Changes
5/23/10
Ryan and I recently went to Arizona to visit my brother Jim.
I always believed that there's a reason for everything. That whatever happens, good or bad, happens according to God's will and purpose for our lives. When we're hurting this is a very VERY hard fact to swallow. Countless times I've heard the words, "Why does God make bad things happen?"... even typing it makes me cringe. God doesn't ever CAUSE bad to happen. But he does ALLOW it to happen. Yet even that fact is too much for people to swallow, but bear with me... God allows things to happen because He knows that hurt helps us grow. Not only that, but it shows us how we need to rely on Him. Our weakness draws us closer to the one who IS strong enough to help us through our mess. That weakness helps us to grow in Him, and to grow in ourselves. When a chain is broken, the link that is mended is generally the strongest part of the chain after it is fixed. Bones that break and mend in one spot grow much stronger than they previously were. So why wouldn't it be true that God breaks us in order to challenge our hearts to mend stronger in those areas we were weak? In that sense, the breaking of a link, like our hearts, becomes extremely sensible to the point where anything BUT that ideal DOESN'T make sense. When we understand that, we can see that the chain breaks so that it can be mended, and it is mended for a REASON.
The key is NOT to run away from hurt. Hurt finds us, no matter where we are. It is inevitable. The key is to constantly be aware of what God is doing in your life so that you can UNDERSTAND why He allowed the hurt in the first place. If we are constantly angry with God, or with hurt, we are blind to the good that comes out of it. Tragedies happen, and they are horrible. There's no question about that. But the end result becomes beautiful. If there were no hurt in our lives, we would never cherish the things that are important in life. I have seen so much death in my life that every friendship, every person in my life becomes a vital and intricate part of my life. I value each person and never forget to tell people how much they mean to me (or at least I strive to do this the best of my ability). But i wouldn't care nearly as much, wouldn't work so hard to keep those friendships and help them grow if i had never lost anyone. It is because i have lost so many that i have come to appreciate people and sincerely care for them to the point that I want it to be my career. I strive to care for people, because I know what it is like to be broken and alone.
5.24.2010
5.04.2010
4.25.2010
Cinematic
Movies have a way of reaching into your heart and unlocking a connection to someone somewhere that you’ve never met, even if that person is fictional. The beauty of it is that such a connection means that there’s someone out there who understands where you’re at, and where you’ve been; it means you're not alone.
--Serenity Elizabeth
2.22.2010
Room 115
Room 115
finished 4.30.08
As I stared out the window,
The snow falls on the rustic trees,
Shedding purity on an aging world.
The weather, though cold, is the type that warms the inside.
The trees in innocence stood,
With a few lonely leaves left in frigid memory of the summer past.
As it begins to thicken I’m left with the quiet of mid-day.
Memories of hot chocolate and snow forts take me from the world I now dwell in
And go to a world more familiar,
A world where the hurt seems to dissipate under the beauty of my childhood.
The memories so near to me speak,
Singing a joyful tune of laughter and the running feet of chilled children
Entering the cozy living room after hours of arctic playtime and adventure.
Looking through the window
I gaze down into a stream, flowing sweetly through the heart of a forest.
It’s calming to me…I can almost hear its bubbling,
Soft and slow from the thickness of a serene winter chill.
The edges curl up into a curtain of icicles,
Forming into beaded sculptures crafted by the Artist himself
With such curves and abstract,
In this ominous glory even Picasso seems like a dunce.
Looking through the window
The birds call to me, urging me to join them in this mystic wonderland.
I now see the window with new eyes--
The crossbars look to me very much like prison bars,
And the white-washed walls of the classroom have become my cell,
Locked from the outside into a world of tests, professors, all-nighters, and too much caffeine.
I realize that these walls now separate me
From the playground of innocence and brilliance just outside the window
Where the birds of the air and foxes in the forest become my teachers.
The teachers on the inside have become my warden, my judge, my jury,
Sentencing me to years of sorrow and unhappiness that bar me into reality,
Keeping me from the mythical, the imaginary,
Focusing my time on physics and math--
Such droll subjects that make Father Time an executioner.
Speak to me once more oh fantasy, oh lovely literature,
For your pages are so unidentified to my lonely fingers.
How dearly they long to caress your smooth,
Sacred beauty they fell in love with so long ago.
Oh Narcissus, you found no beauty like such held in these books.
Why, oh why must I focus on such pale, lifeless idolatry of ridiculed subject matter?
Oh Forest, oh bubbling brook,
Yes, songbird and squirrel,
Tell winter to release me and we shall laugh together in Harmony once more.
Shatter the window; tear down the walls that hold captive of my heart and mind.
Free these hands of their chains so they may craft and adore such beauties
Untold, unstudied—an art no scholar can master.
I shall leave these four walls in this room with desks and chairs;
I’ll stop looking nostalgically out the window
And become a part of the scenery that lies just behind the glass.
--Serenity Elizabeth
finished 4.30.08
As I stared out the window,
The snow falls on the rustic trees,
Shedding purity on an aging world.
The weather, though cold, is the type that warms the inside.
The trees in innocence stood,
With a few lonely leaves left in frigid memory of the summer past.
As it begins to thicken I’m left with the quiet of mid-day.
Memories of hot chocolate and snow forts take me from the world I now dwell in
And go to a world more familiar,
A world where the hurt seems to dissipate under the beauty of my childhood.
The memories so near to me speak,
Singing a joyful tune of laughter and the running feet of chilled children
Entering the cozy living room after hours of arctic playtime and adventure.
Looking through the window
I gaze down into a stream, flowing sweetly through the heart of a forest.
It’s calming to me…I can almost hear its bubbling,
Soft and slow from the thickness of a serene winter chill.
The edges curl up into a curtain of icicles,
Forming into beaded sculptures crafted by the Artist himself
With such curves and abstract,
In this ominous glory even Picasso seems like a dunce.
Looking through the window
The birds call to me, urging me to join them in this mystic wonderland.
I now see the window with new eyes--
The crossbars look to me very much like prison bars,
And the white-washed walls of the classroom have become my cell,
Locked from the outside into a world of tests, professors, all-nighters, and too much caffeine.
I realize that these walls now separate me
From the playground of innocence and brilliance just outside the window
Where the birds of the air and foxes in the forest become my teachers.
The teachers on the inside have become my warden, my judge, my jury,
Sentencing me to years of sorrow and unhappiness that bar me into reality,
Keeping me from the mythical, the imaginary,
Focusing my time on physics and math--
Such droll subjects that make Father Time an executioner.
Speak to me once more oh fantasy, oh lovely literature,
For your pages are so unidentified to my lonely fingers.
How dearly they long to caress your smooth,
Sacred beauty they fell in love with so long ago.
Oh Narcissus, you found no beauty like such held in these books.
Why, oh why must I focus on such pale, lifeless idolatry of ridiculed subject matter?
Oh Forest, oh bubbling brook,
Yes, songbird and squirrel,
Tell winter to release me and we shall laugh together in Harmony once more.
Shatter the window; tear down the walls that hold captive of my heart and mind.
Free these hands of their chains so they may craft and adore such beauties
Untold, unstudied—an art no scholar can master.
I shall leave these four walls in this room with desks and chairs;
I’ll stop looking nostalgically out the window
And become a part of the scenery that lies just behind the glass.
--Serenity Elizabeth
2.05.2010
Doctor Doctor.
2.5.10
I am scared—utterly terrified. I am a blind man on the edge of a cliff, not even knowing that the fall ahead of me will be forever. I’m paralyzed by a system designed to care, without the actual means of doing so. And I will stay this way. Not, of course, because I intend to, but because I have to—I am FORCED to. I do not know what tomorrow holds in store for me, and I’m horrified by the future. How will I know if my life is spent? A morbid witness, I have seen as much as the Angel of Death herself. How then, do I not also wonder about everything I’ve always known? When life is consumed with death, how can I not puzzle over my own, or over every concept that is or about the matter? So much time spent mourning over frozen graves of names I’ll never forget…. When the bright morning comes I’m still left with a broken heart and memories of those who left. It’s intoxicating to drown in that much sorrow. And, of course, once you lose something you never can become the person you were before, regardless of how good or bad it may be. I am consumed with my own intoxication, drowning in the things that may or may not be. I fret over every detail, every possibility; left like a claustrophobic schizophrenic trapped in an elevator—not knowing if I’m going up or down, in or out, or if I’ll be stuck in this rut forever—frantically terrified of every second of it. When will I be free of my intoxication, of this morbid fascination that has chained me in its sorrows? Tired and weary, I wait for the freedom to come in the knowledge that is owed me.
-Serenity Elizabeth
I am scared—utterly terrified. I am a blind man on the edge of a cliff, not even knowing that the fall ahead of me will be forever. I’m paralyzed by a system designed to care, without the actual means of doing so. And I will stay this way. Not, of course, because I intend to, but because I have to—I am FORCED to. I do not know what tomorrow holds in store for me, and I’m horrified by the future. How will I know if my life is spent? A morbid witness, I have seen as much as the Angel of Death herself. How then, do I not also wonder about everything I’ve always known? When life is consumed with death, how can I not puzzle over my own, or over every concept that is or about the matter? So much time spent mourning over frozen graves of names I’ll never forget…. When the bright morning comes I’m still left with a broken heart and memories of those who left. It’s intoxicating to drown in that much sorrow. And, of course, once you lose something you never can become the person you were before, regardless of how good or bad it may be. I am consumed with my own intoxication, drowning in the things that may or may not be. I fret over every detail, every possibility; left like a claustrophobic schizophrenic trapped in an elevator—not knowing if I’m going up or down, in or out, or if I’ll be stuck in this rut forever—frantically terrified of every second of it. When will I be free of my intoxication, of this morbid fascination that has chained me in its sorrows? Tired and weary, I wait for the freedom to come in the knowledge that is owed me.
-Serenity Elizabeth
Rantings of an artistic mind...
2.5.10
I am a prisoner of my own imagination. Being blessed by artistic ability--thoughts, visions, words--has created a sort of infection in me among others. No longer do I render gifted, but different... exiled to be forever trapped in my own expressions. If brilliance is seen as madness, then what good is the gift? When it is wasted among those who cannot see, who cannot understand... what does the artist do in the dark hauntings of the night made so vivid by her perception? How do you explain an ocean sunset to someone who can only see the sand? Impossibility wounds the free spirit; breaks the wings of success to be hindered by over-qualification. Having a mind so unlike the rest, so unique, can be a blessing for years, until you find out that you are completely alone in that mind. No one can understand the surface of your emotions and cannot comprehend the waters of the deep chasm of your heart. Who do we look to in these times? When there seems to be none of the Earth that understands, do we search the universe to find that one soul, that one distant connection that for just one moment, one second, we are understood by a total complete stranger? Do we wander, looking through every heart of the elite to find a mind powerful enough to identify with us? If we find such a person, what, then, do we do once we part ways, exhausted from the life we never knew we were destined to create? When the journeys separate, where will we look to for comfort? The only answer that possibly makes any sense is God. But, after years of being misunderstood, can we even relate to Him?
-Serenity Elizabeth
I am a prisoner of my own imagination. Being blessed by artistic ability--thoughts, visions, words--has created a sort of infection in me among others. No longer do I render gifted, but different... exiled to be forever trapped in my own expressions. If brilliance is seen as madness, then what good is the gift? When it is wasted among those who cannot see, who cannot understand... what does the artist do in the dark hauntings of the night made so vivid by her perception? How do you explain an ocean sunset to someone who can only see the sand? Impossibility wounds the free spirit; breaks the wings of success to be hindered by over-qualification. Having a mind so unlike the rest, so unique, can be a blessing for years, until you find out that you are completely alone in that mind. No one can understand the surface of your emotions and cannot comprehend the waters of the deep chasm of your heart. Who do we look to in these times? When there seems to be none of the Earth that understands, do we search the universe to find that one soul, that one distant connection that for just one moment, one second, we are understood by a total complete stranger? Do we wander, looking through every heart of the elite to find a mind powerful enough to identify with us? If we find such a person, what, then, do we do once we part ways, exhausted from the life we never knew we were destined to create? When the journeys separate, where will we look to for comfort? The only answer that possibly makes any sense is God. But, after years of being misunderstood, can we even relate to Him?
-Serenity Elizabeth
2.03.2010
Roses Aren't Forever
6.22.05
I think the earth has shifted,
‘Cause I know my life has changed.
My heart it has been shaken;
Now nothing really feels the same.
The roses fall like shooting stars,
And I wonder which one is next.
The clouds are forming around me,
Into a storm I won’t forget.
So I’ll lay out in the meadow,
Let the lightning hit my chest.
Watch the moon break into pieces,
And the shores fall in the depth.
I’m afraid I have no reason
Why I sit, and without fear,
And watch my world just fall apart,
But there’s no hiding from what’s here.
The stars are bright and brilliant,
But tonight their charm won’t matter.
Let go of them as you did my heart,
And likewise they will shatter.
-Serenity Elizabeth
I think the earth has shifted,
‘Cause I know my life has changed.
My heart it has been shaken;
Now nothing really feels the same.
The roses fall like shooting stars,
And I wonder which one is next.
The clouds are forming around me,
Into a storm I won’t forget.
So I’ll lay out in the meadow,
Let the lightning hit my chest.
Watch the moon break into pieces,
And the shores fall in the depth.
I’m afraid I have no reason
Why I sit, and without fear,
And watch my world just fall apart,
But there’s no hiding from what’s here.
The stars are bright and brilliant,
But tonight their charm won’t matter.
Let go of them as you did my heart,
And likewise they will shatter.
-Serenity Elizabeth
Hello!
Welcome!! I have been writing poetry for about 9 years officially, and have been holding on to it in hopes of someday publishing my own poetry book. This is the bare bones of that dream. I will be posting my poetry and prose from here on out in order to get my work out there for others to read, enjoy, and give me feedback on. I do ask that all comments are constructive, as I will not tolerate abusive messages. I simply ask that you enjoy the work, and if you don't, tell me WHY. I look forward to sharing my work with all of you, and I hope you enjoy it!!
Literature is my escape from our world into one much more enjoyable. When I read, I fall into whatever I'm reading. I become a witness of everything occurring in the novel. I hope that my work does the same for you. May you be so captured by my words that they speak to your soul and heal your heart, intoxicating you with words so that you become completely consumed by them. Welcome to your literary escape. Relax, and open up to emotion.
Sincerely,
Serenity Elizabeth
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