The Early Flight

In the dawn of the approaching morning, 

my soul was revived by his voice. 

Beckoned to awaken, we silently rejoice.

 Rise, he says, and rise I will. 

Taking me into his arms and wings,

 the loveliest of song he begins to sing. 

Close your eyes of deepened sleep, he says.. 

Just for a minute, and I promise you won't regret it. 

And we take to the skies; a dawn to end this starry night, 

though, just a bit afraid of heights. 

Look, he says, and look I do... 

 And below me is a late white Christmas, 

a snowstorm hit too big to miss. 

Ice covers the ponds,

 snow covers rooftops and ground,

 and seems to show no bound. 

Castles and forts of ice, villages and houses of snow, 

is what we've come to see of the world below. 

 Such beauty was only dreamed of, but I knew from this flight,

 that myth was a lie. 

Fly, he says, and he lets me go. 

I called for him, not knowing how to fly, 

at least, not on my own. I let out a cry. 

 He swoops back down, and catches me.

 Here, how about we just glide with ease? 

I'll hold you as I go through the breeze. 

 I cling to him like a frightened child, and he shows me around the snowy parts, 

and as the breeze turns cold, he warms my heart. 

It's okay, he says. I won't let you fall. I cling onto him tighter,

 and we fly higher.

 I see the wintry world in all it's glory.

 It tells a never-ending story. 

The stars became nightlights 

for the remaining moments.

 The moon started fading, 

 and the sky started rearranging. 

When you wake, he says, you will wake well rested, 

 and ready to give the day your best, and

the sun started rising, and it's light passed us by, 

dancing in our eyes.

 Stop for a minute, he says, and smile.

 And smile I do... 

Because of you.

 He brings me back down to Earth, and after our early flight,

 I'm taught to fly with all my might. 

©LJ

 18 January, 2013

Contortion

What I called freedom

you called possession;

the way my body contorted with

the ebb and flow of creation.

What I called dream

you called damnation;

the way my  mind contorted with 

the ways of your beliefs.

What I called pain

you called prevarication;

the way my suffering contorted with

the sharp rapping of my still-beating heart.

What I called joy

you called sin;

the way my happiness contorted with

the happiness of your own.

What I called painting my world,

you called outrageous;

the way my being contorted with

the colors of my words and illustrations.

What is contorted here is your faith in me.

It's contorted in all the wrong ways.

©LJ
27 April 2014 

...for my best friend, Rebecca, who's story inspires this poem.

The October Autumn

...and do I feel some remorse?
Possibly, but tomorrow is another day
for me to rise and say:

"Begone!  Begone!"

and I shall see your face whither like
the fallen leaves of the crisp October autumn.

...and do I feel some anger?
Possibly, but tomorrow is another day
for me to rise and say:

"How could you!?  How dare you?!"

and I shall see pity in the air, as
thick as the smoggy atmosphere of the cold October autumn.

...and do I feel some sadness?
Of course I do, but tomorrow is another day
for me to rise and say:

"I can't...  I can't..."

and I shall see my soul fly, like
the warm colored leaves in the cool air of the ill October autumn.

©LJ
27 April 2014

Blue Pajama Pants

When I was little, 
I saw you for the first time. 
Who were you? Where were you going?
 I was flipping through television channels, 
and stopped when I saw your face. 
My heart went out to you. 
To you, your weak body, 
making its way to somewhere 
I didn't know at the time.
You wore blue pajama pants that day. 
Did you fall? Were you okay? 
I had so many questions I never asked. 
Did someone hurt you? Were you in trouble? 
I always kept quiet. 

But you were on my mind since then, 
this mysterious person I saw on television that day. 
It always seemed as if I had muted the television that day, 
because I remember no noise; 
just a silence that symbolized the heart... 
a beating, worn, empty heart. 
It was so loud inside my head after I saw you. 
The voices began to make me forget you. 
I never knew your name, your voice, your life. 

But suddenly, I saw you again, just a few years later. 
I began to remember that sullen face. 
It took some time, but I saw that day play before me, 
when I realized what had happened 
No strength seemed to be left in you. 
The emotional agony had depleted you. 
And my questions were answered. 
You were someone with a heart of gold,
a gentle nature, with a passion for the arts. 
You were going to a room 
people drew pictures and took photos of you in. 
You fell down a flight of stairs in weakness. 
You were very hurt, and someone had accused you. 
And anyone with a heart, would certainly tell that you were not okay. 

The voices came back and discovered who you really are, 
and since the day He took you in His arms, 
and the angels lulled you into heavenly slumber, 
my love for you surged infinity and beyond. 
You found peace, and the pain had gone away. 
But there is still a part of me, 
that lies awake and wonders, 
"Why can't they leave you alone?" 
It would be the same as a mother telling her defiant child, 
"Shh, your brother is sleeping." 
Let him rest, I say! 
But your soul is forever, 
and I believe to this day, 
that you're there, 
somewhere, 
in your small way. 
And you wrap your wings around us, 
and whisper, "I love you more." 

Our hearts shatter, then mend, and shatter again. 

What hurts, 
however, 
through all that, 
is through these bloodstained, shattered mirrors of the past... 
When I saw your face so long ago, 
I looked in your eyes, shielded in tinted aviators, 
and whispered something to myself that I never forgot: 
"He's very sad, isn't he?" 


©LJ
13 June 2013 
Completed 2:03am EST

22-o4-2o14

In plain sight,
there this translucent, lurking figure
stand proudly beside me
as I walk to the door that intimidates me so.

Have I met it?
I do not know.

This feeling
in the pit of my stomach
makes anger almost regurgitate
and blind my eyes in aquatic depression.

 Have I seen it?
I do not know.

But anymore,
I know not what I do.
I know what I don't know,
but still confused of what I do know.

Have I known it?
Even, that I do not know.
But how does one know
something they do not know,
unless they knew it before?

©LJ
22 April 2014