Sunday, January 26, 2014

"You send me to the moon and back to June..."

Please Pass the Salt
By: Amelia Rose
For Alex ♥

There is a longing
For something
An emotion that swells
And releases
Like the waves on the seashore.
Once a week, once a month, once a day?
It doesn’t matter.
When it comes it’s there
And I feel it.
I love to feel it.
Love to indulge in it,
Even when it hurts.
Even though it hurts,

Fond memories of a time, a place long past
Memories of joy
Of comfort, of peace.
Even if that time was short-lived.
It was there.
It was real.
It was right.
And I feel it.
Every day I feel it
A secret in the corner of my heart, of my soul.
I want to touch it
But I cannot.
I want to tell someone
But no one can understand.

There is a longing
For something
Something as indescribable
As the taste of salt.
Something that savours just as sweet
upon the tip of the tongue
Enhances the flavor of every hour, every day
But it is something I can’t wish for
Something I can’t hope for
A place, a time I can never go back to
And for that it is bitter.

Like salt.

There is a longing
For something
Something beautiful.
A love, a house, a memory,
a carefree joy.
Like running through the woods
shooting down the badguys
of our childhood dramas.
Like walking on the floodwall,
playing guitar hero,
and sucking miserably.
Well, at least you never did.
Like going for a dip in the pool
On a hot summer day. Or even a cold autumn one.
Like building forts, climbing trees, riding bikes
In the middle of the street.
Where it’s dangerous. Like mother always warned against.
She always told us to stay away from the danger.
Like we ever did.
It was those dangerous situations
That helped us grow, helped us learn
Made us who we are.
So in the long run, I guess they were good, weren't they?

There is a longing!
Such a powerful longing.
For something beautiful,
Something glorious!
Something sweet,
Something bitter,
Something sad.
Everything wonderful…

It is a longing
For home.


Sunday, January 12, 2014

"I'd live longer just to miss you..."

Lost and Found
Amelia Rose

A gentle wind, 
that rolls over the green hilltops
Ruffles the forest leaves, grazes the green grass lawns
Neat and trimmed in front of the houses
That stand, holding families and homes.
This wind, this breeze whips around the kites
In the park
Brightly colored sparkles
Which polka dot the deep blue afternoon sky
A warm wind, a free wind which makes the flag upon the flag pole
Come alive with justice, with liberty!
Upon the steps of the old church house in the town.
Then the wind, as it makes its rounds, comes to me.
The heat of the day melts away as the cool wind brushes my cheeks,
Dusts my eyelashes, and gives me sudden shivers which ripple down my spine

                        The wind.
                        I can’t see it. I can’t hold it.
                        But I can feel it.
                        I can feel this wind which brings gladness on a hot summer day.

A glorious melody, 
that rolls through the vast concert hall
A joy to all who listen, who understand
A melody of nature, percussive rhythms
Beating out the intricacies of life
Bright timbres from instruments of all kinds
Weave and intertwine, to make delicate harmonies,
Soft splashes of color, in the picture which is painted
In the notes, in the tunes.

                        The music.
                        I can’t see it. I can’t hold it.
                        But I can hear it.
                        And in that hearing I feel. I feel stirrings inside me which make me glad
                        to be alive.

A beautiful love, 
that rolls through the ages and the stages of a life
A painting never finished. A work of modern art
New touches added each day
Soon to become fond memories, sharp contrasts
Expressions of a self, emotions of a one
All winding down a path
Of light, of hope
Which is a life.

                        The love.
                        I can’t see it. I can’t hold it.
                        But I can feel it.
                        I can feel this love, which I can’t touch, or hold.
                        I can feel this love which I can’t see or hear.
                        I cannot possess it, but it is there.

Love without possession. The idea of an ancient generation.
Does it make it less real?
Most people nowadays will never understand this sort of love,
For their love is theirs.
They must touch it. They must hold it. They must own it!
They must see it to believe.
But I am learning
This love is the wind.
This love is the music.
I cannot possess it, for it possesses me.

                        I can’t see you. I can’t hold you.
                        But I can love you.


                                                                                                And that’s real enough for me.