utter chaos strewn with logic by elizabeth love (jenna bush book club .TXT) 📕

Writer’s Release
I have strayed from the pen for far too long.
This lark had forgotten its own simple song.
I stumbled back into that once familiar trance,
A bumbling clown in the words delicate dance.

My fingers creaked, my tendons groaned.
My pencil, it trembled, with verses unknown.
The words have brought me back to life.
The veil was lifted, a subtle knife.

Before I had been ever so encumbered,
Now my mind races with stories unnumbered.
I breathe again, my mind is clear.
Again I’ve found that which I hold dear.

An overdue spring after a tortuous frost,
The words on my tongues shall not be lost.
I’ve regained my purpose, the word flow won’t cease.
My words are my freedom; the writer’s release.


Die with the Flow

Can’t get a grip on reality,
This path wasn’t meant for me.
Can’t open this door,
‘Don’t know what’s in store.

I’m lost and I’m afraid,
I’ve found I’m not brave.
I’m shunned then I’m welcomed.
I’ve drowned then I’m saved.

They say you can just scrape by,
But in what kind of lives?
The many will thrive yet,
The one can’t survive.

No man is an island.
Yet, none should be drones.
You can wait at the edge or,
Just die with the flow.

Conformists are background,
The rebels are hushed.
Each man chooses his path;
For death or for hell!


The Lover’s Prayer

Let me be united with my love, let us become one, let us reach the highest level of companionship. Let us be (if not each other’s first,) then last. Let us succeed and fail together. Let our love be constant and pure. Let us be each other’s only. Let us be joined by the cosmos and sanctioned by the stars.


The Three Faces of the Sun

The sun is gentle, the sun is kind.
The sun’s warm laughter calms your mind.

The sun is fiery, the sun is mad.
Oh! Where’s the sun that you once had?

The sun is crying; the sun is weak.
Repent your actions! You must be meek.


The Masked Ball

Laughing, screaming,
Twirling, teaming;
A sea of bodies;
A mass of tongues;
Each mask embodies,
A song unsung.
Deceit and lies;
So many disguised!
Adventure and mystery
Are failures throughout history.
We are dazzled by the sequins
And awed by the frills.
The smooth silk hurls meek ones
Into chaotic thrills.
The dance is un-orderly.
The volume; too loud.
The truth in each word will be lost; they’re too proud.
The mask hides appearance,
Yet eyes shine right through.
If you assume clearance,
The fault’s all on you!
So enjoy the masked ball but beware of the faces.
There are vermin beneath those intricate laces.


At War With Oneself

Two soldiers are fighting, in a single boy's head.
They tell me keep writing! Until one is dead. Two soldiers are warring, one young and one old,
an interesting matchup, both strong and both bold.
the one is a wise man, he's kind and polite, the other is modern, uncaring yet "cool"
the wise man thinks nothing, of his daily plight,
the other complains, and calls the wise man, a fool.
It’s a shame these two warring, there's no cause to fight,
it's a waste these to batting, for none shall be ruled.
you can see each small victory, see each man beget,
his foe for the host is seen caught in the net
a trouble within, there is no cause to fret,
now a messenger comes to my side;
I’m told that the battle has ended and yet,
I’ve yet to know which man, has conquered the bet

Publication Date: 05-08-2010

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