A Hurt Friend

There is a rose that grows in the night and day, as she awaits for someone to hold her, care for her. One day a young bird comes in, the rose lets him play with her, she doesn't know what is to happen. The bird returns day after day. They last a few months before a thorn grows, the rose, she is tired of the games. The bird induces the last thorn she can take and breaks her where it will take the longest time to heal, her heart. years later, one of the roses friends, a honeybee comes along and sees the rose is hurt. Days go and he desperately tries to care for her, but she doesn't want to let anyone in, she has locked up her heart until the day she feels she is ready for another try.

This is a true story. The rose symbolizes a beautiful, young women who was hurt to the point where she feels afraid of giving her heart to anyone. The bird was the boyfriend that hurt her, and the honeybee is me, one who has loved, but she is so hurt that she is scared to give anyone a chance until she feels ready.

I am sorry there haven't been much more writing. There are some things I would love to post, but the problem is... It is extremely hard for me to put these things to words. I've been contemplating the ways to write, and what to write. I feared this would happen, I have contracted a serious case of a serious problem. This disease is known to have no true constant cure. In devolution terms, my mind is dying, I'm going crazy, and my grammer is reducing to nothing. I went to two different medical assistants, the first was the school "nurse" and the other was Dr Diva, who works at the Bipolar Health Clinic, each had different advice- no pill, no injection, serum nothing, just advice. Sure they identified the problem. I have... and truly I hate to say it, but sadly I have something almost all writers get- or so I'm told- writer's block. Yes this disease haunts any writer I know. Too many a day and no word per page. Thank you for listening to my sad little pain.

From a school project for the Vietnam war are "blood in the sand" and "change"

The red clay, oh horrid blood in the sand,
The burrowed hole where a friend hast died in.
Blood spilt, countless lives lost in the heartland,
I look up and smell that red clay again.
That sad, sad song that haunts the daily air
comes from that clay in that Vietnam War.
The red clay, the blood in the sand I feel,
The blood in the sand is stuck in my hair.
The friend I have lost are too many more.
The red clay to me will always feel real.

Change is too often thrown upon our shoulders
Too quick to ready ourselves for what is next;
Love was thrown down when love was not from her,
And war is not ever forever fixed.
Nothing can ready for sudden changes;
Not war, nor the struggles we face daily,
Not even the people who brave it ouANCan ready themselves barely for changes.
Still nothing will give us much but vaigly
The sound of mind that has been with much doubt.

This life to a rose

Shall I compare this life to a rose
Dancing in the wind and following the flow
Growing up towards the sun
Like the, body, soul and mind.
Petals fall down like the loved ones we've lost
Degraging are their bodies in the maneur of this world
Like the roots, you firmly ant yourself in what you believe.
Life has its trials that sting when they start to stick,
That is the thorne for every little stem.
You bring forth a stronghold while wilting away,
And pray to the heavens, the potter (the Lord), that you may
Be with him in his beautiful home
In a vase cared for after your roots are gone
Off of your roots another rose grows
And then goes the cycle around and again,
Until the day the earth is broken

The house in the middle

I swayed off the barkwood path
Just following a friend
To see, just see what was on the other side
And what might could have been.
A fearsome beast or evil being
From whence the scene be told
The house The HOUSE, OH BLOODY HOUSE
'TWas far from being gold.

I run away, but sworne to stay
In just what could have been
The house, The HOUSE, OH DREADFUL HOUSE
Is all that would have been.
If what happened here hadn't happened there
Only to sooth the evil,
Maybe this just wouldn't be
death for many people

Though I have my ups and downs
My life will never be
The way that I invisioned it
At the begining.
I try and try to turn around
With struggles in my way.
I realize then and know right now
That I had strayed away.

In between two dreams

Caught in between two dreams, one another
When all the world fades away,
I close my eyes
And then realize
What a fool I am not to pray
For the enemies of me
From whom I was fleeing. 
And now am seeing
What could my enemies be
But a silent sound
On the cold hard ground
And I but a spec in the sand
With my armor of all, including my sword,
Or them a raging wind
Silenced once again
By the fury of the LORD.
Caught in between two dreams, one another
When HOLY matters evade
I open my eyes
And then realize
The world is a giant cliche
The one thing I know, I keep to me.
The wicked in books
Come out in the works
Of a misled leader to be.
And the towns of men start to scream,
Yelling for help,
Trying for help
But these leaders are no human being.
Then the men, their spirits broken to pieces,
And the air was quiet
No more the riot
Not even were heard of more screaches.