After three years of living in my house, I’m finally clearing out the stacks of boxes in my extra bedroom.
I know … tell me about it.
But whilst rummaging through old envelopes filled with random cards, scribbles and photos, I found some old high school poetry. And it really made me kinda sad. Because I realized just how creative my writing was, back then. And how much more I need to work at it now.
My boyfriend says “don’t be sad.” Because back then, my mind had the luxury of letting itself run wild. Nonetheless, blogs and social media didn’t exist when I was in high school. So I decided to give High School Shari a special treat, and publish some of her poetry, here. Please be aware that I cannot edit my blog’s theme to correctly portray stanzas, but you’ll get the gist:
The Other Side
Dwelling in the psyche of my mind,
Swimming in the heart of my soul,
Confusion overtakes to make me blind.
I cannot find
The cure to my soul,
Never so bold,
To find its way to the other side.
Drowning in the depth of despair,
Choking from the grip of fate,
My being, overtaken by its fear,
It would not hear
My cry of hate;
For Heaven’s sake!
Dear God, where is the other side?
Lost in a maze of pure anxiety,
Falling through the hole of naked deceit,
I desperately search for true prosperity;
Instead find impurity.
And so I flee,
For I cannot see
The Truth in myself,
Leading toward the other side.
A Random Paragraph, Untitled
You can’t say you understand. How could you possibly know … know what it’s like, to stand up on that stage, you … alone—and pour your heart out to an auditorium of people that you’ve transformed, all with motion and music and passion. It’s like, it’s like my heart is part of the beat of the music, and it’s not inside me, but outside me, encompassing me, pulling me with it. And when you’re done, and the lights fade, the audience cheers. No, they don’t cheer; they stand, and scream, and clap, and whistle … all for you, only you, no one else BUT you. It’s your time, your true time. How could you possibly understand that, unless you’ve lived it, lived with it for thirteen-and-a-half years, then not had it anymore?
Sometimes, we don’t realize how much we love something, until we no longer have it. Sometimes, we don’t know how much passion we felt for something, ’till it’s gone. So how—how can you understand it, unless you’ve had it?
Deliverance
Black and blue,
He sits upon
Steps anew,
Shattered dreams,
Hopes withheld,
His time is due.
Lost black eyes,
Dead stars within,
Watch the sky,
Search for worth,
Pray to find
The loveless lie.
Tender hands,
Their touch is numb,
Forever damned
By such hate,
Slaps and kicks,
For help he ran.
But now he sits,
His soul deprived,
He knows of hits,
That loveless lie.
“Come forward son,”
A voice consoles.
“Your father’s gone,
Come meet Don,
And he will take you home.”
(© All works copyrighted by Shari Lopatin. All rights reserved.)
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Tags: blogging, creative writing, Creativity, life, nostalgia, poetry, Writing
