Un-abridged

Oh my. Well you see, after my poem was lost, I decided to go back out in the cold. I knew my poem would never be the same, or have the same affect as the first time if I had tried to redo it. So the best option I had was to start afresh, go back to the drawing board, and let my creativity flow wherever the wind wanted to take it. And of course, I was smart this time and took a good 'ole fashion notebook and pencil. The outcome was more of a...systematic ramble than a poem. But I thought I'd put it up. Warning: this is the unedited word-for-word copy of an un-controled flow of my imagination. Enter at own risk.

Oh Winter, inspire me.
Oh Frost, incite me.
Oh Wind, inhale me.

That the world would never chew me up, and spit me out: "cultured."

What if we?
Stayed unintelligent: our only teachers, God and nature.

Bibles and pineapples our only sustenance.

What drives you? Everyone has something.
Is it what it should be?

Warmth is in the blood of the beholder.

Chill is an over-reaching enemy.
The sun is an undecided ally.
The wind a friend and a foe.
An undiscovered bliss of shy betrayal.

Clouds a depressing indecisive tool. Yet a beauty when coupled with Mr. Sun. Yes, they'd win the "cutest couple" award.

My thoughts stream like the wind: A million places in the world at once. And yet continuous wave of reliability - all the same feel, just different speeds.

My heart is a cloud. Always moving, undecided which way it wants to go, no permanent home. Not yet. But, in the meantime, not willing to give themselves up wholly to one emotion, feeling, weather pattern, person. Having its beautiful moments, and its gray ones. Sometimes rain, but sometimes snow and sunsets. Sometimes absent from the situation at hand. Always drawn by a good song - like blue sky. A resting place for the stars.

It's best friends with the sun, although they, like any relationship, have their tiffs, sometimes battling to outshine the other.

My mind is the sun. Bright. It's not conceited to admit it. It's just how God created it. A million thoughts can course through, sun storms, yet it will always remain relatively unchanged. Sometimes it is covered by clouds, my emotions: my heart. Sometimes they exist together in a happy medium - as it should be - a life without clouds would be an awfully long hot draught. An unfeeling soul.

My soul.
My soul is hidden. It is the air. Existing all around - no matter what - whether I believe in it or not, never being seen because it is hidden in God's heart.

My spirit. My spirit is not of the weather nor atmosphere. My spirit is flowers in spring. My spirit is the green grass in England. My spirit is a bouncing melody on a cheery day. My spirit is playful snow in mounds. It is piled up fall leaves on the ground. It is an afternoon fire in the dead of winter. It is hot chocolate on a rainy day. It is puddles left behind for children to jump in. It is two hands holding. It is fingernails chewed in excited anticipation. It is a young child that just lost their first tooth.It is a painting on display, as well as a hidden masterpiece seen by no one but the creator. It is a light to the world.


Like glow sticks in the dark.


My physical body is just that. Walking around, small, un-noticed by a majority of the world, who don't know that this small package that I am contains the clouds, the sun, the wind, flowers, fire, rain, hot chocolate, songs, grass, puddles, paintings, and light.


. . But they will know. . . . Some day.