|
|
 |
Poetry Corner II |  |
 Cassandra's Corner |
Poetry Corner |
Poetry Corner II |
Poetry Corner III |
Cassandra's Stories |
Dedication To Friends |
Internet Stalker 101 |
Contact Me Here |
Links To The Future |
|
Something By Cassandra |
||
 |
Passion By Cassandra Blood drips from the ends of my fingers... Watching it puddle on the floor below... Swirling, Clotting and decaying before my eyes.... Absents of passion, leaves me empty... The gash in my flesh, Nothing compaired to you... Eyes becoming heavy as the flow moves down... Trickling down to the empty space inside... Whimpering as it sends shivers down to that place... You used to do that same things.... The flash of silver blade, caresses my dreams... Reaching down, Feeling the warmth of the crimson... My fingers playing in the pool of my life... A simple reflection of my face... Lifting the blood stained hand to my face... Basking in the dreamy soil.... Defiling my entire body from the inside out... Is it poison? Is it the way of my soul to dance with death... The stinging pain, Closing with the moments... Sliping to the floor, Curling up in the puddle.... Love will make you unsafe.... Hatred will keep you warm at night.... |
|
 |
Raindrops By Cassandra The methodical sounds pouring against stained glass windows. The soft flow that collects in the streets below. The sounds of a childs laughter roaming the hallways. That thunderous melody of the past. Standing at the stage of this natural rage. Beautiful memories washed away down the gutters. The way the winds of the north come inside. Shifting the dress that clings so lighty to my skin. Auburn curls tickles against my neck. Lightening flashes sending cascading colours to my face. A moment locked in time with the pattern of holyness. The pounding trying to get inside, Inside of me. Feeling it move throughout my entire being. Sending ripples of something forgotten back into the secret places. Sneeking, Lingering fingers of something rake angry welts on my soul. A beautiful passion, Pleasure found in the pain. Unlikely movement in the shadows of the mind. All coming back to the rain that falls outside. |
|
 |
Compassion By Cassandra Is compassion what makes us human? Does compassion save us from being monsters? How do you measure compassion? It that why everyone is diffrent? Is our humanity mesured in compassion? No! Our humanity is measure in that which we refrain from. Do people feel compassion the same way? Do we show it together in the same ways? Is it there even when others dont recognize it? Is it what makes us good people? Are thoes with little compassion evil? Is it the lack of this emotion that makes us stray from humanity? In other worldly inhabitance do they show it the same way? Is there a measure of what is politicaly correct? I dont believe in what could have been any longer. I dont think that we can measure in what was. In times of shame and outrage is the only time its seen. I believe in nothing more than moments. All a collection of moments that transend the human heart. All the things we've done as individuals bleeds. Would leave out the remote chance for fate? Do we simply exsist to be compassionate to others? WHY DO WE ASK WHY?!?! What is the driving force behind poetry like this? Do I simply wish a clearer understanding for myself? Or for the whole of humanity? Is it purly selfish that I do intend to question? Is my questioning a sign on madness? Do i over think things simply to make my life harder? No one will ever give a moment of their time on this! There is not a soul out there who will care about what is written. Here in the words is no criptic meanings. There is no talent for tact. Nothing but the ramblings of a mad woman. Perhaps to simply be shoved aside. As we do with things that are uncomfortable. Its not our fault that we shove things aside when they become too much. Our small minds dont understand. They dont know how to comprehend the multi level of a human. No one human can understand the compleat fabric of another. It takes a clan of people to come to a group understanding. Even then they will not get together and have a meeting on it. They will not pool knowledge and make it a collective of power. So we fumble one moment to another with only half a half a story. We never reall grasp the ever ellusive "big picture". Thoes who claim to do so. Have little compassion for the one with whom they speak of. NO ONE PERSON CAN VIEW ANOTHER'S FABRIC TOTALY! That is why there are SO many interpretations of things. I dont believe that people could see the same thing for what it is. Everyone has their own feelings on things. Take for instance a sunset. Everyone has their own personal emotions and experiances tied to it. Each one differs even if they do feel the same way in small dose's. Its really all an illusion, Something to pass the time. Perhaps the smarter of the groups do it simply to amuse themselves. We pick up on it simply out of habit and habitual training. Conditioning. We move the way's that are easiest for us to mock. Some can live a compleatly compassionate life with all the trimmings. Some cannot tell the truth about what they had for breakfast. They say we as humans can learn and distroy old behaviours for new ones. Do you feel that way when it happens to you? Do you heed the advice that you dole out to others. Under the pretences of "Love"? Under the pressure of "I simply tell it like it is"? I do believe that there is someone out there that compleats us. Not for an eternity as we'd all like. But they fill a space in your life for moments that are befitting. Love at first sight, Over exsagurated poetic drivle. Soul-Mate something man created to feel connected to everything else. Longing is real. Pain is real. Sufferage is real. We dismiss thoes things because they are too painful. We push them aside just as we do. When the topic comes up, The advocates for this side simply become marters. We are seen as depressing, attention grabbing fools. I can assure you; WE ARE ALL FOOLS! There is nothing than can not touch us all. Even for a moment the only comon bond we really share. Is that which is called compassion. We either have it or we dont. When we do we see things the same way for a mear second. When we dont we are SEEN in that same way. ~END~ |
|