by Julie Adams
I have tossed my rose-colored glasses into the garden;
now blinded by the bright white sun,
how it seeps into the black of my pupils,
two churning vacuous holes
where I’ve stored my pain, peering away into the external,
distracted from repressed and blinding truths
and there are many; it was a dubious task,
but how creativity aids the will of the broken—
and I am, I admit. But I can heal. I am sure
we all can, our will defies the axiom of logic.
I find hope there, in the possibility,
in the healing hands of perseverance,
balancing the yin-yang world
between what is and what could be.
Posted on 05/03/2010
Copyright © 2019 Julie Adams
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Joe Cramer on 05/03/10 at 12:34 PM|
... I loved the word choice and useage, well done Jewels.....
|Posted by George Hoerner on 05/03/10 at 01:26 PM|
Well done lady.
|Posted by Matthew Sharp on 05/10/10 at 03:28 AM|
this is absolutely beautiful...if creativity didnt aid my will i would die an autonomaton.
great work julie...