Author Archives: blitzken

THOUGHTS

You are not your thoughts,

Your thoughts aren’t you,

Not everything you think is true,

Your thoughts may give cause for reflection,

But that is quite another question,

One way to interpret it is this:

Your thoughts are self-analysis,

So if you receive them open ended,

You decide which ones are befriended,

Which thoughts you actively choose,

To reflect you, and your values,

It’s you that gives your thoughts traction,

Which ones then lead to action,

You may have a thought that you despise,

That doesn’t mean it’s where your heart lies,

Perhaps dark thoughts come about yourself,

You can leave those ones upon the shelf,

Thoughts are not right,

Thoughts are not wrong,

But sort them, and put them where they belong.

Mistakes?

Life is indeed too short, too short by far,
Oft likened to a shooting star,
Burning brightly and then gone,
We have not the luxury of getting it right,
That is our plight,
We must learn as we go,
Not because we never know,
When we move on,
But because there is no other way,
No perfect path to take,
We learn by trying,
Stumbling, crying,
We add negativity to the word “mistake”,
We must feel pain when we sometimes fall,
But the only shame lies,
In our not trying at all,
So a life littered with mistakes and missteps,
Is perhaps a life that truly has been blessed.

Anxiety

Elephants shift.

And sit on my chest,

The world pressing in on me,

Seemingly,

Weight  overwhelming,

Feelings swelling,

Compelling me to,

Retreat,

To a safer place,

To retrace,

My steps within,

As walls close in,

And I try to hide,

By turning inside,

To a small dark corner,

Where I feel,

Slightly more,

 Secure,

But not really,

GREEN

GREEN
Looking from my balcony,
So many shades of green I see,
It seems that every single tree,
Is reaching out to speak to me,
Trying to make me aware,
Of all the history we share,
I have a feeling that they care,
Burdens they will help me bear,
They know my secrets and my ways,
Have followed me for all my days,
Know my slips, my passion plays,
Know my different shades of greys,
But they don’t judge a thing I’ve done,
All the roads from which I’ve come,
Some believe in angels and the sun,
But I believe the trees are One,
That somehow they speak to each other,
Treat me like I am their brother,
Like the earth is our shared mother,
They nourish me, they don’t smother,
Somehow they look after me,
Their wisdom old as old can be,
Looking from my balcony,
So many shades of green I see,
It seems that every single tree,
Is reaching out to speak to me.

I love the sound of the rain

I love the sound of the rain,
Especially in the night,
It calms me,
And slightly alters my perceptions,
So instead of ingesting negativity,
I feel cleansed, and glad, and free,
Appreciating where I am and what I’ve got,
Not focusing on hindrances,
Fences,
That block my way,
Wish I could stay,
In this moment,
When it all feels good,
And there’s no pain,
No fight for acceptance,
No need to gain,
It’s quiet, and dark,
In the middle of the night,
Everything feels right,
And I love the rain.

I CRY

I cry,
For in this moment I feel sadness,
Then I cry anew,
For I know,
That in this sadness there is joy too.
For every single thing I’ve lost,
There’s something I’ve gained,
Every pain worked through,
I somehow grew,
Found the lesson that remained.
My journey long and varied,
The baggage carried,
Often weighed me down,
But digging in the dirt,
Healing the hurt,
Leaves me on solid ground,
Ever moving forward,
Though what toward,
I do not know,
But that’s okay,
Living in today,
Is the joy I’ve found,
So I cry,
For in this moment I feel sadness,
Then I cry anew,
For I know,
That in this sadness,
There is joy too.

EVEN THE BIRD WITH THE WOUNDED WING

Even the bird with the wounded wing,
Still can sing, still can sing,
Still has so much joy to bring,
Even the bird with the wounded wing,

Even the bird with the wounded wing,
Still can be a pretty thing,
Can still have my heart on a string,
Even the bird with the wounded wing,

Even the bird with the wounded wing,
Still can welcome in the spring,
Still can feel the winter’s sting,
Even the bird with the wounded wing,

Even the bird with the wounded wing,
Appreciates a golden ring,
Brings me hope on which to cling,
Even the bird with the wounded wing,

THE UNSEEN ELEPHANT

Okay, okay,
I know that this may sound obscure,
But something nudged me,
Of that I’m sure,
I can’t see it,
But I know it’s there,
Unwritten signs are everywhere,
There’s something I’m dying to say,
But an unseen wall is in the way,
Try to make the words come out my mouth,
But they hit the wall and head straight south,
Important thoughts I thought I’d thunk,
Get sucked up by the unseen trunk,
Unseen, but somehow really there,
Inhibiting things we need to share,
Important things to talk about,
Somehow that elephant locks out,
It’s as if the great beast feeds,
On our important wants and needs,
Insatiable, and in the way,
Of things we really have to say,
Elephants are fine and good,
But I think that this kind really should,
Wander off and go somewhere,
So that we can clear the air,
It should go, ethics behoove it,
Thing is, it takes the group to move it,
Cuz the group is damned,
Will meet its doom,
If an elephant’s stuck in the room.