Monday, December 2, 2013

New Light by Janet Elliott Brown

I am changed, just a little bit, each time I come across a thought or quote that sheds a new light on an old place in my mind. A place that I have visited more times than I can count, yet I wasn't able to see what I see so clearly now. The words can be simple and few, deeply dramatic or seemingly silly in their insights. There is no obvious reason that I receive a different message though each has been said in many different  ways by many different people.

The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed. — Ernest Hemingway

Some cause happiness wherever they go, others whenever they go. ― Oscar Wilde

Words by Janet Elliott Brown

Words are a dangerous thing. One never knows what they will bring.
Words once filled with so much light can then turn dark and cold as night.

Words that were spoken, better left unsaid. The truth tied up in feelings of dread.
When words cut deep, bloody and jagged. Truth is torn apart, broken and ragged.

Lips once red spoke words so sweet, lies now lay in puddles at the feet.
Words as weapons used to confuse, twisting truth just to be obtuse.

Anger is born as a last defense. by words unfair and purposely dense.
Harsh words wound when spoken, soon enough the spirit is broken.

Twisted; and turned inside out turn to despair, disappointment and doubt.
Words escape at the wrong time, later replaying over and over in the mind

Words to convince that the truth isn't real. Words to change the way that we feel.
Words break hearts, words close minds, and words untrue are works unkind.

Echoing still, words replay on their own, lingering whispers do cut to the bone.
Razor sharp words, swift stab to the soul. Knife cuts deep, halving the whole.

So deep the words the wounds so deep, causing the heart forever to weep
Words break hearts, harsh and cruel, who believes the words is a sad fool.

Why then pretend to believe the lies when words untrue are just weak alibis.
Pride is born to a liar believed, until the truth uncovers the truth deceived.

Words have been spoken, better left unsaid. The truth tied up in feelings of dread.
Wounds cut deep, bloody and jagged. Truths torn apart, left broken and ragged.

Words by Janet Elliott Brown

I woke up at 9 today. I thought about what was said.

I am not pretending a thing. I don't know what possibilities this day will bring.  It could be filled with things light and fun but turn dark and cold without the sun.

Words have been spoken, some were better unsaid. The truth now wrapped in feelings of dread. Wounds cut deep, bloody and jagged. Truths torn apart, left broken and ragged.

Lips once red spoke words so sweet, lies lay in puddles at my feet. Words as weapons meant to cause confusion, twist the truth; tossing words like old refuse.

Anger is born as a last defense.  Unjust, unfair, and purposely dense. Stealing faith, no one to trust. Words untrue, are also words unjust.

Twisted; and turned inside out. No end to despair, disappointment and doubt. Words escape me at this time so there's no reason, only this rhyme.

Words to convince that the truth isn't real. Words used to change the way that we feel. Words break hearts, words close minds, words untrue leave heartache behind.

Echoing still, words run on their own, lingering whispers they cut to the bone. Razor sharp words, swift stab to the soul. Knife cuts deep, halving the whole.

Deep, so deep, cuts leave scars ever more. Words ravage the mind, but don't even the score. Words break hearts, harsh and cruel, who speaks the words is ever the fool.

Who are the ones that believe their lies? Words untrue are but cheap alibis. Pride is born to a liar believed, yet the truth lives on and is never deceived.

Whatever We Want to Do by Janet Elliott Brown

I didn't finish that long list of questions. It matters not what I think. Nor does it matter what anyone else thinks. I believe that we, all of us, look at everything thru our own perspective. If we create it in our mind, it is real to us, our views and feelings are all we feel and see.

The rationale we use is understandable and valid. We define good, bad, just, unjust, and right or wrong based on how bad we want something.

It is impossible for anyone to change the way others see and interpret their own behavior. We justify what we want and we justify whatever it takes to get what we want.

So, it makes no difference what Janet Brown thinks. It is whatever you think, or what he thinks and what we tell ourselves it is.

There aren't very many things so important to a man that he would go to all the trouble of taking buses, trains, hitchhiking, climbing mountains or crossing desert sands to get. Their aren't many things that would be so important, or wanted so badly to do all that. Whatever it is must be something pretty damn enticing to be worth the effort. We can guess what those things are.

We all know men are motivated by one particular thing, right? If they want something badly enough, in their mind, it's already belongs to them.

And, that's all there is to say because nothing that is said will sway them. They won't listen or consider doing anything but what they want to do.

So realizing that truth, we must accept it and recognize that there is nothing that anyone could ever say that would be considered of any relevance. Why not? Simply because for every situation, each person is connected separately. Each one is given the same information, but the message is recieved differently. Each person has their own list of excuses, reasons, mitigating circumstances, miscellaneous factors, and all the other justifications they can conjure up, that they can apply that allows them to continue to do exactly what they want to do...

So, our words don't have any influence over anyone else's choices. It doesn't mean a thing that someone else had a different opinion. We tell ourselves that from their point of view, their perspective is clouded, so they cannot see things as clearly as we do. We do what we want to do.


The Door Never Opened by Janet Elliott Brown

You won't even miss me when I'm gone. I will steal away on gentle breezes outside the window. I will drift upon the wings of what might have been, as you sit there at your desk studying notes and numbers that will be meaningless in a few short weeks.

You won't hear me singing sweetly, no lullabies or songs of you and me. All you'll hear is the silence of the door you never opened.

The Color Red by Janet Elliott Brown

Through the window of tomorrow, one cannot see today...only yesterday is clear and it is gone. It is color faded and pale moonlight. It is yellowed leaves and falling dust swirling in the heated breath of night.

Where does all the sorrow hide until it slowly rises up? It is always there but it's hidden in the light. Dressed in camouflage, blended in and shrunken down, hidden in the shadows of the darkest night.

Finding a place in a world of constant interruptions, too well one learns the lessons only despair can teach. The sum of a lifetime of used-to be's, might-have-been's that are there just beyond our reach.

Morbid is the mind of one who's left undone; alone and confused. Torn from the light and cast,  back and forth until no bearing will bring them round or hold them fast.

Ah... The brilliance of the truth hurts the eyes and blinds us when we get too close. To see what was, we must understand what is, and face the other ghosts.

Rarely left alone, endless demands for ears and eyes. No comfort is found in words so sweetly thrown, but it appears to yield so gracefully, as the seeds of time are sewn.

When what might have been goes down so quietly in ashes. Soundless, the night wraps the day in the darkest haze, and all hope dashes.

I take no comfort in the truth because it makes the rest a lie. A lie that draws the color red, but on closer look there is no color, only falling tears and words left unsaid.

It is the truth that sets us free. But the truth soon grows cold as the chill first finds its way inside. Waking alone in the silence, to feel the truth of love denied.

Emptiness and words unspoken, lie waiting like open graves so dark and still. I do not know what's in the winds that blow or what's over the next hill.

There was comfort in the new exchange of feelings and in those first tender words. Yes, it would be so pretty, but for the loss that rides on the backs of wingless birds.

Let it rest. The one you knew is no longer here. Now changed, merely from the rubbing off of you. Where the heart once was, scratches and scars from clenching hands grown weak from trying to hold on to you.

Nothing more can one heart take...
before the lonely heart does break.

No, nothing more can one heart take...
before the lonely heart does break.