Stopping before the cherry tree.

Sometimes being under the rain cloud makes the sunshine sparkle all the more. Where the raindrops transcend. Looking past the cherry tree to see that the sparkling tiny diamond-like drops stop and life beyond seems to be different than what it is at the moments time is passing. 

Ripples

Shadows of fear,
torment my heart.
Suffocating.
Gasping.
Sputtering for breath.
Tranquil waters,
nor more.
Rippled,
by the drop of a tear.

Train

The ground trembles, like a hunger grumble in my belly roars, and I know that somewhere close enough there are tracks in which another path crosses.
I choose to follow my own, let others take the ticketed route.
I have purchases one before.
Loved every minute of it. A joy ride, on the handyman work of another.
Thanks.
But I must pass, and keep going.

Sorting IT Out

*just a note for those of you who read this, this is not one of my normal blog posts, but eh, what the heck.

It has been an interesting two weeks gone by, as my husband has been laboriously plucking away at the keyboard on the computer (deep breath in) getting all of his final school work done before the term ends.
AND...he GRADUATES! YAY
I suppose while he is busy, I could be doing something productive, like cleaning up the house.
However, with 6 to 8 children to look after most days of the week, I get tired of picking up and some nights, I am exhausted.
The night before last, and last night, I found two interesting documentaries on TV that I decided to watch while he worked. I have noticed that when I watch some of my favorite channels, he gets distracted. Though, watching Larry the Cable Guy get roasted on Comedy Central, along with Whitney Cummings stand up performance, is what I  LOVE to watch most.
Anyway, back to topic at hand, sex. You didn't know that was the topic, did ya?
The night before last, I started watching a documentary on the History Channel (What? You thought the documentary would be on the cooking channel or something?)  called Sex in '69, The Sexual Revolution in America, and then last night on BBCA (I honestly have NEVER watched this channel before last night either) Brothels-Ins and Outs.
Sex in '69, was loaded with information from "free love" to Feminism and how our society changed dramatically during this specific time. I am going to focus on the part about free love though, because it ties into the BBCA program I watched last night and how having a specific attitude towards sex and intimacy disintegrates our human capability of communication with one another. I know, I could go on about women being used as objects, etc, but men are also used as objects and according to some prostitutes from the documentary (is that what they are called when they work in brothels?), having 8 orgasms a day is a huge benefit of the job (just another junkie?).
My understanding of free love (from the documentary) is one can be in a committed relationship, yet have sex with whomever, and still have intimacy in that relationship. OR people just have sex with each other, when ever, with no attachments. I originally thought that it was a movement that was against monogamy and relationships, but someone in the documentary was married during a time when he and his partner experimented and took part in it.
I also noticed that in both pieces, there were many people who were under the influence of some kind of drug while they partook in such activities. Isn't this just another method to detach oneself from the hardships of life's realities? To not be committed? To layer another row between the world of communication and fantasy?
It gets so confusing sometimes, trying to understand why people do some of the things that they do. I get asked, why worry about it? I worry because if this is something that some people want accepted in our society, what does that say about our beliefs on intimacy and our ideas on marriage? What am I to prepare my children for when it is time for them to become sexually active? Simply say, here son, take this condom and go boink who ever you want? Numbers don't matter? An orgasm will always feel good, so just enjoy them as they are, nothing special about it? It is a natural high? Are we going to become immune to the idea of commitment just to get our jollies off? Are we simply biological creatures who are not supposed to live together and mate for life because it is too hard?
 It is no wonder 50% survive.
I know why I choose to stay in the relationship I have with my husband, and I know what I hope to teach my children about the importance of being in a commitment such as marriage, but my question is, will it matter?
Unfortunately, this was just a quick peek into an interesting topic ( a snapshot, I suppose), where I am sure, discussion could go on for hours, days, years, even lifetimes!
Thank you for reading it.

Drone

Seething, her soul is scratching at the invisible boundaries in which it cannot push its way through.
Watching, while yet another victim unknowingly enters your carefully setup attempt for another assault. Straining to penetrate her ears with silent warnings of the evil that awaits, while you begin your process to feed off of others to sustain your disgusting excuse of a human being. The heaviness of you makes the air dense with pollution.
Some day, oh yes, some day you will be snuffed out by another and in an inhumane unnatural way, your vapors will slither to the devil himself.

Clay Mold

She lifts her head slowly from her slumping shoulders and tries to see if the surrounding darkness comes with familiarity. Peat moss cushioning the ground beneath her. Her dingy, mud clumped strands of hair sway with her faint movement as if strings on a violin playing their last cords on death.

She blinks and an eternity passes before she can open her eyes again.

Her life is heavy upon her shoulders.

She looks down at the ground, her hands not far from her face at all. Torn nails, bloody scratches and streaks of red clay remnant, camouflage from the naked eye that these are her hands.

Human hands.

A piercing scream erupts from deep within her throat.

Raw.

Soul shattering.

Her battle begins, as one life ends.  

Frost Bite

Cold, crisp, crackling leaves crunch under the light foot that treads.

Frigid, harsh, violating air is penetrated by a puff of breath.

So soft, one cannot tell a breath had been breathed at all.

The Veil of Frost slightly disturbed by the fragile limbs of Nature’s forlorn dormitory of silence.

Wicked winds whip the maple leaves while cold rain drops lick the sweetness of their death.

As a devil who feasts upon sin.