Sept. 14, 2009

Alights on my hair
As I dance alongside droplets
That glide down from the sky
Streams on the other side of the clouds
As I play in the puddles
And rejoice in the glory of precipitation
That is so rare here.
Finally roars in the distance
The rain hastens its pace
And bullets toward unsuspecting pedestrians
Racing each other
Until they become tired
And disappear just as quickly as they came

Ice cream
[new] Friends

...we made some yesterday and it was delicious!

Sunday, September 13, 2009


Insecurities, weaknesses, failings
Eat at me like
Lava scorching a beautiful jungle.
In the moment
Where self-esteem is at its lowest
Another arrow
Hits me in the gut.

Insecurities, weaknesses, failings;
We all have them.
We must not dwell on them
We must see the goodness that is there
We must not compare our weakness
To another’s strength
Comparison is truly the thief of joy.

It is good to just cry ourselves to sleep
Every once in awhile…

Sept. 11

whats in a poem?
whats in a name?
whats in a house?
whats in my shoes?
wet socks
whats in my mind?
whats in a fridge?

...later suckers!!

ng the date i should probably write something epic in memorium of 9-11 but i'm too dag-gum hungry right now..gnight. lol [&tired]

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Sept. 10





Sept. 10, 2009

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

9-9-9 [365dPP]

Since You Won’t…I Will.
By: Amelia Rose

Missing you
Is hard to do
I wish you’d know the feeling
Sleepless nights
And spider bites
Keep my mind a’reeling

Memories come quickly now
Desires fight for me to bow
To them and give in once a more
But I hope I can show them the door

Loving me
Is always free
My love is there for taking
But since you don’t
(or since you won’t)
Time is just forsaking


Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Sept. 8, 2009

The Fall of the House of...Best Friends.
By: Amelia Heer
Watching them
Ruin themselves,
Nothing I can do.
Nothing you can do.
...and pray.
They can't stop our prayers.

Sept. 7th, 2009


All arise in my mind
What are you to me?
Why are you here?
How can we learn
From each other?

All circle 'round my head
What about them?
What about you?
How can I know
Their meanings?

But I must laugh.
And stop;
And sleep.
While my mind races
And slams down a resounding "no"
And my heart flutters
With a countering, "why not?"
Repeating the pattern over and over
I realize
That to the matter I am wrestling with so much
You don't give
A second thought.

So, goodnight.
And sweet dreams.
I'll see you when I see you.

Amelia Rose

Monday, September 7, 2009

Sept. 6 [365dPP]

An experiment with contemporary Haiku.

by amelia rose

Soft as new-spun wool
I travel across the lands
And spit, 'cause I can.

**inspired by a VERY soft and wonderful wall decor at Sarah's (my roommate's) G-ma's house.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Sept. 5 [365dPP]

The Moments That Are Ours
By: Amelia Rose

Can you feel it?
The hush before the storm
The storm of new adventure
Knocking on our door?

It’s like I’m
Riding on a moonbeam,
Racin’ to the sea
Watchin’ stoplights flicker,
Just you and me


Is it that I love
The gleam in your eye
As if from above
It makes me feel so right
Like the glory of an angel
The glimmer of the stars
The blazing rays of sunlight;
The moments that are ours
Is life like the movies?
Do dreams really come true?
Can the light of heaven
Connect me to you?

Do you think…it’s true?

[music break]


Is it that I feel
That the time is now
For us to make it real?
Like the glory of an angel
The glimmer of the stars
The blazing rays of sunlight;
The moments that are ours
Is life like the movies?
Do dreams really come true?
Can the light of heaven
Connect me to you?

Ohh, is it real?
Is is right?
Do you feel it tonight?

And are you
Riding on a moonbeam,
Racin’ to the sea
Watchin’ stoplights flicker,
Staying close with me?

Do you
Hope to live forever?
Can you learn to be my friend
Dance with me in silence
Love me till the end?


Is it that I love
The gleam in your eye
As if from above
It makes me feel so right
Like the glory of an angel
The glimmer of the stars
The blazing rays of sunlight;
The moments that are ours
Is life like the movies?
Do dreams really come true?
Can the light of heaven
Connect me to you?

Oh the glory of an angel
The glimmer of the stars
Can’t replace the wonder
Of the moments that are ours
The moments that are…ours.

Oh I love…
You know I love…

Friday, September 4, 2009

The Horn-e Hall. (lol)

Horn on the wall
Of the Heritage Hall
Not a turtle in a ball
But a skull of a bull who lost a fierce brawl.
Rather small;
Makes me feel tall.
No longer shall I stall,
Nor live in gall.
Let's just go to the mall.
And let that be all
For this semester fall. (:

Sept. 3 [365-DPP]

The Age of My Soul
By: Amelia Rose

Sometimes, I feel it.
In brief, fleeting glimpses
I feel it;
The age of my soul;
The weight of eternity.
It's not remembering, persay.
Just a feeling, a sensation

When my mom tells me stories
Of how I was as a child;
Fearless, bold, innocent, pure;
I feel it.

In the transience of an instant
A sense of connection with the premortal
Grazes my spirit;
A witness of the truth and glory of Eternity.

I may have only 18 years on this planet
But my soul is much older
My soul is, and was, and will be
365-Day Poetry Project!

So I have decided that I am going to write a poem or "take a photograph" of myself every day for a year. I will post them on here and on my blog at arose1223.blogspot.com (since BYU's blocked myspace don't bother checking there :/ ).
Actually I got the idea from the beautiful Miss Elyse Dolan. Indeed I shall not fail to give credit where credit is due. However, I am adapting her idea to fit my love of poetry rather than photography. (But it's essentially the same thing, if you ask me.)

Well here's the first one and I will list it as Wednesday, Sept. 2, 2009.



A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman

I am. I am the violet ribbon of a rainbow streaking across the sky. I am a wild rose, fully blossomed with the firstfruits of spring. I am a radiant butterfly fluttering about a beautiful garden. I am a sunrise to a glorious day. One day I will be the sunset. Each day I am a new poem. I am my favorite book; every leaf holds something beautiful and treasured. I am a worn-out, dirty, falling-apart Raggedy Anne doll, there whenever a friend is needed. I am a link of a chain. I am a brick in a wall; you can put sticky tack on me and I will hold things up (until the sticky tack gives at least). I am the trick candle on the birthday cake; no matter how many times I’m blown out, eventually I flicker back to life. I am the CTR ring on your finger whispering, reminding to choose the right. I am a blanket, cuddle with me and I’ll keep you warm. I am deodorant. Without me your life would stink. I am Goldfish; “the wholesome snack that smiles back until you bite my head off!” I am your favorite pair of shoes; a little old, a little worn, a little scuffed, but still your favorite. I am a photo collage of everyone I’ve ever known. I am a movie. I am a clock ticking away. I am a sail on a ship, fluttering in the breeze. I am a music note resounding in the chamber of a great concert hall. I am the water that flows through a cactus. I am…a Tree! My leaves feast upon the light and glory of my Savior. I am a match hoping to kindle a brilliant, blazing fire somewhere in the forest of mankind. I am a star shining in the night. I am infinity. I am eternity. I am.

Are you?

Saturday, August 22, 2009

shh! it's a secret =] (at least till monday)
Current mood: fascinated

The Way You Love Me
By: Amelia Rose Heer

For Sherise and David Penry

We, you and I, are so dissimilar
So many different ways of thinking
On every variety of subject
And yet somehow, someway
We have been brought
To share a lifetime, an eternity
Of love and joy
We are so dissimilar, and yet
We see so many things
The same;

The same,
The way your eyes look into mine
Probing, searching
Searching for my love, my tenderness reflecting back to you.
The way your warmth touches me
In each and every
The way our laughter rings through the house that is ours
The way you hold me during the raging tempests outside
The way you kiss me after each and every prayer together
The way your hands bless me in times of illness, distress
The way you wipe away my tears, making sure I’m never lonely
The way you tease me, and then tell me I’m your Only

In the ways that you love me
We are the same
And I am so glad
That the moments we treasure
Will last not only for this lifetime
But now and forever.

Current mood: weird

wanting to write...
not knowing what to say.
Idk. I'm just very tired.
I want to write about happiness; joy.
But I'm too tired right now.
Perhaps I'll come back to it another day
When my spirits may employ
Maybe then I'll know how
To express what I'm feeling
In the right, proper way

For now,
maybe I'll just fall asleep watching a movie.
Will you watch it with me?

Friday, August 14, 2009

Failure to sleep....[again]

Just make it go away.
Let me drift, let me dream.
Let me sink into unconsciousness
And get some...respite.

Inevitable it seems
As hard as I try
To resist, to be strong
I always...fail.

Overwhelms me
Irritating, Persistent
I cant...escape.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Yet another sleepless night...
Current mood: Awake

Enduring the Infinite
By: Amelia Rose
[for me, myself & shaw]

Spinning under me
Like clouds swirling in a storm.
Colliding, heaping, amalgamating
One event on top of another
Each day dragging on
And yet gone in an instant
Swallowed up in the week
That holds each precious moment
Within the limitless bounds of eternity

Too much? Too little?
How can one tell?
One moment filled with light and faith
The next clogged by a dark torpor; of
Matter; confusion. Desires.
Spanning out forever
With me, just a tiny speck
On a plane of the universe
In which I live.
Me, weak little thing that I am
Wanting to be strong
Hoping to shine bright
And yet...it's all so much more complicated
Than we ever could have known

Compassing the ages
Reaching past the mind
Embracing the soul, forever.
Love; everlasting, unconditional
Crossing matter, time and space
Transcending theory, reason and thought
Delighting those who receive and give
Confounding those who seek to understand
Love comes
In so many different forms, expressions
And yet is as infinite as time
As endless as space
As constant as the sun;
Always there, even if the afternoon's a little hazy
Always there, even if the world's turned its back on it
Always there, ready to rise when the cock calls for it

Then there's...

Careening down a raging river
Holding on, just barely
As time, space, love
Thought, feeling, duty
Trust, faith, hope
Swell in and out like the tides
Onto the shores of my sentience
So many emotions, all swirling in a haze
Incomprehensible, opaque, yet still,
Racing by, lightning fast--Racing
Like my heart.

[a single secret]

Monday, August 3, 2009

Amelia Rose

It had been over a year since the lady’s disappointment with the gentleman; she had not seen him since that dreadful evening. Less than a month after his confession to the lady, it had come out to the public that he was not heir to the estate he was tending; that his patron had died and the true heir was come to take his rightful property. While upon this news, the family was quite relieved that their daughter hadn’t followed through with the match, it did not affect her view of the situation. She was quite as upset as before; perhaps even more so. It was not his lack of fortune that bothered her, however.
The news had given the lady twice a reason to question the gentleman’s character, namely his integrity. In all their conversations he had never mentioned that he was not heir to the meager estate, nor that he was betrothed and she now wondered as to the veracity of the latter. He well may have been trying to cover up his lack of fortune, which irritated the lady greatly. She had believed him to be of a higher mind than to be so conscious of wealth and l’argent. Furthermore, to believe that she was of such a mind revealed how little he had known her character.
Days, weeks passed and it was known that the gentleman had fled the area presumably for shame. The loving sisters tried their best to console their dear sister, but she would have none of it. In time the remonstrance felt by the lady toward the gentleman melted into a dull ache in the back of her heart. She missed his smile, his easy, genteel manner. She missed their walks in Le Parc, his thoughtful surprises, those twilit moments alone when the stars twinkled brightest…
And yet, no news was to be had of his return. Each morn she woke, spirit alit with hope; just a sighting, his name, even word of a relative would satisfy her! Yet each day drudged on with nothing of the sort; each night she struggled for sleep, tossing and turning relentlessly upon her lit.
The parrot hardly ever squawked anymore.
Time wore on and eventually it was required of the lady to accept that the gentleman was no longer a central part of her life. That the only place she might acknowledge nostalgia for him was in the subconscious of her stolen heart. Several months had now passed and the lady withdrew into les dessins.
She would draw and paint for hours on end; sometimes gentle scenes of lilacs and lilies, sometimes shocking portraits of terror and havoc. The quality of her artwork enhanced at an exceedingly astonishing and marvelous rate. Almost overnight she rose from not-quite-obscurity (her father was after all a highly respected statesman) to high personal acclaim from nobles, neighbors and friends.
Her art traveled far and wide across the countryside earning her a reputation of distinction and renown. This report was made known to the Baroness LaReine. A woman of finesse and accomplishment herself, the world knew the baroness as a very fond patron of les arts. Her expertise centered in la musique, nevertheless she determined to meet this young lady of whom she had heard so much praise and adoration.
An invitation was sent and the baroness, having no reason to dwell on the matter, proceeded to other issues. Imagine the shock of a lady of such high importance and esteem when several days later, a messenger returned with a letter from the lady most graciously declining the engagement. In a fury of shock and outrage the baroness determined never to waste another idle thought on the insolent woman.
Nevertheless she could not go a day without hearing of this new drawing for Sir John, or that recent painting of Mrs. Smith. Ultimately the curiosity of the baroness won out, and as soon as such a woman might conquer her pride, the baroness personally called on the maison.
Much to the surprise of the baroness, the lady received the visit with quiet kindness and soft humility. Well had Madame LaReine expected arrogance and a proud sort of air from an one so highly distinguished. Contrary to these expectations, the lady showed every grace of nature a dignified woman must possess. In time the lady excused herself and resumed her work. More than once, the baroness felt the need to reassure herself in subtle whispers to the family of the veracity of the lady’s identity.
In response to her wonderment, the baroness was ushered into a studio room cluttered with sketches and half-finished pieces of marvelous talent. The sisters of the lady, not so oblivious as she to the magnanimity of their visitor, left the baroness alone to muse and admire. Aside from the paintings only a drawing table and the chair occupied the room. With the exception of one cabinet. After taking quite a time to view the lady’s collection, the baroness noticed this cabinet which appeared to be locked. Upon inspection, however, from a proud and nosy noble, the lock was proved to be broken and the inside of the cabinet revealed nothing extraordinary.
A single piece of neatly folded parchment lay at the bottom. Curiosity battled with propriety for a short time before the baroness gave in and eagerly grasped the parchment. Listening hard for sounds of warning, the woman carefully unfolded the parchment, revealing a most unexpected, yet stunning array of color and detail. The drawing depicted a representation of a statue the baroness recognized as having seen while entering the front gates of the manor. On the statue, a man rode horseback with no bridle, nor stirrups to guide his way. In the drawing, the man’s hair blew as freely as the horse’s mane underneath a sparkling azure sky. It seemed to the baroness as if she could feel the wind as it whipped bright autumn leaves across a wild, unbeaten prairie toward which man and animal fearlessly ventured.
The baroness gazed for several minutes at the dazzling piece of artwork and wondered how such unrestrained beauty could be hidden away in a cabinet rather than on display in an elegant manor.
She did not have time to wonder long, however before she heard footsteps in the corridor. The baroness hastily folded the drawing and placed it back into the cabinet, making her way to the opposite corner of the room.
The sisters entered and, after receiving the highest praise and admiration for their sister’s work, led their distinguished guest down the hall. The baroness returned to her mansion that night with decided interest in the disconcertingly modest lady and her divinely bewitching art.

Friday, July 31, 2009

Singing to You
By: Amelia Rose
[For Matt 6:34]

Singing to you
From a distant shore
a different time
another land
Listen to my song
feel as it is carried away by the breeze
and is brought, directly
to your heart.

You feel it, don’t you?

Listen well, you’ll hear it
Rustling in the leaves
Rippling in the river
Humming from the crickets in their mighty symphonies
Listen, feel and look
As my song
twinkles in the light
of the stars that shine on both of us;
A melody just for you
Connecting us; reminding
That we are not so far apart, you and I

Listen to my song
I sing it just for you
Listen well, you’ll hear it
It echoes of my spirit
Listen well, you’ll find it
In the rainbow’s colors
In the firefly’s eyes
In the rose’s petals
And then, even closer… ♥

…you feel it, don’t you.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Following a star gets you only so far...

...but eventually you turn around and leave it.
[for z]
I'll miss you.
Whenever I see eyes that twinkle for a kiss
Every one that comes and goes
Now remebmer this,
I'll miss you.
As the sun warms my cheeks on a bright autumn day;
'Midst storm clouds that clash
Or bright stars that flash
Right through my window in the night,
I'll miss you.
Zillions of years may pass me by; even all eternity
As if fireflies that sparkle on and off in the night
If you ever need me, I'll be there in a blink
During times of sorrow, times of joy, times of light
during times of pain,
I'll love you.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Happy endings are overrated.

PMS + anxiety + sadness + cramping + confusion =

Amelia Rose

“I wish I could marry you,” intimated the gentleman sadly one night.
“Whyever can you not?” asked the lady. Anticipating a forthcoming joke, she gave a playful smile.
The gentleman hesitated. His eyes betrayed a discomfort that the lady could not discern. She wondered at his indecision. If it were only a joke, why should he shrink so…? And if it were not, the pair had been openly affectionate (within the bounds of propriety) for several weeks now. He should know that he could be open with her…if there was something on his mind.
He said he could not marry her. To herself she laughed! If he was worried for her comfort, this fear must be abolished. She was not the sort to hold material possessions in high priority. She knew his means and knew what sacrifices would be made on her part, and was a most willing party. If he was worried for the good favor of her family, this also would prove a ridiculous concern. They absolutely adored him. And his family could not be a concern. His parents had died early in his childhood and he had been raised by aunt and patroness who was settled over fifty miles away. The lady could not think of a single thing else that might prevent their happy union.
The lady looked to his eyes more closely. They were wanting in the ease and playfulness she so desperately desired to see in them. They searched for the right words to say; whether to carry it off as a joke, or to let the full truth come forth. Already he saw the question in her. If he did not let her come to terms now, he would only prolong the inevitable.
Finally the lady saw decision come into focus in the gentleman’s eyes. He knew what he would say. The lady held her breath in brutal suspense.
“I’ve been betrothed to another since birth.”
For a moment all was silent.
In stark astonishment the lady gazed at the veracity, the pure truth, etched in his eyes. This was not a joke; he was quite serious. But how could he be? How could he become so intimate an acquaintance, give her such hopes, if he knew he was…she could not even think it. But she must. If it were true… This gentleman who she had known so long, had loved so dearly—betrothed. Betrothed! To another…most likely more beautiful than she, more wealthy, more worthy of his devotions…
Overcome with emotion, the lady felt her heart splinter into a thousand pieces. She could not breathe. She felt herself suddenly spiraling into a deep, dark pit of anguish, with nothing to open her to the light.
Without knowing how to comprehend, the lady burst forth from the twilit terrace in mad anguish. Tears flooded down her face and she would not be seen for quite some time.
The gentleman watched her rush away from the terrace, the pain the lady openly experienced, stabbing equally in his own heart. He turned away, staring off into the night, begging the stars to present him with some other alternative; anything but this. But for once, the stars were silent.
The gentleman could not pull his mind away from the look—the piercing glare filled with the hurt of betrayal—that had crossed her face the moment before she turned away. He recalled the tears that followed soon after, streaking down her beautiful face, marring her tender smile. Those tears, they could have been his own. He loved her. To him she was the most beautiful, tender hearted, worthiest creature in the world…to see her pain; to know he, himself, the cause of it! This was more than he could bear.
The gentleman felt himself waver. The air stung him with cold as he crumpled in a heap on the terrace. His own sobs echoed meaninglessly through the bleak, indifferent night.

facebook poetry.

Hop in the car, steal me away, just for the moment, live for today. Ride on the railway, where the sun shines free, just take a chance, come and risk yourself for me. Standin' at the corner, hoping for your face, runnin' round the bases, headin' for disgrace; Walk with me, talk with me, steal me away. Hold me tight, or i will slip, it's a guaruntee they say...

Sunday, June 28, 2009


Amelia Rose

[For Zach]

The lady sighed pleasantly as she gazed fondly out the windows, through which the sun sparkled gaily. Coloured hues of autumn were beginning to overtake the trees that lined the walk leading up to the maison. Tidings, pleasant news in the form of a letter, had just come by messenger to inform the mademoiselle that the absence of a certain gentleman would soon come to an end. He was to arrive within the week, after a leave of business that had lasted several months longer than initially anticipated. This absence had occasioned in the lady an acute awareness of how much the lady had truly depended on the gentleman for all wants of society and company. Very rarely did the lady leave her situation at the maison or vary outside of the close social circle of Le Parc in which she lived. Thus said, the loss of this man was keenly felt, and this news of his return excited every brilliancy of feeling and delight one could expect of a heart so young and tender.

It was no wonder to any close observer that the lady should be so eager for the gentleman’s return; in fact it would have been much more odd had the lady been indifferent to the news. The man was of no little consequence, and on a general standing well respected and agreeable to all his associates. For the family of the lady, such had been transpiring before the departure of the gentleman several months preceding, which taught them to hope that an offer would soon be made, and their fair daughter soon settled comfortably as mistress of an estate not several miles off.

As for the lady herself, her disposition for propriety of manner only, concealed the excess of her joy in the prospect of his return. She wondered at, but dared not fancy or imagine (for fear of disappointment), the manner in which the gentleman would receive her attentions. He had been gone several long months, in which anything and everything could have changed. But she did not linger upon such ideas for she was an optimistic spirit to which little, especially of such an ambiguous and unfounded nature, could rustle into agitation. Thus she left the future to itself and mused upon pleasing memories and fond recollections of time spent with the gentleman during the days that preceded his arrival.

Tedious and long were those days which passed without sight of the gentleman. Quite often the lady found herself seeking refuge alone among the great oaks and sanguine beech trees of the estate, escaping the tiresome trouble of waiting. She was not musical to find peace in such endeavors, nor was she much for embroidery.

But she could draw.

Her sketches were admired by every one who glimpsed them, but she was modest enough to defer their compliments to the credit of the governess who had taught her as a girl. Nevertheless talent, such as hers, can never be learned, and in spite of all her protestations, all her family and acquaintance praised her natural gift.

Currently she worked on a sketch of a statue, bejeweled in leaves and glinting in the sunlight. It was the favorite of the home-coming gentleman and for him she hoped to do the intricate marble justice by her pencil. The statue was of a man on a horse with no bridle, nor stirrups. Together the two seemed to ride freely, unrestrained, and with no want of delicacy or propriety. The love and joy expressed in their countenances excited in her own being a desire for a same sort of unrestrained freedom of expression. She well knew why this particular piece was highly favored by the intended recipient of her art.

The sun dictated the time to head in for dinner and so the lady quickly made the finishing touches upon her project and gathered her things. Embarking on the path that led to the maison, the lady was lost in her own musings when the sound of near voices startled her into awareness.

She turned the corner of the shrubbery to behold a carriage parked in front of the maison. She stopped long enough to watch as the coachman disappeared around the corner of the house calling for a servant to tend to the horses, leaving only the gentleman standing in front of his coach. She witnessed this all in silent expostulation. Familiar desires which had slept dormant for some time awakened in her being. She felt her breath catch and her heart begin to beat furiously as she scanned his profile and took in everything he was. Would he come back to her with the same feelings as when he left? Had events transpired while he was abroad which she did not know of? She need not have worried. His expression was the same, if not more exceedingly pleased to be again standing in front of this maison. His air and countenance betrayed no want of joy or no repressed discontentments for the event of his return.

The lady sighed a glad sigh of relief as she gazed upon his figure sparkling in the afternoon glow of the sun.

It was at this moment his head turned sharply and even from this distance his brilliant blue eyes pierced her own. After a moment of intensity the gentleman began to walk most rigorously toward her, holding her eyes captive, reading every emotion which fluttered through her heart and mirroring such by his own tender expression. She was drawn to him by his gaze and she soon began to walk with forced composure to meet him.

They stopped a foot apart from each other, as was proper. Their hands met and he pulled her fingers gently to his lips. They brushed her fingertips sensuously as he uttered his soft-spoken salutations. She took her time as she pulled her hand away to return the greeting with a curtsey. Finally, she could compose herself enough that she could smile and invite him inside. He had arrived in just enough time to join their party for dinner and she entreated him that he should accept.

He kept a steady gaze on her throughout her speech and immediately consented, even before she had finished speaking. She smiled, bowed and turned to lead the way inside, but he remained standing, fixed in his place. Turning to inquire what could be the matter, the gentleman stopped her with his gaze. He advanced toward her timidly and yet with a boldness unforeseen. She did not retreat.

“You cannot have known,” he began, “the emptiness to which the lack of your presence occasioned in me. I could not think, nor sleep, without some reminder of your sweet smile and genteel manner embracing my thoughts and making tender my heart.”

The shock of such a speech fell to the reproach of no one. Only her gladdened senses eagerly drunk in every word he said as he began to express a love most ardent.

His addresses were interrupted, however, by a most well-meaning father who had news from the coachman of the gentleman’s immediate presence upon his estate. The two were ushered inside as dinner was about to begin.

Inside the great hall, the gentleman was received with many expressions of welcome and joy from all. He was swept away in a tide of inquiries and tidings of what had transpired in Le Parc during the course of his absence. So passed the remainder of the evening, depriving the gentleman of a moment alone with the lady in which he might renew his sentiments and proceed further with his purpose, and also the lady of an opportunity in which she might secure a moment to present her gift, the drawing, to the gentleman. As he departed however, a significant look passed between the two, assuring the lady that the morrow would bring great joie. This hope led her to a gentle night’s rest and fanciful dreams to quicken her spirits as she slept.

Unfortunately, no such happy meeting took place the next day, nor even for the rest of the week. Caught up in the whirlwind of all those matters of estate which he had eluded upon his first day home, the gentleman made no call upon Le Parc.

The lady idled her days in suspense. This sort of waiting was even more treacherous than the first sort; the gentleman was so close to her, and yet while he was not by her side, she could not be content. The lady made no more attempts at drawing. Rather she spent much solitary time out and walking the grounds. Sometimes she would bring with her a tropical parrot whose primary residence was in the foyer of the maison, but who nevertheless enjoyed the freedom supplied by the lady’s left arm.

This parrot would often talk to the lady, although very rarely did he make much sense. He knew not a word of English, and the lady delighted in having someone (even a parrot) with which she might practice her French. On their walks, the parrot often became the lady’s confidante. With this creature, it was so easy to pour out all her heart’s hopes and fears, joys and discouragements, challenges and struggles. To him she told things she never breathed a word of to anyone else, mostly because propriety forbid it.

Of course then, the parrot knew all about the gentleman, had known for some time. He kept encouraging the lady to “Suivez votre cœur” and “Prenez un risque!” as well as many other things to help the lady win his love. One can imagine the frustration it brought to the well-meaning parrot, whenever he attempted to give the lady advice, only for her to laugh it off! Indeed! She would laugh and say, “Silly parrot petit, if only you had the smallest idée of what you say!” or something to that effect. Indeed, she made the business quite tiresome with all her ignorant reproofs. Nevertheless the parrot made no surrender. Surely one day she would understand. One day…

On the gentleman’s side, each day separated from his lady (although whenever he thought this, he would check himself; in all technicalities she was not yet “his”) made him more and more anxious. After a week of this separation he determined to see her that very night. He left word with his butler to send a messenger to notify his associates of a postponement of his prior engagements. Business of a nature that could not wait had come and the gentleman while acknowledging its inconvenience to his party resolutely declared that it was necessary and he must attend to such matters at once.

Thus he found himself late that night anxiously pacing the grand foyer of the maison, waiting on the lady to return from an evening stroll. He had already spoken with her father and while the rest of the household was upstairs preparing for bed, he had granted unusual permission to the gentleman that he might wait downstairs for the lady without interruption. Of course, the father suspected what might be transpiring below, and made every effort to secure for the pair all the privacy which might be desired for such an occasion.

It was with great surprise (and no little pleasure) for the lady when she entered the foyer and found the gentleman awaiting her return. The parrot also was intrigued. “Il y a l’homme!” he shrieked. “Ma fille, maintenant est le fois! Demandez-lui un baiser!” Not a little embarrassed, the lady hastily put away the parrot and covered the cage to muffle his erratic cries.

Non-plussed, the gentleman chuckled a little and approached the lady. He offered her his arm and with her at his side, he silently led her through the maison until they reached a quiet terrace overlooking the moonlit night.

Songs of crickets reached the pair through the whispers of the wind. Songs of despair, hope, joy and of love echoed through the silent night. In time to each melody fireflies danced and sparkled bright amidst the darkened landscape. As little beads of light they hung alongside the stars, forming a curtain of brilliance, flickering in and out, in accordance with the beating of the hearts upon the terrace.

Their eyes met. The whole world might have crumbled around them and neither would have noticed. Grasping the tips of his fingers, she searched his face in orotund silence, wondering. Wondering, that is, until a great grin spread across his features and suddenly she was swept into his arms and spun back to the ground. Breathless, she gazed up at him in amazement. He pulled her close in a tight embrace and the lady knew not what she should do. Surely this was not proper. Surely something was amiss according to every standard she had been taught. And yet…it felt so right.

Not a word had been uttered since her arrival in the foyer, except by the nonsensical parrot. Now his words rang again and again in her mind, “Suivez votre cœur.” They suddenly made sense—follow your heart. Upon realizing this she suddenly knew what she must do.

Her soft eyes twinkling into his blazing blue, she hesitated for just one moment. Then, as if drawn to him by some unseen force, she gently lifted her lips to his. He seemed surprised, nevertheless he gladly accepted her gentle kiss.

Embrasser,” she whispered once they parted.

“To kiss,” he repeated with the hint of a smile.

The cool evening breeze caressed their tender faces as their hearts intertwined that night. The countenance of each glowed in superfluous brilliancy as they poured out their souls to each other in united felicity and bliss. All the while, the crickets continued to hum, the fireflies continued to dance among the stars, and all the universe rejoiced in one accord;

This was right.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009


"That which one selfishly keeps, he loses, while that which he willingly shares, he keeps."

A Trace
By: Amelia Rose

But then,
Out of nowhere
Comes a thought
A recollection
A word
An event
A single event of seemingly little significance
Which passes by in an instant
And is forgotten just as soon
But…it leaves in its wake
A trace of what transpired;
A smile.
Which continues on
Long after the spark
The illuminator
Is gone
Then spreading on
To another
Leaving with him
A smile just as well
And then on to another
And another
And another
Making the world
A better, brighter,
Happier place.

Saturday, June 20, 2009


Vive la vie en rose ♥
"His sanguine spirit turns every firefly into a star." Arthur Conan Doyle. [it's true. =]
at 1:16 AM Jun 20
Mood: loved

this has been stuck in my head.
Current mood: peaceful

Ooo. you make me live
whatever this world can give to me
It's you, you're all I see
Ooo, you make me live now honey
Ooo, you make me live
You're the best friend that I ever had
I've been with you such a long time
You're my sunshine
And I want you to know
That my feelings are true
I really love you
You're my best friend
Ooo, you make me live
I've been wandering round
But I still come back to you
In rain or shine
You've stood by me girl
I'm happy, happy at home
You're my best friend.
You're the first one
When things turn out bad
You know I'll never be lonely
You're my only one
And I love --I really love
The things that you do
You're my best friend
Ooo, you make me live.
You're my best friend
Ooo, you make me live
You, you're my best friend.

Those times we parted--the pauses--the rests between notes wherein the real music lies --those I will cherish forever. When our cheeks lingered near each other and our eyes peradventured a glance, timid across the close expanse...to find the triumph, bliss and ecstasy we each were feeling, mirrored in the other's eyes; this will remain always etched into my soul. Those times when I could feel his breath on my face, his lips on my cheek...his eyes on my heart. ♥

Friday, June 5, 2009

Mysterious Echoes
By: Amelia Rose

Cold winds beat the rock
That juts from the sea where,
The harsh waves chip at the protrusions
That resiliently hold their own.
High above,
The seacliff stands tall; erect
Mingling with the winds
And slashing through the clouds
That drift serenely eastward
Minding their own business.
The deep mist of dawn
Hangs in the air; intensifying
The density that chokes;
Almost suffocates;
Warding off unwanted visitors
From this sacred, holy place.
A sliver of sunlight
Pierces through the pervading mist
Illuminates a crevice
Too high up to swim to
Too far down to reach by land
A spark; a glint of light
Refracts from within
Shines for just a moment
And is gone just as quickly.
Echoes of death swirl mysteriously
From the depths within the cave
Caught by the wind, carried to the sea
Washed onto the shores of sentience, feeling; life.
Known mystery reverberates
In steady rhythm
Upon the metal of a gate
Perfect metal that never tarnishes
Never rusts, never ceases
To guard its charge
With every sense of duty, honor and purpose
A seagate can have.
Tall and imposing (but secretly not)
From within the gate’s unknowing watch
The secrets escape the rock

Monday, May 25, 2009


You know, more often then not
It's pure imagination
Even the most vivid descriptions
Are nothing more than fantasies;
The poet hasn't really experienced
The events that transpire
But you'd never know it
By reading his recollections.
I admit,
Sometimes there are experiences
So wonderful; surreal
That they must be recorded
Within the perameters of a poem
More often then not though
The record is symbolic
Each image representing
A thought, feeling or even a passing whim

I love my own poetry
More than anyone else's
Because I know what each symbol stands for
For me, my poetry is a photograph
Of what I was feeling and experiencing
At the time
And while I love the poetry of others,
I only understand some things
And my insights are limited
But, when I do recognize
And understand their intentions,
It makes reading the poem
That much more fulfilling

As I said before,
Poetry is a photograph
But not in the typical way
Unlike real photographs,
Each person who reads a poem
Takes something different from it;
Something they can relate to,
That corresponds
With where they are in life.
In this way, above all else,
Poetry is unique
For it transforms
Not only the writer
But also the reader,
And makes him
A poet too.

Saturday, May 23, 2009

Gazing Through the Looking Glass
By: Amelia Rose

Gazing through the looking glass
Through the windows of my soul
I wonder what the mirror
Thinks of what it sees
As it looks upon me daily
As sand pours through the hour glass
And time ticks steadily on
All the while, my heart beats in its rhythm
Like the waves upon the seas

I wonder what reflects
From the depths within my soul
I wonder what escapes
As I peer at myself
Through slitted eyes
And stare into them to search
For what questions may arise
What secrets leak out?
What stories are told?
What do my eyes confide?
This I wonder as I open them more wide

Gazing through the looking glass
Through the windows of my soul
I search for me; myself;
The hidden truths that make me whole

Friday, May 8, 2009

So I have found a way to smuggle crap outa the AP Tests. yeah.
Current mood: devious
lol I spent my AP Calc Test writing poetry because I was bored & then i wanted to keep the poems i wrote instead of just having them thrown out. So, ingeniously i wrote them on a tissue and no one even noticed as i wadded it up and put it in my pocket before they collected our tests! lol i know, i'm brilliant. =)

so here are my AP Calc-Inspired poems from a tissue:

Sunshine of Peace
By Amelia Rose

Watching the sunshine
Dance in the trees
Incandescent as the love
That brings me to my knees
Each day as I pray
Makes me wonder...
What if,
When all is said and done,
Time doesn't matter
Nor the hearts you've won
What if,
When the skies turn to gray
What if,
As night fades from day
What if,
The peace
That yet for so long
Has evaded this world
This time and generation
Is there in the sunshine
Has been there, this whole dispensation
But we take no notice
As we rush about our lives
While goodness, morality, integrity;
Only just survives...

Poem #2

I hear...

Laughter of youth
Frivolous pleasure
Which entertains
But does not last

I see...

Pain, Hatred, Envy
Repressed behind their eyes...

I feel...

For they don't realize
Don't understand
Don't know
The Truth
Lost in a world devoid of meaning,
Of purpose
Of trust and joy
They wander around
Groping in darkness
For something to hold to
Something; someone
Anything; Anyone
But even when they find it
It gives way under them
For nothing less
Than the fulness of the truth
Can endure forever
Bringing happiness and surety

I hope...

That one day
Love will return to this nation
That lies will cease
Slander and gossip desist to exist
For their sakes, I hope
That the Light and Life
And Truth of the world
May soften their hearts
That they might find joy;
Everlasting, wholesome, pure

I dream...

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Appalachian Storm
By: Amelia Rose

Silent Thunder
Rings in my ears
As the rain pours
Upon the rock faces
That mount beneath
The looming clouds
A sudden cold front
Strikes the warm spring air
That has nestled itself
Comfortably within the vally.
The winds swirl wildly
In a fiasco of
Pure chaos;
The heated air pressure
Is pierced by a seething coldness
Searing the mountains
In confused and bewildered fury.
The rain drops wage battle
Against the winds
And again against the rocks
In a foul uproar
Of spiraling madness
That rips trees from their roots
Homes from their foundations
And cities from their terraces
While families huddle together
To wait out the storm
The winds calm
The rain drops surrender
And the cold front dispatches
To haunt another time and place
In their wake
A torrid humidity seeps in
To fill the empty cracks and crevices
Of the mountain valley
Where can be seen
Spectacular flashes
That linger upon
The gruff, weathered
Range of rock;
Electrifyingly brilliant
Scorching streaks
Of the heat lightning
That dances in the distance

Thursday, March 26, 2009

lost in a cloud
by; amelia rose

Creep around me
With their devilish utterings
Destroying my path
Wreaking havoc to my heart
The fiendish ghouls blur my way
Spin me in circles
As I wander
Through cold haze
That soaks me through
Chilling me past the bone
Twining itself delicately around my heart
Until suddenly
With a jerk
The untemepered turbidity
Tightens it's chords, choking me swift
The entity gags and gasps for pulse; for life
But confined; restrained; it quickly surrenders
To the cold, cloudy confines
Of the covert, colorless chasms
Which swallow me whole
I grope my way through muddied haze
Desperate for something to hold to
And yet when I find it
I cast it aside
Because I do not believe in it;
I cannot let myself hope
For every time I do
I die just a little bit more inside
And the chains, they pull themselves
Just a little bit tighter
I cannot fight
I cannot win
And I hate all those who lie
And tell me I can
It's all lies
And I hate them for it!
Hate myself for being so wretched...
This cloud goes on forever
And the more lost I become in it;The tighter the rope chains pull
The farther out I reach; the more it burns me inside
And while my torrid inside scalds
My outer appearance disheveles
With soaking mist and cold,
That freezes all surrounding life
Leaving me alone in icy smog.
The chords press and choke
Until there is nothing left
But hazy vapor-smoke

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

oh, uh uh, ohh sweet child o' mine.

The Back of Your Senior Picture.
By: Ames
For zach

Drive me crazy.
Absolutely insane, you know that?
Yeah, I'm talking to you.
Since seventh grade you have.
But I shrink from you
And you shrink from me
Because we're straight-up wimps
And we both know it.
Perhaps its better this way.
This way no one will get hurt.
But sometimes I wonder what if...
What if one of us had been a little braver...
I love ya--you know I always have,
Always will.
You're my very best friend,
Well, one of them.
And I promise you'll never ever be rid of me.
As long as we live I'll come back to bug ya
And poke ya, and tease ya.
Hold me to it. Bind me to it.
I'm gonna miss you like crazy.
I just can't explain it...why I have to go...
Not without feeling like a jerk.
Thank ya.
For being there for me through all the rough times
And all the sweet times too.
For not judging me
For being you.
For loving me.
You'll always have a little piece of my heart.
Just so you know.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Bungee Jumping

Bungee Jumping
By: Amelia Rose
For Ty

Falling is scary.
I know—I used to be a professional bungee jumper. I’ve come to appreciate though, that it’s not really the fall that causes fear. It’s the anticipation; the waiting. It’s the time of indecision right beforehand where your stomach curls up in knots and you question yourself. Perhaps you do not really want to jump of a cliff; speed through the frictionless air; fall thousands of feet, turning over your life to gravity—and fate. It’s not a guarantee—there’s always that chance that the chord might break and you might hurtle to your death.
But that just makes it all the more thrilling! –Once you’re off the ledge at least.
The wind whistling past your ears! The cold rush of air the chills you beneath your harness! The weird feeling when the chord tightens and for a moment you fly upward and defy gravity! Then the second, easier fall until you’re dangling by your toes as the blood rushes to your head and you see the glorious view all around you!
Exhilarating. You know it is.
It’s just the jumping off that makes you nervous.
Your feet feel the comfortable ground beneath you. They yearn to be safe. To be in control—
I know. Falling is scary—jumping off is scary.
That’s why I retired.
I grew older and my heart couldn’t handle the constant stress.
And yet now I find myself climbing up a cliff. Trying to prepare myself for something that you just can’t prepare yourself for. A big part of me yearns to be home, watching TV, doing dishes, shopping for groceries—anything else. But somehow I got here. I hadn’t planned to be here. I still don’t know if I’ll follow through. It’s not too late. I might get a strange feeling and just turn around and go home.
But that thrill…I remember it so vividly. How incredible it was, no matter where I was in my life…whenever I got the courage to jump off—I never regretted it.
But…falling is scary.
And I’m not sure I’m ready for it just yet…

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

"Of all forms of caution, caution in love is the most fatal.” Anonymous

How I Feel About You in A Million Words or Less
For Ty

It’s the first think I think of
Even though it’s hard to decipher
Which kind of love it is
Then there’s
Anticipation; fear.
I want to hold back
For just awhile longer to hold back
Stay free
But I am afraid you will not let me wait
You will pull out from me; steal from me
My heart
And I will be helpless
But to fall in love with you
I hate being helpless…
And yet you fascinate me
With a hope
That keeps me intrigued
And wanting more
You surprise me; shock me sometimes
And that frightens me too
But I’m more afraid of myself
Than I am of you
I’m more afraid I’ll lose control
Will not be able to keep focus
I think you will not let me be ashamed
You will help me reach my goal
For it is your goal too…you say; I believe.
And so I hope on…
It is a dreadful hope.
I dread your return
And yet I cannot wait!
To see you
To meet you
To really meet you
And get to know you
Body and soul
You entice me
And yet I bid you stay
Away; there where you are
For a little while longer, stay
Because I am not ready yet
Not ready
To put my heart on the line
But thenWill I ever be?
Maybe I need a little shove
Out of the nest
But falling is scary!
But maybe I need it…
To force me to fly?
To give me that thrill?
Too young.
Much too young to be married.
Too young, too pretty, too talented
Too sick, too strong, too smart, too arrogant.
Too prideful.
They count for nothing.
We share,
You and I
Something that cannot be duplicated
A chance
One in a million
We share this time of our life;
These crazy special pieces
That are key to shaping our eternal identities.
Perhaps just to encourage each other towards right paths;
To build a friendship.
Or maybe to build something more.
Something deeper.
Something eternal…together?
I have no clue.
I really don’t know what to think about you sometimes.
Good and bad you remind me…of others…
I won’t have a clue for another year and four months.
Perhaps longer.
I hope longer.
And perhaps we’re not meant for eternity.
Just friends forever.
But I think…
Whatever the case may be…
As scary as it may seem (at least for me)
You and I,
We’ll sure have fun finding out!
Learning to Teach
For Lee! =)

Learning to teach
Teaching to learn
Of life
Of truth
Of hope and joy!
Heading out on a journey
To bring others truth
To bring others hope
To bring them youth!
Learning to teach
Teaching to share
The gospel of hope;
Because that we care,
We bare
Our testimony
That the Lord
Is there

Thursday, January 29, 2009

The Miracle of Life
By: Amelia Rose

Lost. Frozen, trapped and alone. Trapped on a blank plain of desert and ice. Snow. Four feet deep wars against my aching body. Soaks me to the bone. And then freezes. I tremble; I cannot cry, for the air—it is too cold and it will freeze my tears. So I tremble. Alone—Isolated in this world of artic chill, I tremble. The harsh environment sucks the life away from me with its merciless, magnetic pull. Just like it has sucked all other life away.
Icy clouds loom; the sky, bleak and grim as the world around me, reproves my foolishness; Laughs me to scorn. It caresses my face with a cold, chaffing wind—just to prove its point.
Each step is harder, as it breaks through the ice. As I kick and push and tear my way through. Wandering—no searching. For something—anything. There is no sign of life anywhere. There is only me; me and a vast sheet—three dimensional—of white.
I come upon a tree, but even this brings no comfort. The tree is bare and not only that; it is frozen solid. Three inches of ice fit around each branch like a glove. Crystals; icicles hang in wicked grandeur; not even glinting—for there is no sun; No light to make sparkle.
And yet, there is a certain deathly magnificence about it all. For it is Beautiful. But it is a killer beauty. It has slaughtered the world around me; invaded and covered it with its sleek sheet of white varnish. It will kill me too. Soon enough.
Darkness replaces the bleakness of the sky, lowering the temperature by thirty degrees. Exhausted. Frozen. Chaffed and blistered, I dig a hole in the layered snow. Perhaps it will blanket me enough to keep my heart beating for the night; perhaps I am digging my own grave. Who can tell?
No one, I weep in tearless, bitter sobs and answer my own question. No one can tell—because there is no one else around. How I long for someone to cling to! Any sign of warmth—of life! But my heart is the only pulsing, moving entity for miles around. And there is the possibility that tomorrow not even this will be true.
Fatigued and weary I can take no more. I leave my fate in the hands of God and sink down into a troubled, restless, frigid sleep.

I dream. I dream of another heart, close to mine. Beating. Pulsing. Moving. Circulating blood and with it warmth and life; light to this bleak landscape; hope. The man to whom the heart belongs finds me; saves me from a cold and inevitable death. He is not handsome. Most people would call him plain, ordinary—but to me, he is beautiful. He possesses the beauty that is only noticed when one is placed in such treacherous conditions as I am in. A beauty that, once noticed, is never, ever forgotten. This is the beauty of life. Of another heart. Of another creation that can produce its own warmth. It is the beauty of a soul. The reason people love their pets—because they too have hearts—they too have a certain kinetic energy that enables them to move—and survive. Moreover, it is why people love each other. It is what has kept the world spinning for as long as it has. It is the beauty of love.
The beauty the man in my dream possesses is not uniquely his. It belongs to all creatures; more specifically, to all humans. For each human is alive, just as you are, just as I am. Every human has feelings; emotions; desires. Dreams, hopes, fears. And every human possesses a certain amount of strength within himself. Some more than others.
Sometimes we do not see this. We do not see the magnificence or feel its magnitude. We let other things; superficial things like money and appearances, pride and stereotypes get in the way. But deep underneath it all, at the core of every human being, is something greater…it is a heart.

I wake with a start to the same scene as yesterday. It is still early morning—the sky has not yet paled (for I can never say lightened). My joints are stiff and cold to the point where I cannot move. I must wait for my blood to thaw my bones. The pain throbs. The blisters and chaffing from yesterday remind me sharply of their presence, as my body thaws and feeling returns in painful, agonizing bursts.
But I am alive.
Alive for one more day. Time passes slowly, but eventually I am thawed enough to move and start my trek again. With new vigor I press forward, wading my way through the ice and snow. Refreshed and revitalized, my heart works hard to get blood pumping and energy flowing into my veins.
Adrenaline kicks in and aids me in my quest for life. I do not even notice the pain as I work through the morning. I feel—happy. I am making great progress in my journey. I think I can even see a little hint of sunlight behind the dense wall of clouds that pile above me. I feel like I could go on forever. Or at least until I can find the closest village.
After several hours, hunger sets in. My fierce adrenaline rush from the morning has long since left me. Weary, but not discouraged, I stop for nourishment. I open my bag to find that I only have one energy bar left of my entire food supply. I do not let myself think about this as I eat it and move on.
I stand up; but a great gust of wind knocks me right back down. I sigh and stand up again, a little more cautiously. I begin moving—as long as I can move I will stay alive. Just keep moving, I tell myself. Just keep going.
I make it about a mile before a sharp pain in my heel stops me in my tracks. I look down and can see blood staining the inside of my boots. Even if I had something to wrap it with, the blood would freeze as soon as I took off my boot. It would render my foot useless. I ignore the pain and keep going.
But it does not take long for me to falter, once again, as a great gust of snow blows up in a flurry. The particles dance in the air around me like fairies taunting their mistress. More pain erupts and my determination vanishes. The wintry wonderland sucks the life right from me. I sink to my knees—which sends painful pricks through my legs—and cry out in despair. It is a long, terrible wail which scathes my vocal cords, but I do not care. I push the air through my lungs and continue my release. No one hears it. It does not even echo.
I am alone.
I crumple in a weary heap.
I am alone.
Pain envelopes me. Fatigue corrodes my strength and spirit. My mind has been pushed to its limits. I have fought and fought and fought the elements. But they have won. With no food, no strength, no hope of survival, I give up and wait for me to die.
Perhaps, I think, death will not be so bad. It will be a relief actually, from stress, from hunger, from pain. From cold. And perhaps life does not end with death—there’s more to it than that. I know there’s got to be more. Everyone dies, sooner or later. Death is an inevitable part of life; of eternity. Death, I decide, is not a bad thing. It is good. It will bring me rest.
Hours pass. I cannot move, nor would I, even if I could. At first I was angry with death. Angry that it did not come and take me sooner. The elements had me! They knew it—I knew it. They might as well take me and get it over with. But as I lay there gazing up into the pale, gray sky my anger dissipated. Death would come soon enough, but it did not seem in too much of a hurry—so why should I be? With this thought, I have been contenting myself by gazing at the sky.
There are no distinct pictures made by the clouds—it is one solid sheet of icy vapor—but this does not stop my imagination. I imagine the clouds are a mist—such that would surround a castle. It is a grand castle, surrounded by a moat with water serpents that protect it. A tall, mahogany drawbridge stands proud and erect, only lowered when a visitor approaches or on days of celebration. On these days, great colorful flags are hoisted and around the grounds booths and games are set up for entertainment. The court jester and his company perform a play for the royal audience for which they receive many compliments and congratulations. The royal chef displays his finest selection of gourmet for the guests and the young princess enjoys a candied apple as a treat.
Today, however, is not one of those days. Right now it is early—so early the cock has not yet crowed. The early morning mist that surrounds my castle brings to it a quiet, peaceful atmosphere. Within the castle the king and his servants are still asleep. Only a stable boy, of about fourteen years of age, who sleeps in the barn and takes care of the horses, is awake. He is the first to arise and begin tending to his daily chores within the high castle walls. In another part of the castle the fair princess, a maiden of about ten years, cannot sleep. She lights a candle and wanders into the misty courtyard. In several years a series of events will unite the two young ones and they will fall in love. They will pursue a secret romance that will revolutionize how the king and his subjects think. They will, with their love, change the world.
But not today. Today they will just go about their stations naturally. Today the princess will remain in the misty courtyard and the stable boy will take care of the horses in peace.
A noise in the distance disturbs my daydream. I cannot tell what it is; nor do I bother to try and find out. I no longer have the will to care as I lay and wait for death to take me. It reminds me of a bark; of a dog, but I cannot tell.
Perhaps my princess in the clouds has a dog. That’s it—I remember now. She has a dog who followed her into the courtyard mist. The noise wasn’t a noise at all. It was just my imagination too.
I grow tired. Very tired. Tired of thinking, tired of daydreaming, tired of waiting to die—death can be very annoying when it wants to be. The tiredness weighs upon my eyelids and I do not fight it. They gently drift downward until my eyes are completely closed. Perhaps I will die in my sleep. That would be nice.
Once again I dream. But this dream is not as nice as the one from last night. In this dream my face is burning. Humid heat melts the frozen layer of oils that have chapped my skin. Little needles prick and stab every exposed layer of flesh. I cry out in panic. Am I dead?! Is this what hell feels like?! Fear envelops me and I scream. The hellfire is spreading to my hands and fingertips. It nudges me and puts unwanted pressure on my blisters and bruises. Once again I feel it intensify on my face—but this time I notice a little that the hellfire is soft; painful, but soft—and at times a little slimy.
I open my eyes and come face to face with Satan himself. He is a lot uglier than I expected—he has a very hairy face and a long jaw. His eyes are very dark—almost black holes in his face. I quickly close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him anymore. And I realize—something isn’t right. He’s not—evil enough. Satan’s presence should give off an aura of dread, hate and fear—right? I should be cowering in fright, convulsing in spasms—something? Right?
Instead, I feel something else…I can’t exactly tell what it is…but it’s definitely not pure evil invading my soul. It’s soft and fuzzy—and warm. Confused, I take a deep breath and open my still-burning eyes. I see white. Lots of white. I turn myself a little; roll from my back to my stomach to see what else is around, but that’s it. Just a whole lot of white. Heaven?
And then the cold hits me.
Nope, I think, definitely earth. I turn my head to see what’s to my right, and Satan comes back into view—but I now see that it’s just a dog—a nice husky rushing back to my side. I chuckle at myself for ever being afraid. I look past the husky, wanting to see the pretty whiteness everywhere, but something dark, black, and looming blocks my view. I become a little perturbed. The something is quite a ways off, but it is still an annoyer of my perfect view. It moves closer toward me and I realize that the something I am perturbed with is not a something at all—it is a somebody!
The husky demands my attention by snuggling up to me, keeping itself warm. And that’s when it hits me! The husky’s not using me to keep itself warm—it’s using its own body heat to keep me warm! I feel the dog’s heart beat furiously against my own—its warmth quickly spreading to me; making my heart pound. Hope surges in me. I attempt to move my muscles—and it works! They ache from frozen disuse, but they move!
I stop thinking and just feel. Just feel the life and warmth of the dog spread to me. It’s interesting how when it goes to me, it doesn’t leave him—rather when it reaches me it doubles in strength and then gets sent back to him where it doubles again. It continues to grows exponentially until something stops this continual exchange of warmth. When the warmth stops flowing, I open my eyes to see what caused it to stop.
When I open my eyes, I see that the man from my dream is standing above me. Off to the side there are several more dogs and a sled. He kneels down and embraces me tightly for a moment, then picks my frigid body up and carries me to the sled.
He holds me tightly; there is a gentleness is his embrace which keeps me calm. I feel his heartbeat too. It is much calmer than the dog’s. Much steadier. It keeps me calm. Nevertheless my heart beats wildly in glad expostulation.
I am saved. I am no longer alone!
I am not alone.
The frigid landscape reels back in agitation. The wind whips the snow in a chaotic manner. What few trees there are bend back in icy fury. The sky darkens in fierce rage. The elements will not lose their victim! And yet, they already have.
I am not alone.
I ignore the weather around me. The man’s heart is so close to mine. We are in the sled racing toward a village. He has given me something to eat, to replenish my strength. The dog—my hero—has taken his place at the head of the pack and now he leads his peers back to the village, where they live.
The elements seem to know they have lost. They have quieted from their outburst and let us pass without intervention. Even if they put everything they could throw at us, right now, they could not conquer.
Because there is another human heart that pulses, inches from mine, they would not prevail.
I am no longer alone. Hope surges through me. Pain is not an issue. A feeling of magnificence, majesty and wonder courses through me. Brilliance, Beauty and peace fill my heart—
—my heart; is still beating, still thriving. Because of the love in another man’s heart. He is beautiful. He possesses a beauty that is only noticed when one is placed in such treacherous conditions as I was in. A beauty that, once noticed, is never, ever forgotten. This is the beauty of life. Of another heart. Of another creation that can produce its own warmth. It is the beauty of a soul.
It is the reason people love their pets—because they too have hearts—they too have a certain kinetic energy that enables them to move—and survive. Moreover, it is why people love each other. It is what has kept the world spinning for as long as it has. It is the beauty of love.
This is the miracle of life.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

The Magic of the Butterfly
By: Amelia Rose
For Ty

Rattle; Pop!
The cocoon is opened
One wing unfurls
And then another
And then
All at once
The beautiful butterfly emerges
From her nestled hiding place
She is free!
Free to begin
Her adventure!

Her wings flutter blithely
As she flits from flower to tree
To leaf to weed to
--Ouch! A thorn bush!
Stay away from there!
The color on her wings
Is scratched a little,
But this does not stop her
From exploring the beautiful world
Around her

Along her journey
She meets
All sorts of creatures
Great and small
They become her friends!
And she loves them all dearly.
The vibrant butterfly
Sparkles in the sunlight
As her radiant wings
Reflect the love
And peace
And frivolous delight
That surround her

She is beautiful.
She is happy.
She is free.



She is
The Butterfly!

“We enjoy butterflies for their beauty, their magic, and their freedom. When we pin them to a board, we destroy them.” Liz Greene

Friday, January 16, 2009


"Changes will be coming, challenges to face. We'll meet them all together, in God's appointed place." --this is a line from a song in the musical, Within These Walls. It's a story about 3 LDS families (1 pioneer, 1 early 1900s, & 1 present-day) and their struggles and faith in God. I participated in it about four years ago--my newly formed Columbus Ohio South Stake performed it and it was a really great experience. I made a lot of new and lasting friends and memories through it and it really was a unifying experience for our new stake as a whole.
So anyway, those lines keep recurring in my head--almost like a broken record player. And i keep thinking about change.

I've changed alot over the past few years. For better and worse I suppose. Most people would call it growing up. As a senior in high school it's interesting to look back and remember what it felt like to be an innocent, unsure freshman. And then to recall the changes I went through in sophomore year that boosted my confidence a million to one. (thanks in particularly to a certain friend who i miss very much...*sigh*) And i thought I could do everything in the world. And then the drudgery of junior year--realizing that I can't do everything in the world and that life sometimes sucks. hardcore. But I figure, if I can make it through junior year and all the crap that happened then I can make it through anything. What doesn't kill ya makes ya stronger. Which brings me to where I am now:

less innocent than freshman year
more confident*
less patient than sophomore year
more tolerant
less of a jerk than junior year*
more happy*

*I must put a "usually" tag on these. I do have my moments where I falter.

oh, and a more recent development that I find rather disturbing...
I've had bouts of anger that I don't know how to deal with.
Like real, vivid anger.
And I don't know where it comes from.
But I am trying to learn about it and where it's from and why I have trouble controlling it.
I'm taking measures a step at a time to fix this...

Over the years I've changed and grown. Spiritually, physically and mentally.
I've made a lot of mistakes. Big, big mistakes.
And I continue to make them. Although I think I've been able to mitigate them so they're not-so-big anymore.
And they're not in vain.
I have learned to learn from my mistakes*
I have learned about myself and my tendencies
My strenghts and my weaknesses
I have an idea of what I want and need (specifically in a husband)
And I know the woman I want to become.
(But that is much easier said than done--still got a loooooong way to go)
I'm still working on learning how to set my priorities straight and manage my time effectively, but it's coming.
I have gotten better at "bridling my passions" and letting prudence, wisdom and most importantly the Holy Spirit guide me.
That's what I'm working this year to do before college.
I want to gain complete control of myself, my thoughts, my words, my deeds. my anger, my impulses, my desires, my emotions and feelings.
I want to prove to myself that I am an independent woman who can take care of herself.
But as much as I try to hide it, I'm really a very needy person.
Deep underneath my tough, independent exterior I'm a hopeless romantic. But anyone who reads my stories and poems knows this already.
"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."
Yeah that's me. Or trying to be. I don't know.

School is killing me. Senioritis has set in pretty bad. Especially with AP Calc.
But I think I'm gonna stick it through. You know, what do they call it?
Endure to the end.
It's gonna suck. But like I said before, if I can survive junior year, I can survive anything.
(But let it be known that I did in NO wise make it through there alone. I had my Heavenly Father looking out for me, even when I didn't know it. Mostly through a God-sent friend who stuck with me. Who kept a tight hold on me--didn't let me fall to the depths of the ocean I was treading in. I never once deserved it. I was so tired. I begged for him to let me just give up. And yet he didn't let me. He held on, no matter how much I begged to be let go. He didn't let me drown. And he won't read this. And he won't know how much I truly care. And how sorry I am for being the jerk I've always been to him, when he's been so good to me...
And he won't know that I'm trying to work on it. I truly am. He won't know...oh well.)

Back to what I was saying.
My testimony has grown in so many facets and subjects. All through high school, but especially this year, I feel it being refined--preparing me for the next step--whatever it may be. (although I'm pretty darn sure it's college at BYU lol)
I've learned that faith is hard.
I used to be afraid I didn't have a lot of faith. I guess I was right in a way. I prayed for experiences to help me prove my faith (mostly to myself) --but boy you sure do gotta be careful what you ask for. I sure got them. And I failed I think at most of the earlier ones. Or maybe I'm just too hard on myself. My mind was too blotched up for awhile for me to remember things from a clear perspective.
As Edison once said, "I haven't failed, I've just found 100 ways that don't work."
Perhaps it's relevant, perhaps not. You decide.
But yeah. My faith has grown. I have been witness to miracles akin to the blind's restored sight.
And yet, I still have to constantly remind myself to

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart
And lean not unto thine own understanding
In all thy ways acknowledge Him
And He shall direct thy paths."

and then there's my own little proverb I made from personal revelation:

"Take one step at a time
And do your very best
Trust in the Lord
And He'll take care of the rest."

I know without a doubt that my Heavenly Father knows and loves me personally. I see it manifested every day of my life. I am a daughter of a Divine Parent. God does not lie. He is diligent. He is loving. He has charity. He forgives.
I realize that He most likely wasn't always this way--he was a man once upon a time as well. He developed these qualities over time. And I can too. If I want to someday be a Heavenly Mother, I have to show to others the qualities that God shows to me.

I have explored my talents and goals. My confidence has increased tenfold, like the man with the 10 talents (excuse the pun) lol. "Please, remember, your worth, your soul was worth that of perfect blood. Please, always remember." With that, how could I ever forget? and yet sometimes I do...

I have increased my knowlege in many things, and I have learned what intrests me and what doesn't. Wisdom and study, prayer and fasting have helped me enlighten and enlarge my heart and mind.

One thing that I have most definitely learned is the importance of agency. We are all accountable for the choices we make. We must meet the consequences of our actions, good and bad. In order to have a testimony, someone must gain it for himself. No one can just give his testimony to another. The things we do and say affect others in tremendous ways and we must "Watch ourselves and our thoughts and our words and are deeds." Because even if we're not watching them, someone else is... even when we don't think so.

I have learned the value of service. I have come to love others for the service they've rendered to me, and I've learned to love others whom I have served. And even when I don't feel like serving someone, no matter what my mood before, after I do I always feel happy; glad i took the time out for them.

Honesty. Integrity. Standing up for what you believe. Encouraging others to do right. So important. And yet...sometimes I falter. As everyone does. For I am only human. And it's hard. It's really hard. There's a lot of conflicting opinions anymore about what's right and what's wrong. But I know the truth. And I must share it when I know it. "A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid."

And now, the newest, and I think my favorite of the young women values in:

A Return to Virtue. It sounds like a movie. It should be one. I'm so glad they added this. I wish I would have had it when I was a young woman. I mean, I have it now and I'm still a young woman--but I'm almost an adult now. They added it After I learned it all the hard way. I wish I would have had this earlier. I guess though, in a sense I did. And if I hadn't learned it the hard way, I wouldn't appreciate it as much as I do now--wouldn't have an enduring testimony. Virtue. Chastity. Purity. Desires. Temptations. The world. The world has completely destroyed the sanctity of chastity. Well chastity is still sacred--but no one thinks that anymore... Satan has and continues to lead so many into sin because of the world's stupid degradation of it. He almost got me too. But God has sure been diligent in keeping a keen eye on me and protecting me from evil. I'm so grateful.
It does make me sad though that the world degrades chastity and family and the home. I never even realized the effects media had on me when I was younger. But it did. From watching stupid "harmless" tv shows I was led to think that I was supposed to be embarrassed by my parents. I was supposed to talk back at them and be beligerent and insolent. From tv i learned that it was my job to annoy my brother and to make his life miserable. I know better now--not saying i'm perfect, but I understand now that a family is more than that. A family is meant to help and serve and support each other. To love and forgive. To work and play and laugh and learn together. But for years I was under that stamp of beligerence and embarrassment because I thought that's how it was supposed to be.
I don't think the writers of the shows I watched realized that their stupid TV shows affected me like they did... They'll probably never know... and now I think some of the stuff is just funny. Because i know it's not realistic. But as a kid...
Actually, on second thought, maybe I don't think it's so funny...because I remember how it affected me...as a kid. Hmm.

Well, I guess I've rambled on quite enough. This will be a very long blog. Nevertheless I'm glad I wrote it. One more thing I'd just like to mention is the damaging effects of pride.
In all my studies on my recent anger bouts, I've linked a great many of them--actually all of them to pride. Because I didn't want to humble myself to forgive. To be the first to appologize because I mislead myself to think that their misdeed to me was greater than what I at that moment was doing to them by not forgiving them, in my pride.
It's really something I need to work on. But I think that if I can humble myself and develop a true kind of charity and "forgive, as I wouldst be forgiven of my Father in Heaven" then I think I'll be able to curb my anger issues. And not hold grudges...they really are a weight on your shoulders. It takes a lot of work to hate a person...it sometimes doesn't feel like it--but it really is. It's hard to let things go...but you really feel so much better when you can truly forgive someone and love them again...I know when I get into one of my grudges or anger bouts i'm absoluetly miserable until I let it go...absolutely miserable...

Well, goodnight world. Or the one person who will actually read this, I should say. lol
Goodnight, and Peace be unto you.