A Process

I desire to be loved, held, understood.
I’m told, no one can take away the pain, nor is it their duty.
If comfort isn’t a band-aid, what is?
How do you define who you are now, and who you were then?
Mornings come, days go by in which, I float
Answers that never come
So I continue on seeking the light
They say it is here somewhere amongst the weeds I picked I assumed were flowers.
I sit down beside a tree at the cabin to look around.
Not much has changed it’s still mine
I grab the book beside me letting my eyes adjust, in the darkness of the moon.
The eclipse will be soon
Yet
I drift into my characters like those in this book
A part of me, each one that I will not let go.
The past it haunts me, but slowly, gradually, I am allowing it passage
Like a song
Out into the universe.
by
Angela K. Crandall
©9/28/15

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By rebel4universal2acceptance Posted in Poetry

Innate intrinsic cross-examination

The most difficult thing to comprehend
Is mending my own internal spirit
Wondering why I let you near it
Contemplating all the illusions I had
Interpretations of compilations
Come and go
Disturb my slumber
Things said dismantled in one day
Games you played
It’s so difficult to see
Leaves me questioning
Do I need your forgiveness?
Or
Should I just forgive me?
By
Angela K. Crandall
©9/21/15

Say Goodbye….

It’s as if I’m a witch on trial
Burning at the stake as you watch
Each mistake I made carved into my skin
I’ve given in, but they keep carving
No pain felt physically
Emotionally, I’m dying
I don’t grasp for breath
I want to end
To let my-self
Forever sleep
Warm, sweet, peaceful, so I never have to wake again
Nor,
Go to bed to play pretend
I am forever a suffering, in your web-I made
I’ll never know the truth
What I did wrong that day
Forever I sink into my soul
Not knowing, how to let go
As I let go
And
Drowned.
by
Angela K. Crandall
©9/21/15

Switching to sleep…

Allow me to rest, my head upon this pillow
Giving myself
The grace, I lost
Once entrusted
I sit down to pray my life away
Wondering if anyone is really listening
For it is dwindling
Lost
Fearful
Uneasy
With all that is before me, below, beneath, or above
Respite is for those, without thoughts.
by
Angela K. Crandall
©9/21/15

Held Down…

Tears release the pain held within
Letting go of the rivers that roll inside of us
Untying our hands of burdens
Allowing us to pick a daisy once more
Open up the gate inside, my hidden garden
Roam free to sit underneath the tree
Picking the apples they warned me of
Fearing the fruit I once tasted I throw it aside
I lean against my tree
Letting them fall one by one
Trickling down, letting myself hurt, letting it flow
Digging my fingers into the dirt beneath me
Plowing it as if something underneath will eventually grow out of pain
AS if emotions in humans matter
like bees to flowers
They produce honey
while I  generate showers
For mistakes are not tolerable
They bear on your tomorrow.
by
Angela K. Crandall
©9/21/15

Purgatory…

I feel as if I am on trial

for all that I am in denial

No longer can I tell who is right or wrong

On or off

Derailed, or on target

Now I am just standing in the middle of it all

watching traffic.

by

Angela K. Crandall

©9/20/15

Bearing Burdens

If I confessed my sins
I’d be damned and damned again
It wouldn’t end my crippling feat
Left to repeat
For what matters all the good I’ve done?
I want to run, to flee, escape
Breathing again, fresh air
A smile upon my face no longer, pasted there for show
Really, there you know?
Finding happiness again.
If I confessed, would you love me less?
Each hour of the day thoughts displayed
Opposing views collide, explode, igniting into flames
Where is the peace in our exaltation?
When comfort is found, in what others consider sin.
We’ll be damned and damned again
Once confessed there is nothing
Only emptiness
Perhaps a void to be filled
Confess to me, why things are this way?
Reveal to me, my purpose, for it has, is lost to me
All I know are wants and needs
Tired of the stepping stone I’ve become upon my confession.
I lay down my pen.
I’ve nothing left to share, nothing left to bare.
You’ve seen my soul.
Why are you still hidden?
by
Angela K. Crandall
©9/20/15