arows1faith
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Joined: 6/7/2007
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I am a writer and have been writing for just under 20 years. I'd like to share a few pieces of writing with you all:
April 4, 1997
"GREY"
Staring into the looking glass,
I can see a thousand shades,
Each, of the same color
Grey.
But, each shade contrasts so sharply against the next,
What are the things missing here?
What did we forget?
Maybe all the subtle places,
The places where we blend.
When will a man see another man,
And be able to see through,
All the shallow depths of race and hate,
To see he is human, too?
1993
Since the dawn of time man’s riddled with hate
Of things new and differing with which he can’t relate
Why does this beast, which has the power to kill,
Cast judgment on others without climbing their hill
Life gives us enough, almost going insane
And man is still stuck on giving another man pain
Aspects of a difference, even to the name
And we’re still forgetting what makes us the same
January 26, 1996
The humanity I’ve seen
and the experiences I know
Have one thing in common:
an inborn fear of things unknown.
I know change is scary,
this I know too well.
But at least I lend an ear
to the stories they have to share.
Do not get “lost” in the difference
and do not turn it away!
Allow your mind to understand
the things they have to say.
A thought never seen
that comes anew,
By hearing the same thing
from a different point of view.
May 3, 2002
A ringing phone gets me up
I say, “hello,” to the silence
then I hear tears on the line.
Anytime or anywhere
I’m called to do my life’s job
I don’t think, I do.
Still, I wish I wasn’t so busy
tending the wounds of too many
that have sought me.
It’d be easier
if there wasn’t so much work.
At times, it just feels
like I’m mopping up sadness
and dumping pails of sorrow,
cleaning up the dirty dishwater
that’s been fouled with fear.
And, almost out of spite,
a force inside rises high.
I can affirm and validate,
inspire and empower.
I don’t know how,
I just do.
May 18, 2003
Where is it, in people
that fear becomes justified?
In spite of any trust,
for the worthless sake of comfort,
people lie.
And where are we taught
that the truth is more full of pain?
To make things good,
to make them worthwhile,
we have to spend ourselves.
No one leaves this life
with what they have arrived.
That just isn’t the case.
Some leave with more,
and some, with less.
The difference is simple,
not at all hard to see.
The good is where you value the worth
and you’ll pay the price in pain,
for the world is out to get you;
it doesn’t want you sane.
The cost of pain paid daily,
the joy is what you earn.
July 12, 2006
It’s a total sense of oddity
the way some thoughts arrive;
but, arrive they do, nonetheless.
Half my life ago, and thereabouts,
I achieved a small victory
without ever knowing it was a battle I was fighting.
Childish times of school, ring true.
There were the popular “haves,”
the semi-popular “have” or “have nots,”
and others who were glamourless.
And we, the glamourless, found each other;
sought each other out
across boundaries of finance and race
beyond visual cues and differing points of view.
But a fantastic realization I’ve never had before
is the recognition of a few simple facts:
When we, the glamourless
sat, in the morning, at a cafeteria table
eating an economical school breakfast,
we joked, and laughed, about anything
except, but rarely, others and their troubles.
We didn’t need to fuel the same spite
that exiled all of us together,
we simply reveled in our common exile.
I am happy to share these with you all and will share more.
_____________________________
The Goddess is alive and there is magick afoot.
Arow Blackdragon
Valley of the Kings
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Poetry from my soul, for you. - 
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