Companion

I wrote this in honor of my dog Bailey, who we lost to kidney failure. I love her and miss her very much.

Companion

My companion was so temporary...

Somehow we find love in those different from ourselves, for they assimilate better than the ones who match our every strand hair.

She was a dog, and I knew, but my best friend as well.

For every move I made she shadowed by my side, undyingly loyal, her eyes meeting mine over and again,

And through every trial, every sadness and tearing down, my companion loved unconditionally, and filled a void that another human could never touch.

How could I keep myself from coming to the one who couldn't speak again and again for advice, the one who knew but few commands but would understand what others never could?

Bonds grow, and time grows them, but time took something else when it deemed the day 'ready.'

It took my companion, my dog and forever friend. Something I couldn't see tore my sweet and kindred heart to shreds from the inside, far out of my reach, leaving me helpless.

Nothing to do, and no way to cure her. I knew goodbye would never be enough... Words and thanks didn't heal my heart, the bitter pain that coursed through it, fused to my blood.

The end came, and came and came. Closer and closer until I was eye to eye with it, looking into the teary black pupil of a loss I would never make up for.

The last shred of hope I grip in my hand, the memories of her smile and loving, listening ears. Perhaps there are certain immortalities I carry in my heart, by memory and spirit that will never die out, save for when I do as well.

The hole in my heart is heavier than anything, but I hold on to the promise that one day we'll meet again, when my time has expired as did hers. Every star in the sky promises... every star is the watching eye of my dear and beloved companion.

The Steeple Tree

Hello, Readers. I'd like to preface this. The first poem is very meaningful to me... I hope it warms your heart just a bit. And the second two... *ahem* I promise I haven't lost my mind. I hope your find thorough enjoyment in reading something a bit zanier than my usual. It just came out with my mood. Voila!

The Steeple Tree

I climb up again, but I'm so tired, so weighted by fatigue.
My limbs struggle to reach one last branch, scraped and faintly blooded,
But I reach it.
I know, I know...
How far away am I, among the purity of the leaves, and I breathe in the most whole breath.
Something has reduced me, and I feel... I feel it all. It was there, and then it never was.
Suffering, sin, satire, they all wash away, weaker than my own frail legs.
They go, and it's just me... I stay.
Here is my steeple, Lord.

Peculiar

She was a peculiar cat, I came to decide.
Such odd (nearly human!) habits never suited another animal,
Yet they fit perfectly under her sweet facade.
There were teeth in there? Of course.
Come here, kitty!
Affectionately, she bites.
I didn't ask her in to tea again.

Mindless

Mhm...
Yes.
Okay.
Sure.
Did you hear me?
No.
Hm?
That's what I thought.
Hear, don't listen,
Listen, don't hear.
Never stop,
Turn the corner,
Stop.
Stop, then go.
And somehow I know confusion has it's grip on me... nothing adds up. Nothing goes down... on paper, on paper, my mind is a map that has ended in light of a tangle.
It all starts over... and over. That's why I'm smiling, correct?

***It might interest you (or not) to know that I'm terrified of cats.

Telltale Signs of Summer

I'm back at my computer and I have new ideas: A tribute to warm weather and nice feelings. Enjoy : )

Telltale Signs of Summer

Through an open window a breeze has carried,
The scent of new beginnings,
The scent of ripened berries.
And linen on the clothesline has the sunshine in its thread,
The memories of summers past are sweetening my head.
A salty scent that drifts for miles reminds me of the Cape,
For on and on the ocean drifts to becon my escape.

Quite possibly the trees have made their leaves show bright and green,
The earth is somehow new again, my feet upon the pristine.
The telltale signs of summer show,
They say that once again,
The thoughts of what the window shows will be what they were then.

Poem

I followed a suggestion, and ended up with this. Its not my best work, but it means something to me personally.

The Left Behind

After everything has gone wrong, I get left over
I'm all there is, full of empty, made of nothing
And shattered- I'm the Left Behind,
I'm the Broken,
I'm the Suffering.
And standing among a hundred, I'm so suddenly alone
So suddenly...
Yet I always knew this was the train I'd catch
I watched it come,
Climbed on it,
And then fell prey to pitiful shock when it lead me here,
So far from the world,
So close to pain...
Steadfast,
Like my heart beats it way out,
I try.
But the losing game lives up to itself,
I stay here, on this train,
And I'm still left over.
I'm the Left Behind.

Excerpt- Part I

This comes from yet another work-in-progress novel, which I can't decide on a title for. Maybe I'll ask for everyone's input in the future (and I affectionately refer to my two readers as 'everyone'). Also, could I get some opinions on a name? Has to be old fashioned- it's important to her character for reasons which you may pick up in later excerpts, if I post them. Emily, Hazel, Ethel... any other suggestions please?




I had to sigh when I realized that he was walking here again, because this was my path. I couldn't claim it, but somehow I had managed to fill it up with my own footprints and thoughts until it seemed to know me, and for that, I decided I owned it. But there was always the thought that occurred second, which was that I wasn't the first here. It was worn into the piney soil of the wooded countryside long before I ever bothered to think I'd be stuck here. Maybe he belonged here before I did... But that just made me angry again. Why didn't I fit here? Why wasn't there anybody else like me, anyone who didn't care who I was, anyone that could just swallow and gut it if I was different? I didn't care... I had to believe that. Caring meant getting hurt, and that was the name of the game, right? Defense? Keep out or I'll bite your head off? Yes, it sure was the name of this one. I ground my teeth, digging my fingernails into the skin of my palm, as I watched him ease his way down the path in front of me, walking as if he had belonged here his whole life. Why couldn't I feel like that? I braced myself to dig my fingernails into my palm again, but instead heaved a sigh and felt my eyes well up with tears. He couldn't see me like this... I turned my back and sat down, sliding myself down into a ditch that was filled with fallen leaves, crisp chocolate. My body folded itself under until I was curled up on the ground, staining the perfect leaves with wet, salty tears. This was too hard. Too big. Too much. Ironic, wasn't it? The tiniest town I'd ever laid eyes on was too big for me to swallow, yet all my life I'd lived on a fourth floor apartment complex in Chicago, which was ten times as big as I'd ever be able to memorize. I knew every inch of this town just weeks following the move, yet I still couldn't handle living here after six months of around the clock purgatory. I choked on a sob, pulling my sweatshirt up to wipe my eyes. The wind whipped across my face, the air frigid and unfeeling against the wet tears, to remind me that it was getting colder. "Crap..." I muttered to myself, burying my face in the earthy pile of leaves that was the only shelter I could find from the cold. Why had I walked here? Stupid. I knew I was. The sobs came harder until I couldn't breathe and my sleeve was covered in eyeliner and mascara stains. I didn't bother to look to know they were there; It wouldn't have done any good in the dark to begin with. I could scrub them when I got home, if I got home that was. The walk was two miles, and shaking so hard, I'd never make it. I could spend the night out here, all alone, I guessed. I settled into the leaves, prepared to abandon myself in listless sleep some hour or so from now when the crying settled down enough for me to move on to being cold, and then to falling asleep. I'd get through them slowly, one by one, until the sun came up and it was warm enough to leave the insufficient safety of the tall trees that I lay among now.

Traits of Silence

Because I have not written anything new...

For Annie-

Traits of Silence

She was silent...
Silence is piercing.
It rings.

Readers, or obvious lack thereof,

I give up on writing. At fourteen, I've bled myself dry of the last of my writing. Nothing comes out. I give up on this blog, too. Nobody reads it. It doesn't live up to any of the other blogs. Maybe I'll change my mind. I do that a lot. Guess you'll have to drop in once or twice to see.

Mary Hannah