Sunday, July 15, 2018

The Cure

(So I found this poem among my drafts, didn't realize I had finished it and didn't publish it.)

Bound to silence with such.
Fighting all that's inside.
Struggling to find willpower.
To keep all well hidden.

If one should know.
Would surely be troublesome.
For not but one,
But many.

We lie in wait.
For what we do not know.
We laugh and cry.
For what they cannot show.

Trapped are we in this.
Drawn out in such state.
Fearing the possibility.
Of the coming of hate.

Surely the world will find.
A cure is sure to come.
To fight off this infection.
Rooted deep inside.

None can loose the deep.
The waters so encased.
Locked so deep inside.
I have never faced.

Found have they a cure.
For this rooted mess.
They tell me this.
There is but one test.

Struggling to the surface.
Fearing the sound of failure.
Fighting even stronger.
To win this cure.

Fight for life.
Fight for love.
Fight to win.
Fight for freedom.

Sunday, May 13, 2018

A letter to Mother

There's a moment in time where I stop.
Stop to think about the amazing things.
Those things that you did for me.
To make me into the person I am today.

There's isn't enough "I love you's".
Not enough to fully express myself.
To thank you for being there for me,
But here's another one just in case.

I love you for being my confidant.
I love you for listening when I needed it.
I love you for the silence when I need it. 
I will always love you to the moon and back.

I know I don't always say it out loud.
I hope I at least express it through action.
There isn't a mother more deserving of that love.
Perhaps I'm just a little biased, because you're mine.

You're the mother who gave me knowledge.
You're the mother who gave me the drive to succeed.
You're the mother that helped me through everything.
Thank you for being my mother.

If there was a medal for mother the century.
I would give that award to you.
Again I am being slightly biased,
But anyone who says different, Well...

Thank you for being my support.
Thank you for being patient,
At least most of the time.
Thank you for laughing at that.

I may not always buy you flowers,
Because you feel they're a waste.
I hope you know I think about getting you them.
At least the thought counts for something.

This poem could go on and on.
About what an awesome mother you are.
Let me end it here and merely say.
I love you forever and always.

Wednesday, February 21, 2018

The Traveling Soul

A soul travels along an unknown path.
There are no markings to give notice.
Where this path might take them.
It's unknown to those who've been before.

Fog blurs the vision of what's ahead.
Giving only sight to right in front.
Don't extend your hand to see.
You might lose sight completely.

Walking at a tempered pace.
One would assume there's naught.
No rush to quicken the steps.
Taking them down this unseen path.

How long; they murmur to none.
Because not one can hear.
None can hear, because none are there.
There; where path leads to nowhere.

"Why do you travel, Traveler?
Is there meaning to your journey?"
The pebbles seem to say; in unison.
Yet the soul stays silent in turn.

"What is the purpose to your steps?
Why do you press on forever?"
The fog whispers quietly.
Yet the soul does not reply.

There seems no purpose to this quest.
The query has gone unanswered.
The steps seems aimless in their gait.
There seems no end in sight.

The path becomes more narrow.
As time stretches on: it seems,
As if by some mad design,
There's a test near to come.

"If you could but see ahead,
I'm sure you would be more wise."
Murmured the grass in hush.
"NO!", shouted the wandering soul.

Steps halted upon loosed pebbles.
Breath puffing out amidst heavy fog.
Grass silently swishing to and fro.
"I must not see." spoke the soul, hastily.

"I must not see further up the path.
I can only see what's in front of me.
Only harm will come from seeing,
Knowing what's further beyond."

The soul puts feet in motion again.
Taking to the silence now felt.
No whispers can be heard.
Though silenced, they will test again.

Copyright 2018 Lauren Hall ©

Monday, January 15, 2018

The Female Mind

To understand the female brain.
I've heard this said by many.
I find it rather humorous.
That one would want to dive beyond.

Beyond the intensity that is our mind.
Beyond the thoughts that make us, us.
Beyond what makes us who we are.
What's most hilarious, is this.

The thought that the female mind.
Is some complex math problem.
Needing a PhD to understand.
What any woman could translate.

Yes, I find this all a bit funny.
That one could assume this much.
That by knowing the female mind.
You have unlocked some great mystery.

I'm sorry to state the obvious.
Though I'm sure any woman could tell you.
The female mind is just this.
Nothing special or hard to understand.

Simply solving the problem that is our brain.
Will not help in understanding.
Every female is not the same.
We are not some cookie cutter form.

I cannot solve this great mystery for you.
Simply because, I am not every woman.
I am only me.
And she is only she.

Though we may seem emotional creatures.
We are stronger than some men.
In that we can endure extreme pain.
But love all the same.

Though we may break under pressure.
Like diamonds, we come back harder.
Through pain, hurt and despair we cry.
Our tears will eventually wash away.

Faced with fear, we tremble underneath.
What you see, is a stoic, brave mask.
Not letting those close know.
But forward we march instead.

We smile sometimes when we don't want to.
We laugh although we may hurt.
We move on, when we'd rather stay,
Curl up and cry for a long while.

I cannot speak for every lady.
Because I am only me.
Though similar we may all be.
A woman is more than her looks.

Scoffed by some for simply being.
What some would call "A Typical".
I will tell you this.
You should not judge, before you know.

We are the product of our experiences.
Much the same as you.
Just because I have a female mind.
Doesn't impair my general understanding.

I hope in this you've come away.
With something more than,
Understanding than before.
Even though I cannot speak for most.


Copyright 2018 Lauren Hall ©

Thursday, December 28, 2017

To Brave the Cold

Looking out a window at the snow covered ground,
I ponder if it's worth stepping outside today.
How I'd rather grab some coffee and a book,
Snuggle up next to the warm stove.

Responsibility overrules the stalling,
My feet comfortably toasty in slippers.
"Alright" I grumble to myself,
As I sigh dramatically to no one in particular.

I first grab the necessary layers needed,
Five layers to be exact, to risk the cold.
I stand there staring at the extra clothes,
"Why am I doing this?" I think, yet again.

"Right, responsibility" I mumble in halfheartedness.
I quickly put on the first layer, as teeth chatter.
The second layer seems a bit easier,
The third layer is a bit more stiff.

By the time I get the fourth layer on,
I start to understand the Tin Man a bit.
The inability to move my extremities,
I start to question the need for a fifth layer.

Never the less! I surely will need it,
Putting on five layers, the struggle is real.
I am now sweating and questioning my sanity,
Feeling the need to abandon ship, like; NOW!

Oh no, I forgot the hat, and the gloves,
How, am I going to get those on now?
Using yoga poses not yet done before,
As well as teeth and more grumbling.

I now look as if I'm ready for battle,
I dare say I could even stop a bullet.
Walking as though my joints have rusted,
I finally brave the outdoors.

My face feels the immediate burn,
Cold; how cruel you are.
Only fire should feel like burning,
Yet you bite and burn just the same.

As quickly as my body is able,
I do want needs done and tending.
Waddling like a penguin as I think,
"How much longer till spring?"

I make my way back inside to warmth,
Shedding each layer after layer.
They make a nice pile on the floor,
As I sip my coffee and read, ignoring the mess.

Cold; you are better seen than felt.
More beautiful outside, seen through glass.
You are a funny thing indeed,
I think my infatuation of you has finally faded.

Copyright 2017 Lauren Hall ©

Sunday, December 24, 2017

Lost in Thought

Gazing at the deep blue green.
Reflected off iridescent scene.
Imagining the greater sphere.
As light dances over the tier.

I want to make this image,
Bigger than any lineage.
Thoughts are but a stream,
I question if I can dream.

Imagination has now begun,
Building on whats been spun.
Giving life to a mere thought,
Though the images are untaught.

Floating on a tiny thread,
I think it's all gainsaid.
I care not to what most say,
It's not out there on display.

In a trance of my own,
Not one can make clone.
These ideas are but mine,
Not for all thee and thine.

Conjuring up the unseen,
Hallucination my routine.
Staring at this iridescent fantasy,
I throw my cares out to sea.

Stock still she sits in gaze,
One might think in daze.
The inner workings grind,
The delusion of her mind.

For how long she's there,
No one says or will ever dare.
Call out to her in such,
Wake her with a touch.  

Copyright 2017 Lauren Hall ©

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Time is My Teacher

I've heard said by few,
Let go, it'll come back.
How unfair those words seem,
When they lie to you and me.

Life once already lived,
Is forever etched in past.
No more can the trees,
Bloom once blooms are gone.

Tell me again this fate,
You say we all will share.
This fate seems to escape,
The likes such as I.

Time is a thief and crook,
I've thought over and over again.
Stealing life and love and laughter,
I know I'm just being biased.

Although I am losing now,
The time ought better spent.
I stopped here to share,
These passing memories of mine.

I might have lost to time,
But I still have more left.
How careless of me in past,
To waste on creatures such as;

Vain spectacles of human form,
Seeking naught but frivolous acts.
Self absorbed, Self seeking, Selfish,
Are these creatures of common form.

I refuse to be led in such,
Common display of array.
The insanity some call beauty,
Merely flaunts but a shell.

Time is being spent wastefully,
Cast aside on a whim.
 No thought given to why,
This shell is slowly dimming.

Time is no thief and crook,
Carelessly taking from me.
Time is my quiet teacher,
Telling me to learn;

Learn from whats happened,
Step beyond the history.
I will no longer waste,
The gift time has offered.

Time has offered itself,
To learn from past mistakes.
Reach beyond what has been,
Look forward to what can be.

Copyright 2017 Lauren Hall ©