Flames

 *Author's Note*

This is an older journal entry into a poem. I added a few things and took some out.

A single strike of a match,

Brings flames,

Gently licking the edges of the wood,

Attempting to have it become ash.

The heat beats off of the golden orange flames,

Onto my face and hands,

And I accept the feeling of warmth,

Of comfort.

The crackle of the flames,

Brings echoes throughout the night,

And as I take in the aroma around me,

I realize that,

This ever so gentle flame holds power,

The power of heat,

The power of destruction,

The power of life.

Running (Poem)

*Author's Note*

This is the poem version of the stream of consciousness "Running".

Running in fear,
Of what is behind,
The unknown though, stays ahead,
Only knowing fear has driven me this far,
This far away from hope, from happiness.
The sting of pain arrives,
Like a brisk breeze of the early morning.
The pain makes me realize,
That life is short,
So why waste it living in fear?
So face the fear I am running from,
Except the only fear I carry,
Is the man I am.
I then understand,
What it is I am running from,
I am running from myself.

Running

*Author's Note*

I saw someone jogging and it sparked an inspiration for a rather depressing Stream of Consciousness since the weather was bleak.

Running in fear of what’s behind, still not knowing what is ahead. Only knowing fear is driving me into this desolate land of hopelessness. Realizing the sting of pain has finally arrived like a brisk breeze of the early morning. Noticing that life is hard enough and rather short, taking a chance to stand up. Face the fear that I was running from. Except a twisted idea makes me figure out I should just give up. Give up on the fear I am running from, simply give up on life. The only fear though is facing the person I truly am. Then I understand what I am running from. I am running from myself.