A Male Angel On Patrol by farconville courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net

A Male Angel On Patrol by farconville courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net

Weariness strangles me

The thief of time delights

Another day of ill achievement

the waiting list shelved

so the demon conscience mocks

Prompting the angel wings to spread

The span high and wide

Serenity and encouragement step forth

  and so I remove the noose

  threatening to choke me

My failings laid bare

My fears eschewed

For now at least …

(Written in 2012)
© mypastmademe.com 2014


Crystal Chandelier by Nutdanai Apikhomboonwaroot/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Challenges used to call



Confidence would suffocate fear



Positive would quash negative



These are the facets now discoloured


Traits within, long since trampled


The rope of youth hangs near

trailing from the skies of my conscience

Climb it, I will

Pull myself up

Preserve my spirit


like I once did

© www.mypastmademe.com 2012

Girl On Swing by Vlado/FreeDigitalPhotos.net


There it is next to me …

a heap on the floor

A mound of memories

The coat of rejection grew thin

and worn

So I took it off

The cloak of inadequacy

doesn’t fit any more

Not me

The path I’ve chosen still twists

and turns

but it is now edged with roses

The sky is Iris blue

and my heart is free

© www.mypastmademe.com 2012


A Novel Called Life

But for the blink of an eye,

  the flip of a coin

  a different decision made,

  my life would be different now.

We are born as empty books.

Our mothers write on the first page,

our fathers bind the book and keep it safe

When we are ridiculed, creases appear,

  dents in our armour

and when our hearts break, we tear pages out,

  a sliver of paper the only reminder.

Pages thin when we endure pain,

  and the edges become ragged when we are lost

  as we thumb through past experiences,

  revisiting choices,

  pondering reasons.

The pages discolour when we fall

  and are crisp and clean when we get up again.

My book was slashed

  when it fell into the wrong hands,

  then bound together for a while

  before falling apart again,

  some pages lost for eternity.

So the original authors took possession

  and fixed it,

  bolstered the spine

  before handing it back to me.

I no longer fear an empty book.

I will fill every page,

  live every word

  and cherish the sequels.

I hold the pen.

I wield the sword.

I will protect.

© www.mypastmademe.com 2011

Not quite sure where this one came from, especially the ending!!!   🙂

White Snow, Black Heart

Berry Snow Heart by Tina Phillips/FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Mirror, mirror on the wall

  who is the ugliest one of all?

I am.

For all the times

  my mouth has released words

  that should have remained caged

For the hours, days, months

  when I wallowed, weakened,

  lost myself


For the moments

  when I can’t see or hear others

  because I’m too absorbed with myself

For all the things

  I still have not corrected

I am.


Mirror, mirror on the wall

  who is the most beautiful one of all?

I am.

For all the times

  I have found the strength to smile

  while my heart was breaking

For the hours, days, months

  that I know I suffered

  and survived


For the moments

  when I am not oblivious to the beauty in this world

  Trees.  Flowers.  Birdsong.

For all the things

  that I am and know I can be

I am.

© www.mypastmademe.com 2011

Rise up

In my old life, my past,

  I was buried

My soul was attacked

  and my spirit knifed

I wore sadness like a crown

  and walked alone

  to the music of futility

And I sometimes do still hurt

Most of my life given to the wrong person

who occasionally made me smile

  but mostly made me bleed

I feel like I’ve climbed mountains

  covered with snow and ice

  slipping down more often than not

Before finally reaching the top

where I could sit and peacefully view

  the broken pictures of my teenage years

  the cracked glass images of my twenties

The tears fell for a long time

  my knees damp with the swell of self pity

Until I remembered to stand

Rise up, with my head back

  and shoulders to the sky

And something inside reminded me

  to start smiling again

The tiny spark of hope told me I’d been alive

  but never lived

And now I do live

Even though there are a few more mountains to climb

  they are low and friendly

with hands outstretched

  to help me on my way

and silk-like tissues to dab away my tears

  when they come

And at the top of each mountain sits a huge mirror

  with the most vivid reflections I’ve ever seen

Showing the image of a woman who broke free

  who took the pain and chose the hard option

I am beautiful inside and out

And I’ve found the one to appreciate it

© www.mypastmademe.com 2011