Blind Spot

We see the blemishes,
know the facts.
We accept reality,
yet hang onto dreams.
Overnight they spring into emotions
that can not be contained.
The dangers of ideas
stalk our hearts.
The chance of an impossibility,
the hope of an improbability.
We try to mix and match--
blending fire with ice,
mixing salt and sugar.
We reject the realities,
trading them for fantasies.
We live in worlds
of our own making--
not realizing our denial
until a coarse surface breaks
the bubble of our disillusionment.
We crack and split almost
to the core of our being--
not having the forethought to
buy shatter-proof glass for the
case around our hearts.
We feel betrayed more by our dreams
than by our ideals.
When will we learn to accept
at face-value?
How not to build our fantasies
on conflicting interests?

The Story

He had been almost alone for quite some time. It was just the three of them since the first. He was content--He didn't need more--but He had always been creative. He got inspired--so excited with His plan that He was bursting with delight. He knew that all He had to do was let it out. He breathed. Light flashed and illuminated half of the area. He was now radiating golden, yellow beams in all directions. There was no fear--all was peace. He spoke into the silence, the vibrations flowing on and on in endless directions, fluttering through open space. Blue waves traveled to and fro in the once empty space. He gathered them into sections, separating them into equal groups--His masterpiece was starting to take shape--the proportions were becoming even. Now for some spice. He added a cool, slimy feel to the blue masses. He added sound to them, their soothing music now reaching all the bounds of his domain. Then He decided to add some more color--it would bring more life to His work. Splotches of green, red, purple, yellow, pink, orange--all the colors ever imagined--made their way into His masterpiece. They all were unique, although some of them looked similar. He had a special place to put each and every one of them. He added a new element to his art--different scents. Each and every part had a different scent--some were exotic, some were tangy, some were sweet, and some-- really didn't smell so good--but enhanced all of the others. Then He had a new idea pop into His head. He gave each of the plants a special taste too! They all had different textures, and varied between hot and cold. He saw how dark His artwork still seemed, so He decided to put in some more light. First He sculpted a round globe that shone brightly in all directions, illuminating every color to its brightest tone. He picked up the globe and placed it farther away from all the greenery so that it didn't illuminate the colors too much. A brilliant idea came to Him. What if He sculpted a much smaller globe and placed it in between the first globe and His original masterpiece? It could reflect the first globe's light and serve as a "second light" to His artwork. Then, to add even more sparkles to His work of art, He poked little holes all around His original work and placed tiny sparkling lights into the holes. But because they were so small, they couldn't be seen when the first globe was shining. He quickly solved this by making the second globe move, sometimes covering the first globe so that the tiny lights could be seen, and sometimes letting the first globe's light completely cover the art. Then He thought of something else--what could use these things He had already made? He decided to make things that breathed and moved around. Some had long necks, some had big eyes, some were furry. Some swam, some flew, and some waddled on the ground. He made them all different, but organized them into groups that would get along together. He formed likes and dislikes for each group about where they would dwell, and what they would eat. They spread all over the land. He looked at all He had created so far and thought something was still missing--the one thing that would add the final touch to make His masterpiece perfect. Pondering for a while, He realized He wanted to make something that was similar to Himself--something He could love, that could return His love, and not because it had to. He wondered what He should make this creature out of, and came up with a solution. Taking some earth from His creation, He formed it into an image of Himself. Then He stooped down and breathed into it. The being moved and lived and breathed and loved. He decided to call this being Adam. But He saw that something was yet missing--Adam was the only being of his kind--all the rest of His creation had groups of their species. He made Adam fall asleep, and took a single part of Adam, mixing it with more earth. He made this being more lovely and soft in form, sculpting her to fit Adam perfectly. Then He breathed into her, and woke Adam up. He decided to call her Eve. Then He sighed with contentment, having done all He had planned. His masterpiece was complete.

Forgiveness is an action

Some people think that simple words
can heal the wounds they have inflicted.
I have come to understand that mere
letters sprawled on a page,
or flowing from a mouth
can not erase the jagged scars
testifying to the internal gouges
forever bleeding from the heart.
Only stitches, formed from acts of reconciliation--
grace given freely to the offender-- can ever
bind the seeping wounds together,
and cause the scars to heal.

Pears

Tears dripping down my cheek--
only you know why.
Rosy colors spreading across my face--
you cause them to appear.
Sparkles gleaming in my azure eyes--
I can tell you're somewhere near.
A tinkling sound flows from my mouth--
only you can draw it out.
Sunbeams radiate from my wide smile--
you must be talking to me.
Sweet images appear in my dreams--
you must have sent them.
Notes of joy ring from my lips--
you placed them there.
I have no fears--
you'll always be here.

Please hear what I'm not saying

This is a poem I found in my speech class book, and I thought was really applicable to most people--so enjoy :)

Don't be fooled by me.
Don't be fooled by the mask I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's a second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

But such a glance is precisely my salvation, my only hope,
and I know it.
That is, if it's followed by acceptance,
if it's followed by love.
It's the only thing that can liberate me from myself,
from my own self-built prison walls,
from the barriers I so painstakingly erect.
It's the only thing that will assure me
of what I can't assure myself,
that I'm really worth something.
But I don't tell you this. I don't dare to, I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance will not be followed by acceptance,
will not be followed by love.
I'm afraid you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh, and your laugh would kill me.
I'm afraid that deep-down I'm nothing
and that you will see this and reject me.

so I play my game, my desperate pretending game,
with a facade of assurance without
and a trembling child within.
So begins the glittering but empty parade of masks,
and my life becomes a front.
I idly chatter to you in the suave tones of surface talk
I tell you everything that's really nothing,
and nothing of what's everything,
of what's crying within me.
So when I'm going through my routine
do not be fooled by what I'm saying.
Please listen carefully and try to hear what I'm not saying,
what I'd like to be able to say,
what for survival I need to say,
but what I can't say.

I don't like hiding.
I don't like playing superficial phony games.
I want to stop playing them.
I want to be genuine and spontaneous and me
but you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand
even when that's the last thing I seem to want.
Only you can wipe away from my eyes
the blank stare of the breathing dead.
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you're kind, and gentle, and encouraging,
each time you try to understand because you really care,
my heart begins to grow wings--
very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings!

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

~Charles C Finn

Master of Disguise

Surrounded by thoughts--
not my own
Notes swirling in dizzying eddies--
burying my composition
Shapes muraling a path in my mind--
covering my masterpiece

I think the thoughts--
to escape the knowledge I have
I listen to the melodies--
to leave behind the rhythm of reality
I trace the murals--
to hide the telling paint of my beliefs

I paint myself in leaf patterns--
to cover every trace of pain
I don the clothes of the crowd--
to shade the tears staining my face
I mold my personality to cynicism--
to mask the love shattered
I fall helpless to my knees--
to pray for the ones I can't change