Unexplained

Some times we are able to find ourselves in a situation. We have no idea how we got there. But we know we were always meant to be there at that moment for that reason. And there are times when it isn't a situation and a location, but rather a person. No matter how many theorecticals we speak. The point, the moment in which you met, was the exact moment you were meant to. Upon meeting you have no clue what little or what tremendous impact that person will have on your life. And there is no way to look into the future and know. You go along the journey on which you can barely understand with said person. Looking back you can see the evolution, yet no way to explain how any of it happened. The understanding of whatever 'it' is, is sometimes something strictly internal. I don't know where they will be in my life in 4 years..I barely know where they are in it today. But it doesn't matter. The journey of life is simply beautiful, and quite purely holds in store some scary shit. But we continue on, never give up on what we believe in, and not for one day forget to smile.

The end is the beginning that comes after the ending has finally ended...

Blank Pages

What is a blank page? Is it icy and cold, needing to be covered with the warm gentle blanket of comforting words awaiting on the tip of your tongue. Or is it a land of freedom, where endless possibilities hold precedence over all, and any dream, wish, thought, or blunt stark truth can be sprawled across it, such as a lounging lion after a successful hunt…

What if this white blank space wasn’t ever meant to be filled, and therefore my words of disgrace are only an in fracture to its simplistic beauty.  Millions of moments will pass like the very one I am living in now, and the same question may be asked by thousands of writers all around the world…Are my words worthy of the space they take on the clean canvas they have so unrightfully tarnished without permission.

I stare at my screen, or my paper..or any writable surface and wonder…are my words worthy enough of being here? Of existing anywhere else but the semi-conscious thought process in the dark twisted recesses of my mind? What right do I have, as a writer, to think that what I say has any more precedence in this world over the thought that just crossed the mind of the person sitting across from me at the bar. Where did I get the indication, the idea that it was ok, to pretend like what I say should have more worth than anyone else?

I don’t know the answer to any of this, what is the point in lying to myself. Maybe, I do think my words should mean more then someone elses..if they don’t why the hell are my words written down on this no longer ideally perfect page and there words are still only a mindless thought, now far gone and lost somewhere in oblivion.

Just Get Home

Every writer is lying if not some part of them doesn't love a good psycho thriller...I have written a few short stories and they have been some of my favorite works of mine, this poem is subtly a thriller, the theme is sublte and is often missed....if anyone reads this I wonder if they actually understand what I was trying to do with this poem...Let me know!

Dark and cold, breeze blowing across my face
Keep going, keep walking, Just Ge Home

Fog rolling past my feet, Dark so thick you could barely see.
Keep going, keep walking, Just Get Home

The walk becoming a beckoning threat with every step
Every night, the same woods, the same final destination...

This night, it was different,the trees seem to reach down toward me
reaching to grab me, bringing me to my final hour

Everything silent, more then usual, NO, it is fine.
Keep going, keep walking,..just get home...

All of a sudden, nothing, I feel nothing.
Shock, now Horror
A hand clenched my mouth, knife held strikingly to my throat
Do I dare struggle? Or do I stay dead still.

Then nothing,
 a sudden cry of abandon,
hand released, knife thrown down.

A cry for help, begging the night for forgiveness it can not give.
The man left with nothing, crying on the damp brush covered floor of my woods.

Keep going, keep walking, Just Get Home
Look back, just breathe, run, now run faster!, run to the home you know well,
The final destination.

                 I'm here
                       Alive

A quick escape from a dark night.....and nothing more.

My Life....

Poem I wrote for school last year...

My life is an ocean,
tossing and turning with subtle abandon
full of decisions needing to be made
or the the mist that lingers as a conflict in the air

My life is an ocean,
gentle, smooth, comforting,
A warm soft blanket to soften the sorrow,
To violent and harsh the next instint
A problem finally arising to the surface

My life is an ocean,
made up of a million pebbles of glistening dew
A million differrent pieces to make me whole
family, friends,problems, joys..
All together to make my life complete

My life is an ocean,
Don't turn your back on me,
for I do not give trust back lightly,
I will seek revenge, like a sudden wave,
creeping to the shoreline just out of sigh,

My life is an ocean,
My heart belongs to the ocean,
I am an ocean,
and it shall forever be part of me...

Charter Sings

So, I was going through my old school work...and i found a poem from two years ago that now I find pretty fun, and somehow still holds some truth, haha, but i thought i would share it, just for the randomness of it all.....enjoy!

Charter music sings
Like the choir down the hall
or the highschooler singing' in a bathroom stall,
trying to get down her audition piece for vocal ensemble

I try to find my own rhythm in the madness,

My charter, a second home,
will never bring me sadness,
A second family, is all around

Second favorite place to the bay,
Love not hate's the Charter way


You know it is the best poem you have ever read, don't lie to yourself! Just kidding...

Cold as Ice, Hard as Rock

So awhile back I did a rough draft of an imagery poem. It isn't very edited, and it may not be very good. But, i figured i may as well write it on here, maybe no one will ever read it on here, or maybe they will. And maybe, just maybe, someone out of this whole planet earth, will find some meaning for there own life in my words. Thanks in advance for anyone that may come across this.

~AMH

Cold to warm your love,
Hard as rock, Chilled as stone
To warm and surrounding the next moment
Too complicated to understand,
Why bother trying to read the incomprehensible express in your rage filled eyes

A see-saw of emotion,
makes my heart sink
how to act, what to say,
I'm a daughter held at arms length

Ice that stings, fire that singes, your love
Don't know a way to communicate,
can't speak my mind so I'll just wait

Keep to myself until your open,
maybe till your the accepting father i once remember
that time will come, though I know I'm just hopin'
For I know your sanity is once upon a dream,
it's harder to speak then it may seem
I'm an old friend held at arms length...

So cold I shiver, so fierce it burns with an infuriating rage,
somewhere deep with in the depths of both of us we are lost,
Emotions run high,
what's left, a girl so desperately needing to run

Random Thoughts I Wrote Awhile Back...

        Why is it that day is always followed by night. No real defined in between phase. But, there is,if you wait for just the right moment, solemnly sit there starring at the night sky and wait. That glorifying moment when your eyes reach the horizon, the moon is up, sun is setting, leaving us for the night with its last trace of faint colors. those colors, splashed across the sky, no matte what city your in, or we as humans travel on our journey, those colors, that sky...my horizon, will never cease to appear....

To Plan or Not to Plan

To plan or not to plan...that is the question. Now, in life, sometimes planning is mandatory, required, but sometimes its OK to just let loose and for once in our fast paced lifestyles, slow down and just live, let an adventure come to us as it is. How are we supposed to take life by the reins for all it is worth, if we are constantly in a state of choking and limiting the opportunities and futures that could come at us, by limiting where we allow our life to take us. When we plan everything out, I am not saying that it goes exactly how we try to perpetually limit excursions from our plans, I am saying...it is often as our journey veers away from our plan, our carefully chosen paths, that life in the most honest form takes place. It's something to think about and it is something to ponder and explore as we set forth into tomorrow, into the future. I don't know what is going to happen tomorrow, I don't know what I will learn, who I will meet and what these new tripped upon discoveries, will mean for the rest of my life,or even what they will mean the very instant in which they take place.Or even if they mean anything at all. The most memorable and meaningful things in life, happen more often then not, when we aren't meticulously seeking them out with a  yearning rage. I don't know what is going to be of my 'marrow, though honestly, as I ponder this idea of living life to the fullest, I am finding more acceptance in this concept then ever before.....and am perfectly OK with the past not being perfect and knowing the future probably won't be either. But that if we make every day an adventure, at least the journey from destination to destination will hold truth about who we are, and how we have gotten there.

Just a Title???

Whether straight forward or metaphoric and deep, a title is never JUST a title. they always mean something, and even as a writer we put a title that doesn't mean anything to us necessarily, the readers of our work, will put additional meaning to our words, whether we want them to or not. That happens with not only the titles of our work, but the work itself. Me, personally, I find that titles, sometimes, are the most intriguing part of the whole article or whatever it is I may be reading. I mean, haven;t you ever been flipping through a magazine and you see a clever title, or something that makes you think, it grabs your attention just enough to where you WANT to read that article, because some teeny tiny part of you just honestly wants to know what the title meant. what it's talking about,Who it's talking about. point being,a  title is never a title, from the writing end or the readers end of the situation. Take the title of my blog for instance, "The Light Through the Window of Tomorrow"...to me this saying holds great meaning, and is a representation on my views maybe on life, maybe a specific situation, but I also chose it to make someone, anyone, that comes across this article, stop, think, and wonder, what they think I meant, and hopefully what this title might mean to them or what they relate it to in there own life. If you want to share what this title means to you...feel free to comment. I'd love to hear!..or read?!?!....