rough idea

Oce upon a time, there was a packet of seeds. iy had a pretty label that read wildflowers. The packet had alovely picyure of what the seeds would become if nurtured properly. the instructions on the back said to toss them around on the ground where you wished the wildflower to grow.

While in transit the seeds began talking and one seed asked each other whereare you from? eachhad atale of how they came from a beautiful flower, their mother was beautiful and they were foing to look just like that oneday,it's all inside. so in their packet they lived for weeks, which became months, until a woman purchased the packet and read on the back what time of year to plant them.

At home the lady put potting soil in ten containers and then prepared her daughters for the event of planting the seeds. Everyone was excited. The little women asked where wil we put them? the lady explained that they ought to go on the windowsill because they needed sun light. "Just like us!" cried a little girl who then asked to go outside.

each day the children rushed to see if their seed had grown. under ground one little seed complained loudlt, "I'm so thirsty I think I'll die if I don't get a drink pretty soon. The little girl asked her mother for a sip of water, then after she drank she gave some to each of the seeds, Something magical happened!

The seeds sprouted, and grew roots. but nothing that the girls could see. Thn the mother bought a pitcher for watering flowers and said, I think that they need water. The little girl though, Bah, I already gave them water and nothing worked.

But after a few more days, the seeds poked up through the dirt! They made it through! when the children saw it they were so excited that they pulled each one up root and all. wating the flowers so badly.

The mother came in and saw the girls comparing the sprouts to the flowers on the package. They called to her and said, "mom, I think you got ripped off. These are not flowers just look at them!" Flustered, the mother only had time to wisk up the flowers and toss them in the yard to die peacefully.

But unknown to them, they took root and grew happily in the yard, jut outsidethe window the girls saw a lvely path of flowers. "Oh, mama! thank you for getting us some flowers!' The girls cried out.

The mother went and looked, sure enough theu had survived that, too, and became what they had inside them! She pondered in her heart if she ought to explain the genetic miracle to her little ones and figured they would be able by chance to learn far greater truths, so she just let them quietly observe.

All together the flowers looked lovely with enough grass to off set their beauty. but one little seed felt gipped. "My mother flower was never pink or pretty at all anyway." cried the flower even after it had survived to bloom. I wil neve be as perfect as those tall pink flowers, said the little short orange bloom.

The came the girls who had found a pair of scissors and were acheing to give them a try. "OH, look here! Mom would love to have a vase of these pretty pink flowers to go with her new table cloth." the children all agreed so the cut and arranged the flowers, leaving the Tiger lily alone.

"Mom, mom, look at what we got for you!", said the children handing a boquet. It was perfect she thought, so she put then in a vase, and thanked her little ones and took the sissors away. "Story time!" she called them all in for naptime and told them the tale of an orchid that took many years to grow, but became the loveiest flower. "Now children, remember that every flower has its own purpose just as each of you have different destinies. Some will be put in a vase an others will bloom only after years of nurturing, but everyone belongs for a reason." the kids all fell asleep and dremed of meadows of flowers.

The mother went outside to fix any damage she found. but suprised she found the path of flowerswaseven more lovely with the pink ones gone. The others might not make a pretty boquet, but they really made her yard morebeautiful and caused hr to smile more than the boquet of frshly cut flowers did. She took a deep breath and then ran inside.

And as it ended the orange flowers returned each year and often are seen and admired. now know as classic or annuals as are the irises and buttercups. The End.

impromptu

a flower grows splendidly when nourished by its own source,
My learning hasn't been in vain, yet, my recovery is still
pending.

there is no medical explination, or scientific reason for,
All of my questions. The answer lies in a field of lilies.
If I were to pluck them, they would wane and fade, always
retaining the potential to be, as do I.

No one else has figured this truth out, yet because it is
too obvious, like gravity. having love is taken for granted.
I will never become because I was plucked from my path,
The destination still beams in my soul, but I wither away, frustrated.

Rose

So cruel, the hand that plucked
the fair rosebud leaving it potential
forever and ever more.
A symbol in a vase on an obscure table
where no eyes will fall, naturally
upon it or understand.

So very cruel that hand,
but the hand has no thought,
The nails bear no polish (paint sounds like point)
Beauty seeks no competition.
So untimely the bud will never be a rose
but it has the thorns
and took the scorns
and died for no appearant reason.

Then after death, the bloom soon fades,
and back to dust it all returns. never
becoming. Ever seed umtil it comes
again. maybe not in this life. Maybe
not the next. When then, when then will
it be the thing it now pretends?

pride was his downfall

Maybe They were right that thought that I was doomed though I thought
that being born was an escape. Being here to leave it all behind me. I
could forget everything and start over. Isn't that just the same
longing we still have in this life?

But there is no such thing as escape if our prison is our ownself,
for a few moments in your safe arms I confronted all my demons and let
befall me come what may. I could conquer and survive.

Some find shelter in drugs, alchohal, sleep, etc, but I find my refuge in you.

This life/time I will conquer, and not give up or be alone. I
whispered in your ear that I was depending on you to help me through
this. It was our plan and our private oath. Everything becomes a
metaphor, tattling the secret truth. Maybe we don't need faith or
vision to help.

Pride was his downfall, though. So I cannot let it destroy me too.

a new song for Brandall

sitting on my bed in a house that's not my own
waiting or a ring from you on the telephone,
But you do not call.
I never hear your ring
So I start crying, wish that I was dying
but it does no good. I does NO good.

I'm here because you left me,
and I wait for another chance to live
to try again, living through the clouds and rain.
I made it through my rehab and did my time with therapists
but still it does no good, it does NO good.

so I brak down and call you up.
I even plan to stnatch you up while you're at work
But it does no good. it does NO good.

I try to clear all thoughts of you cause
you won't ever change your mind.
it does no good. it does NO good.

just tell me you don't love me,
that you'll never love me.
It does no good.hiding from he truth does NO good.

captured thoughts on love

I have a hard enough time
telling the difference between my heart and my soul
without throwing love into the picture.

What has my love ever done to
prove his love? still
It doesn't matter to me.

I have made everyone else meet
some impossible standards
but forgive it of him.
I just don't know why.

What is impossible for man is poosible in dreams.
Love is blind, perhaps it is love that binds me so.

Titles

Some people are more than their titles
Titles are wrongly given
at a beginging point
but it is truly just a step on the way.

another essay - more plain

Though I have no intention to name it, others will do that, I can see it though, the new philosophy behind the current "post-modern or punk" art.

I see a problem. I forsee either the elevation of the self or degredation of the star untill all are made equal. It is sad really, but true and there so tangible. with an increase of freedom, particularly with women, an idea cannot be dismissed as "common" simply because it was presented by a woman.

The real task lies in the choice of the Agent or Talent scout, or Publisher. They have to decide who is going to be great to the world that knows that everyone is great, cause the bounderies and walls are crumbling.

An artist cannot hide, the public must know everything, to know how the are just like the person of greatness, learning the truth here is no real distinction. It is either a blessing or a curse. I bet it is a dialectal pattern, swinging back and forth loosing momentum it falls again where it did in other great ages where man came to terms with the faact tHAT HE WSN'T THE CENTER OF THE UNVERSE. I think people are, out of desire or curiosity, wanting to lift themselves up or recieve praise in the fact thtt hey are no different than "Johnny", it helps one not feel alone, but ultimately, it will produce a different effect. The hope is to be lazy and ride and accept the past as great, but History repeats, so if this nation of EMO or whatnot dies, a new "60's" generation will be born out of the ashes.

But it was rightly prophesised by Isaiah that the mountains would be brought low and the valley exalted, that the crooked would be made straight, to prepare for the Lord. It is frightening, but awesome that this could be but a preparation of the world, even styles are changing to make room for everyone, no one dare exclude this time around. It is the Synthesis, as Hegel spoke of it.

2/7/2008

a writting- unrefined

Maybe They were right that thought that I was doomed though I thought that being born was an escape. Being here to leave it all behind me. I could forget everything and start over. Isn't that just the same longing we still have in this life?

But there is no such thing as escape if our prison is our ownself,
for a few moments in your safe arms I confronted all my demons and let befall me come what may. I could conquer and survive.

Some find shelter in drugs, alchohal, sleep, etc, but I find my refuge in you.

This life/time I will conquer, and not give up or be alone. I whispered in your ear that I was depending on you to help me through this. It was our plan and our private oath. Everything becomes a metaphor, tattling the secret truth. Maybe we don't need faith or vision to help.

Pride was his downfall, though. So I cannot let it destroy me too.