It's the memories

For who are we but dust
Blowing here and there
Blowing wherever the wind decides...

It is so when dust settles on old fortune,
Memories capsuled
Frozen in time, only to be unlocked momentarily

Yes it's those memories etched in the fine lines
Of dimpled smiles or in the corner of bright twinkling eyes
That remember... 
Or the ones that leave deep impressions on foreheads of longing...

For one moment to turn the hands of time back...
Back to when, just to experience it once again
So they may hold on for a little while...
To drift, like dust in the wind 
Blissful and free...

Yes it's those memories we desire 
For life to be worthwhile
For life to be eternal 
These are the memories 
The heart keeps beating for
And why every breath is taken
Because we dared to love and to live
For this is what life's about...
15/6/15

Wom[b]an 

(for ‪#‎WomensHistoryMonth‬ ‪#‎WomensDay‬)

A nurturer, a lover, a mother - blessed is her womb...

For she brings life into this world... Wom[b]an

She is wise, she is strong, she is fierce, she is meek

Her name is royal; her worth, priceless...
Many have knelt before her; been wooed by her -
blessed by the many virtues, she possesses...

Who is she? She is... Wom(b)an!

Take pride in her stride
In her poise, in her grace and in her gaze...

Listen to the wisdom in her words
For her words are not fickle -
They are like droplets of water
sprinkling on her seedlings for them to grow...

Look to her, she is Queen

She is Wom(b)an!

Written by: Rachael N. Collymore
Poetic Vibes

(photo source: 'I Love Being Black')

Family Matters

We try to dance between the lines

Confined by parallels 

While our mind attempts to roam

Freely expressing thoughts 

That words dare not say

We weave through the lines

Colouring and shading 

the space within

Elusive; not to upset the status quo

Of what perfect be

We exist within the lines 

Defined by one's definition of

What we must be 

Who we must be and

How we must live 

Yet, the full measure of our existence

Remains undefined...

We who walk in straight lines

Never turn to see the curve 

Beyond never-ending sentences

That run-off the lines to infinity

Where colours cross over the boundary

To create its own artistry 

We, deceived by blurred lines

Seen through visions askew

With proclamations of divine manifestation

Have silenced our own tongues

In the name of...

We never question these lines

Which have imprisoned thought and reason

Giving room to heresy.

We've lost our way 

and the knowledge of our inheritance has been tainted

For inherent in all of us is our moral compass

Our sixth sense, our conscience...

The voice within, dare I say the likeness of God in us

That intuitive truth of who we really are...

No one can give assent 

except for the creator of this being

Therefore,we who have lived within shadows of others' truth

Must break the line and forge ahead 

Unrestricted and unafraid;

Reclaim our identity

For the line was never the beginning or the end

It was written so that we may exceed it

Turn the page

The story continues...

Next chapter.

Written by: Rachael N. Collymore

©2015

 

Breathe.

24/11/2014

It's Monday morning and I'm here...

It's never easy moving on

Everything you see reminds you of that person

Little things hold new meaning; 

sentimental value we never knew would be so much...

Now that you're gone...

You're no longer here in my present

A world filled with so much promise 

Spins by unnoticed...

The tides are turning

And this wave has caught me off-guard 

You're no longer here in my present

The tears don't fall

This outward shell is frozen

Like this plastered smile...

It's turmoil inside

And the storm is churning

Screaming your name.

Mourning is a hell of a thing

A million pieces...

That's how much my heart has been broken

I heard it shatter when you left me

And grey skies shed my pain,

everytime it rained...

It drowns my soul

And I hope to stay afloat.

Where did you go?

These four walls echo your name  

Searching...

If only you'd answer...

Return to me;

Hear my silent plea

Inwardly, I'm fighting 

to stay strong...

For you, I'm breathing 

Until love returns,

to fill this void inside.

I'll breathe.

Weather forecast: Prepare for rain.

Written by: Rachael N. Collymore

©2014

In a flash...

And I thought, things were always what they appeared to be:

Black or white, never inbetween.

But then the rose has torns and the clouds have different shades when the weather changes... 

Grey skies when it's overcast; blue skies and clouds of white on a bright, sunny day.

I always thought, 'complicated' was a rarity.

He said, She said... and what was innocent and pure...

now tainted and forgotten.

He said, She said.

Blurred lines, new scenery... yesterday, a distant memory. 

I wish I could... but...

It's complicated is the reality

Of two hearts that once beat to the same tune;

a rhythm that unified souls for life.

A vibration - a pulsating energy that ignited the flame... a fire burning...

Resonating deep within... 

An outed passion, no longer alit.

I wish I could... 

Too many broken pieces to mend

Each piece has its story.

Blurred lines... 

He said, She said - it was only a matter of time.

But time was elusive and the grains of sand in the hour glass kept flowing...

Down... Down... Down... 

She said, "I remember... you used to... but no more"

He said, "I remember when you... me... we..."

"We" sounds so French.

He whispered words into my ears, words that filtered through my being, words that made an imprint on my heart and I was his for life.

She, from the first moment our eyes locked, she became the subject, the title, the story of my dreams. She was every waking breath; she was life itself. She was my core. 

These dreams so vague, so inexistent, so few... 

He, She... no words.

Bit by Bit, every line, erased.

It never was.

Written By: Rachael N. Collymore

© 2013

Guardian.co.uk - Philip Hensher: Why handwriting matters

Guardian.co.uk - Philip Hensher: Why handwriting matters