The Thief In The Night
~Outside grew a storm in the midst of the night. It’s arrival insidious, its impact a fright.
It grew above so selfish, so dark It’s rain dampened all connection and spark.
Quietly in sleep it let itself in. Came in the night carrying sacks full of sin.
Slowly pouring its contents all over the floor The foundations were shaken right to the core.
Light turned dark and confusion ensued All around the weather howled and brewed.
All that was good and healthy and fun was stolen by the darkness that refused to turn.
The storm unyielding, the thief in the night. It is the shadow that casts when we lose our sight.
The thunder boomed and stabbed with its fork, rumbled and roared like the soul of an orc.
Searching hard to find a place of shelter… but the thief stole all the safety it’s cruel effect came a belter.
It has jabbed, battered and tossed things around Left in its wake a terrible sound.
As I lie here affected by unwelcome disturbance, wrestling with degrees of inner perturbance,
I remember to be thankful for the lessons it brings As much as I wish it…I have no control over things.
So I hunker down in the commotion tossed to the floor, and remember when a window is closed there opens a door.
The house wasn’t finished for development was long but the ground was firm and the base was strong.
Foundations were built from land of pure Roots are deep and the seed holds the cure.
I live in hope that the storm passes soon May there be a rainbow in rising from the cocoon.
I have one wish for what is left long after… …may all things be healthy and again filled with laughter.
~ Stacie Amelia ©️
The Passing Of The Lost Lands
An abyss falls within, an unwelcome weight, pulling down into darkness where the other lost wait.
Each soul is crying in heaviness of grief, (There is hope though for that pain to fall away …like a leaf)
It takes time for each soul to find their own special way out, be it to crawl, to climb, meditate or shout.
The abyss keeps falling creating a deep and dark path, this journey a great depiction of a raw aftermath.
Healing or pain? neither can be forsaken. No-one can know which, nor the general time taken.
Whether this abyss is temporary or not? Or if it’s overwhelming and the lost become caught?!
This darkness however is an opportunity for growth, tis in here seeds are planted and there is a moment for oath.
For in times ahead the light will again shine. Hearts will feel familiar fuelled by all that is divine.
~ by Stacie Amelia ©️
When you pick a flower it dies quickly.
It becomes more temporary.
Let it be and it will seed and another form will regrow each year blooming, bringing joy and delight each time.
I am not a flower to be picked off from my roots because my flower looks good. Enjoyed only for someone’s temporary pleasure.
I am rooted and I re-root.
I bloom and offer joy when left to grow in full honesty uninterrupted. Love all of me in such a way.
The whole natural cycle.
I’m not a possession, not there to be picked and discarded for the sake of another’s moment of pleasure.
I grow from seed, roots and from being nourished.
If you pick me I will die an early death. Then I will be dropped because my colours fade and this no longer pleases the senses.
Recognise that the colours only fade so quick and the joy that once was only passes so soon as a direct result of the action of selective, momentary, self-gratifying picking.
Only choosing parts that are visually and sensorially beautiful, fulfilling of need, but rejecting the rest.
Detaching me from roots and stem is rejecting their part in creating the story of the beauty that I have become when in bloom.
I am not a temporary beauty, nor a fragmented flower. I am not here to be selectively picked.
I am whole, I am rooted.
Evolving, transitioning, re-seeding and arising in new form. Fresh in each transient bloom.
To be enjoyed in each newness. Time and again rebirthing.
I bloom most beautifully when left in natural state. Remaining connected to but not defined by roots and stem. Whole.
The flower that brought such joy can return anew, to be enjoyed like a treasure, again and again and again when respected in wholeness.
Every part is important.
End picking for momentary self-fulfilment. Stop selectively choosing parts for a short lived self-motivated joy.
The disappointment and tendency to then discard because my flower is wilting and no longer pretty is purely a direct result of the momentary self satisfying picking action.
I cannot thrive this way and the effect is only early death.
Instead let me grow and fulfil the intended destiny of my seed.
In doing so you can freely enjoy and rejoice in the nature and freshness of each flowering bloom. The sensory joy once sought can be enjoyed again and again and again.
Present, anew, beautiful and whole.
~ Stacie Amelia ©️
When you think, feel and know that you lived, there’s a story of what happened but nothing to prove that it did.
Nothing of substance than can be touched to say for sure ‘yes’, but you know it was there, you know! ‘yeah’?
Solid evidence is absent, you won’t find it. Not a trace nor even a tiny fragment.
Where is your proof they ask, is your life contrived? Where can you find it? From where did it derive?
When you felt what you felt and still you remember, but all that exists is only sense and no ember.
When there are traces of memory felt in your body, was it ever really there? Is there a hard copy?
When you cannot utter words because there is no definitive truth. You know it was there! but where is the proof?
Memory is all just sense of a truth. Ever evading, no map, no road, no objectivity that’s aiding.
Such grief in the soul because what was there is now missing. Elusive in essence, like some sort of omission.
Did you ever exist? Is your life true? Only those whom were there are those that knew.
Nothing to corroborate senses and feeling, no solid host. Was it ever there? I feel like a ghost.
Nothing is real they say, without objective evidence, so what was there?
~ By Stacie Amelia ©️