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GossamerDreams
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Name: Christine
Gender: Female
Interests: I enjoy writing poetry (go figure!!!) and any length of fiction. I enjoy singing, playing piano, and playing guitar.
Expertise: I wouldn't say I really have an expertise. There are a lot of things I'm good at, but I don't think I would be judged as an expert.
Occupation: Counseling
Industry: Social Services
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  ShineAsStars215
MSN: SilverEyedAngel@hotmail.com
Member Since:
12/6/2002
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| I am such a fool.
I allowed myself to be damaged.
My ever-ready vigilance
Anesthetized by courteous conduct,
I let myself trust him.
Time fractured,
Stood still,
Pausing for the collision
Between my shoulders and his intent.
For a moment,
I froze.
In that suspended second,
I did not move.
I could not move.
I was paralyzed
I thought I was stronger.
But I was wrong.
Now hatred of self is my indemnity
For the iniquity of his assault.
This invasion of fortified places,
Those protected spaces
That I painstakingly battled to secure;
Incised at the scar line of agonies past,
They lay crushed in the chair,
Next to my temerity.
My ever-ready vigilance
Anesthetized by courteous conduct,
Lay shattered at his feet.
In its place stands a deadened shell,
Asphyxiated by a clear coating of disgrace.
It tells you that you may look,
But don't touch.
You may look,
Don't see my disconsolate eyes,
That threaten to overflow with aqueous grief.
You may look,
But don't hear the muffled shrieks
That break through my fissured heart,
Relentless echoes of trauma old and new.
For I am a fool.
I allowed myself to be damaged.
I let myself trust him.
And I was wrong.
© CLS - 12/01/2009 | | |
| She is being hunted.
She feels its eyes trained upon her.
Once at rest in the solitude of peace,
She now flees through the stillness within time.
She no longer finds refuge in her thoughts.
They torment her.
They prey upon her,
With their violent twisting of contingency.
They steal away her stability.
She gasps,
She claws,
She struggles for the clear air of security.
As she suffocates from deprivation of reassurance.
She can taste the bitterness of its void,
Feel the shear of its affliction,
The weight of its loss bearing down upon her.
Its absence haunts her every word,
Diaphanous wraiths of what she fears the most.
It feeds upon the distress she tries to deny.
She must not show that she is afraid.
But she is.
She is afraid to speak.
For words carry power.
She is afraid to cry.
For tears betray weakness.
She is afraid to hope.
For hope is fragile.
She is afraid of hearing the words,
That give substance to her fears.
She is afraid of the silence that follows,
As the fracturing of her existence
Replaces the ambiguity of maybes
With the agony of grief.
Most of all,
She is afraid of losing her.
© CLS - 10/01/2009 | | |
| “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest.” – Matthew 11:28
Will you come pick me up?
Will you rush out into the blackness,
Calling my name as you go,
Assuring me that you’re coming?
Will you push on until you reach me,
Until you’re kneeling down next to me,
Shielding me against what I cannot see,
From the darkness collapsing upon me?
Will you murmur to me that I’m okay now,
That I don’t have to be afraid,
That you’re here with me?
Will you whisper that you won’t let me go,
That you’ll protect me from the dark?
Will you clutch my body close to your chest,
Rebuking the chill that imprisons me?
Will you carefully pick your way across the rocky path,
Refusing to relinquish me again to the ground?
Will you softly sing to me the old familiar songs,
The ones that soothe my ragged soul?
Will you carry me home in your arms,
Comforting me with your tender strength,
And the steady beating of your heart?
Will you still hold me tight once we’re inside,
Knowing that I only feel safe in your arms?
Will you come to me?
I have no strength left to lift my head.
I am too tired to cry out to you,
To tell you where I am.
I am bruised and scarred,
Too weary to move.
Will you come to me?
I will come pick you up.
I will rush out into the blackness,
Calling your name as I go,
Assuring you that I’m coming.
I will push on until I reach you,
Until I’m kneeling down next to you,
Shielding you against what you cannot see,
From the darkness collapsing upon you.
I will murmur to you that you’re okay now,
That you don’t have to be afraid,
That I am here with you.
I will whisper that I won’t let you go,
That I’ll protect you from the dark.
I will clutch your body close to my chest,
Rebuking the chill that imprisons you.
I will carefully pick my way across the rocky path,
Refusing to relinquish you again to the ground.
I will softly sing to you the old familiar songs,
The ones that soothe your ragged soul.
I will carry you home in my arms,
Comforting you with my tender strength,
And the steady beating of my heart.
I will still hold you tight once we’re inside,
Knowing that you only feel safe in my arms.
I will come to you.
I will lift your head.
You will not have to cry out to me.
I already know where you are.
I will kiss your bruises and your scars.
You won’t have to move.
I will come to you.
© CLC - 04/23/2009
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| Rest eludes her war-torn and weary mind.
She finds no rest in submitting to phantoms,
In surrendering herself to terror.
Even when she closes her eyes,
Even when she sleeps,
She does not find rest.
There is no intermission in her fear.
There is no respite from her memory.
The pervasive terror that surrounds her by day
Penetrates the recesses of her thoughts
with what has been locked away.
It seeps into that which cannot be governed,
Tainting that which should offer peace;
Devouring that which should offer serenity.
She aches to understand what rest is.
She thirsts to feel stillness.
But she only dares to hope for morning.
Only when the first beams fracture the hold of night
Can she finally break free from suffering's hold
And return to the vigilance that keeps her safe;
That allows her mind to heal.
© CLC - 04/06/2009
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| You put me there.
The night that each of them broke;
You placed me in the midst of it.
In the midst of their pain,
I felt it with them.
In the midst of their words,
I heard their hearts splinter.
In the midst of their loneliness,
I sat with each of them.
Because they needed You…
But in a form they could feel.
They needed You…
To hear Your voice,
To feel Your compassion,
To know that You see their pain.
And You chose me to do that.
I may never understand why,
But I’m thankful you did.
I’m thankful that out of anything,
You have set me apart
To sever Satan’s lies,
To fracture this destructive silence.
You have placed in me a passion,
To show them that they are not destroyed,
That the damage can be repaired,
That they are eternally precious to You.
My mission is to help make scars beautiful,
To seize freedom for those imprisoned
By memories that haunt them.
My purpose is to illuminate the powerlessness,
To show them that they had no control then,
But that they are not powerless now.
With the strength You have given me,
I will show them that they are finally free.
They will finally have permission to mourn,
To celebrate,
To hate,
To love,
To think,
To feel,
To hold on,
To let go,
To scream,
To cry,
To smile,
All the things they were too afraid to do.
And I will show them that You are present,
That they are cherished.
Loved.
Wanted.
Adored.
Seen.
Heard.
Beautiful.
© CLS - 01/18/2009
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