In pain I found peace

I've known you since I first awakened in a room so warm,

However, little did I know there was an upcoming storm.

I was so excited to see that bright light,

But years later that joy turned into the shadows that control the night.

From then till not long ago, I was lost in a dream.

Nothing was really what it seemed.

Now I'm awake and all is blurry,

And I am filled with this strange fury!

You've done so much right,

Yet you've done so much wrong;

The recovery will definitely be long!

Will this pain ever go away?

No, no....

It wants to stay!

If I speak, chaos will occur.

But silence is torture!

So when I die and peace has not come yet,

Place at my grave...

"I tried to forgive,

But alas, I will never forget!"

Forgiveness is, in my opinion, the hardest quality to learn as you grow up. It is inevitable that someone will hurt your feelings or even break your heart. Poetry is this weird type of therapist that teaches you what you might not necessarily be able to learn on your own...qualities and attributes such as forgiveness. I know poetry most definitely did that for me. I would let it ALL out when I wrote a poem...every last over-exaggerated emotion, every tear, every scream, every thought. And then, when I was done with the poem, I was done with it all...with every over-exaggerated emotion, every tear, every scream, every thought. Some poems I wouldn't go back and read for days. Others for weeks. Some I haven't read in decades. The intriguing thing about it all to me when I re-read some of my poetry is the fact I ever truly felt the way I did. Perhaps it's because I'm older and wiser now, or maybe, just maybe, it's because I've learned to "forgive and let live."

Slowly my eyes open,

And suddenly all is unfamiliar!

Nothing is the way it was

When I laid myself down to sleep.

The room is pitch black

But it is day time.

I try to get out!

But I am too short,

And the ditch is too deep.

I blink!

Now I stand in front of a redwood door.

It's locked.

I begin to panic!

But as I reach into my pocket,

I find the key.

When I unlock and open the door,

I am blinded by the light.

I let out screams of terror and pain,

But no one seems to hear me.

I look around this unusually bright room of reflections.

Fear comes over me!

My picture hangs on the wall with unfamiliar others.

They call themselves my family,

But I feel as if they're not.

In this room of mirrors,

I need to find the truth,

So l look,

I look,

For something to throw.

The mirrors that hang on the way are similar

To the ones in fun houses.

They distort everything,

Only to leave behind confusion.

All images that I see are virtual,

And NOT real!

Suddenly my hand begins to ache,

And I look down,

To see vicious impressions of the key

That I am holding in my hand.

Instantly, I become overwhelmed with anger!

As I cast the key into this distorted world,

My eyes close.

Pieces of shattered glass fall to the floor,

While tears of sadness form.

I wait for my eyes to lose their cloudiness

So to see reality.

I want to cry

Because the glass has cut me,

And I am now severely wounded.

It is not blood that I am shedding,

But tears...

As I finally see the real me.

Plain and simple,

As a sketch of my world,

I stand as a little girl

With blonde pigtails

And worn-out overalls.

So fragile am I,

That I cannot be touched,

Even with a loving hand.

To survive,

I must start over.

My body is once again small.

I started writing poetry when I was very young...hmmm, probably sometime in my early elementary school years. I always enjoyed the fact that I could make up whatever I wanted and create whatever kind of world I wanted in a poem. However, I fell into the dreadful habit and mindset that every poem I wrote had to rhyme, otherwise it wasn't a good poem. "Shattered Mirrors" was the first poem I ever wrote where I completely let myself and my mind go free of the rhyming shackles. I must admit, even 25 plus years later, it is often still difficult for me not to WANT to rhyme when I create a poem, but I have learned that rhyming does not necessarily make or break poetry. I hope my little story teaches you the same lesson as well.

Once again I roamed aimlessly

Through those campgrounds.

Like a sweet summer breeze,

Childhood memories blew past me

Capturing the curiosity of my heart and soul.

As I wandered along several memorable paths of my life,

I came to the center of my childhood.

The times I spent in tents and cabins during a youth camp

Had become more than just an insignificant moment,

So when I found others sleeping where I once had,

I went into shock!

Then, all of a sudden, I began to scream at the new campers!

Campers whose memories would replace my own.

But no one heard me!

I had become a ghost who was unable to haunt.

I followed the children outside

To the playground, baseball field, and tennis and basketball courts.

I stood wounded in battle

In the middle of what used to be my childhood.

Crying, I said,

"My memories, my dreams,

Now belong to some other child.

Auctioned off like a mere trinket!

My life is no longer my own!"

Unable and without a home I can call my own,

I am left alone

To forever chase after

Those tarnished summer breezes.

I think every person goes through that phase when all of a sudden they say, "Oh shit, you mean I can't be kid anymore? You mean I really have to do grown-up stuff like pay bills and work? Oh man." I know I definitely did. I remember realizing that all of sudden my mom wasn't going to be doing my laundry anymore and my dad wasn't going to be the one taking out the trash or fixing stuff up around the house...I WAS! The worst of it all was knowing that I wasn't going to come home to a nice warm cooked meal every day. I mean, who thought of this grown-up crap anyways? When I wrote "Tarnished Summer Breezes," I had just recently graduated high school and was learning the hard way that I couldn't be a kid forever. However, the nice thing about this poem is that it makes me remember all the good ole days and cherish the awesome memories I will have forever and always. Hopefully my poem reminds you of YOUR good ole days as well.