Strings

and here I am again, lifting my wet eyes to the sky

left behind and left wondering how, wondering why

watching a yellow balloon glide through the clouds

I watch and I'm silent even when I want to yell out loud

I'm like a child again, my heart tearing at the seams

I built a shell out of lost hopes and broken dreams

but ghosts walk through locked doors, and I hear myself scream

the light leaves me in the dark as it spills out of me in dull beams

and here I am again, clutching onto what I have left

a crowd of balloons tied to my wrist, still I am bereft

I find their colors reflecting on my skin, so vibrant

baby blue, pastel pink, sunset orange, deep violet

yet, the beauty only reminds me of what I could lose

I know my bones will still break, my flesh will still bruise

storms and winds will come, there will be things lost

things will be taken away, I'll be left to count the cost

empty and hurting because of the smallest of things

because of all the things I hold onto by their strings

-T.H.

28/10/15

I've been there before, destroyed by a stupid love for things. In that, there is a lesson to be learned, and I'm learning it. New knowledge, true knowledge, rebuilt me. (1 Timothy 6:17-19, Luke 12:33-34, Matthew 6:19-21) Don't trust in things. Things are frail. Don't chase after them, they aren't worth it.  I promise that they won't ever fill that hole inside of you, they'll just make more.