About the work of me
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I tried to put the past aside With all the feelings I held in side I sought and forgave Though others did rave What is she to say about me Is there anything a bout me some asked Never mind it is the hidden being inside That I took in stride I wrote of my days I cried of my nights Yet all there was was a life striving to be lived with what ever the powers up above could give In some days there was winning Other days there was losing Yet there were many in between ones Waiting to be shown My writing is an expression of my soul My inner being, sprouting to leap out Wanting to let go and release The inner words often hidden I started a work, about my times Some even rhymed Yet most in a way of telling What I recalled of my days. Though the haze of a heart broken daze The pains and sorrows I felt The way I looked at the world At different points in my life The roads I traveled The pains and trials the Successes and the struggle for freedom From a nightmare of my past Some was through personal error Others was to escape a heart breaking expeirence Yet it was my way of understanding the people I knew Not to destroy, ruin or deprave just to state a point of view I see my world through heart felled eyes I cry from inner pain ready to escape Letting go of the bitterness to heal Forgiving and letting go I noticed others learned from what I do Hope for the life I did seek Yet I be true to the inner one inside STriving to be a part of the outer world I wish only to be the best one I can be To care for my pets, friends and loved ones So I care in my own way It shows in a individual way as do others I guess I wish I could show that I am me Only the person I dare be Not letting others crush that individual sense of self Not allowing others to put it on a shelf. One day I will bring it out in print I hope while I live as a good person Yet Only to use as a base in point Turning bits and pieces in to a pleasant work of fiction So You wonder if a hidden work exists That work is in my soul It came with my being Which may or may not be a hidden body of work. by doris Mendlovitz