Devon McElveen, 18 czerwca 2013
As we dream
We are forced to believe
That anything we wish
Can be conceived.
And as we wake
what will ensue?
Will we make these
Dreams come true?
Devon McElveen, 18 czerwca 2013
When does one lose sense of reality?
Is it normal to hold onto a crushed dream?
How is it that we may find joy
When this reality is not what it seems?
Do we imagine because we fear reality?
Or do we merely yearn to escape it?
Can't we ever find the strength?
The strength we need to face it?
Will there ever be a time
Where all life stands still?
Or must we find within ourselves
The power that is our will?
Devon McElveen, 18 czerwca 2013
Look to the sky.
See the beautiful cyan color.
The clouds move as snails do.
Drifting about needlessly.
The birds sing their songs of harmony
And flutter about so elegantly.
Oh, what I would give to join them.
To float with the clouds of ivory.
To meld with the skies of blue.
To sing with the careless birds.
To flaunt my feathers in the cool breeze.
If I could take flight,
I could finally be free.
Devon McElveen, 18 czerwca 2013
The battle wears on
And it may seem rough,
But do not worry.
I have faith in us.
Though we quake in fear
We prove to be strong.
And facing these odds
We will not steer wrong.
Truly an honor
To stand with you all.
And I will stand here
Even as we fall.
Devon McElveen, 3 stycznia 2012
Day to day anguish
Fills our routines
Through times
We are no longer gifted.
False vivaciousness
Proves to be
Salt in a wound
We have self-inflicted.
Angels, they say,
Watch our every move.
Our souls
Will be brought to soar.
They are said to walk
The same as I,
But finding them
Means quite the chore.
The fabled wings
I have yet to see.
The pureness of their eyes
I've yet to face.
In the end
We are all hopeless to them,
Awaiting their
Warm Embrace.
Devon McElveen, 3 stycznia 2012
Am I free?
Free because I am not locked in a cage,
Because I hold my own ideas,
Because I possess my own will?
My ancestors knew the meaning…
They strived for it every day.
To them,
I am free;
But I do not feel this way
For it is hard to break chains
When they are attached to the roots…
Devon McElveen, 3 stycznia 2012
I will meet my fate
As you will yours.
Our lives will wash away
On the earth’s forgotten shores.
Our minds do not think
Our last day can be today.
But as we grow old
This idea all but decays.
Some of us often
Live life as an art.
And see death as
Just a new start.
Devon McElveen, 1 stycznia 2012
Not once were we warned of our future’s campaign.
Through time we have become lost souls.
We held goals which were impossible to attain.
We wander searching for the fabled Crossroads.
Lessen the pain with a mere object
Our hearts mended for short times.
Feelings we fail to openly project
Memories we try to erase from our minds.
We share the same direction,
Though the destination may differ.
Our clothes hold little protection
As the path grows much bitter.
Men grow old searching on this path
And succumb to Nature’s harmful wrath.
Devon McElveen, 1 stycznia 2012
All of these words used around me,
I do not understand them.
What has been said, I wonder?
Could they be speaking of me?
Lowly or highly,
Could someone somehow tell me?
Teach me their tongue,
So I can interact with my brethren
And understand their ideas.
Can I empathize with these people?
Allow me to do so
For I want to know who they are.
But do they feel the same?
Do they care of my existence?
Do they find me useful?
I know not their names
Yet,
I feel I have known them from a time past.
They speak,
But I can not answer them,
I only nod in approval.
Teach me their tongue,
So I can tell my story
From eyes of my own.
So I can answer coherently,
So I can enjoy their presence.
So I can love my brethren.
I yearn for the knowing of their times,
Of their struggles,
Of their lives.
Teach me their tongue,
I am willing to learn.
Devon McElveen, 1 stycznia 2012
Why do I enjoy this feeling?
Is that really a question?
Do you see the anguish that they have caused?
Do you see the strife?
The terror in their eyes?
The corruption that runs rampant?
Why do they cause war?
What do they fight for?
Is it their morals?
What morals?
Aren’t morals nothing but words thrown away near death?
Why do I live in the dark?
Aren’t the lights so blinding?
Don’t they shed light on our inner truths?
No matter how gruesome or terrifying?
Do you not like the dark?
Doesn’t it rid us of pointless thoughts?
Do you not feel serene here?
Do you not find salvation here?
Aloneness. Is it not a wondrous thing?
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