Pointless

Unwillingness is at the core of discontentment,
Arbitrary babbling, rattling, pointless rambling,
Essays of my life, my story,
I thirst for meaning,
Purpose, a new song, bright mornings,
I need so much to be satisfied,
And as the clouds quickly observes us then moves on,
I thirst for something more,
I breathe, nothing more, nothing less,
Until the day I stop,
Very few find solace,
Some over explain, others barely do,
Who truly comprehends our routine, chaotic, existence?
Yet we fight to continue it,
And breed younglings into it,
A new generation of dreamers, persecutors,
Revilers, story tellers, mascots and prisoners.
And so the pointless rambling continues,
LISTEN
No new story,
No change.
Until Jesus!
Copyright © 2009 Kizanne James

Confessions of a Pretend Love Cynic (dedicated to Anton Small)

Being with you,
I am broken,
Released from my own self imposed feministic views,
Because of you,
I was made a liar
Forced to look into myself, to admit
Fairytales are real,
And that’s its ok to feel,
Dreams can come true,

I have been corrected,
Put in my place,
Your subtle sweetness,
Obvious kindness,
Developing love for me,
I never believed it could be my reality,
I’ve been a fool,
Who would think that such an imperfect world could produce,
Something so pure, in us.

With you, I’ve been placed into uncertainty,
Changing my world, you are my light,
Now I confess,
I Kizanne James pretend love cynic,
Is addicted to you,
You are amazing,
And I am enchanted,
Placed under the spell of your touch,
You inspire me,
Now I see that silver lining,
Who would have thought?

I confess,
All things are possible,
Regardless of where things may lead,
I have faith, in happy endings,
You have exposed me,
Now humbly I wait to love you, to make you happy,
My vision is clear,
I am contented and elated,
God has sent me an angel.



Copyright © 2009 Kizanne James

Written for Anton Small

Listen

Can you hear me?
My cries in the night,
Are you listening
to the agony of my pain?
My sorrow festers -
Bleeding through my brokenness;
Sores oozing:
Ripe from the years of injustice
I've suffered.
Can you hear my whispers?
Shh! I'm quieted.
No one can know.
No one would believe.

Can you really see me?
Look through the window of my soul:
They are dark with regret - Bruised against the hardened
Walls of my heart.

Hope? Ignorance? Believing a better tomorrow would come;
It’s an illusion
Just like my smile
That dissipates with a beating from reality.

Can you feel me,
Touch my weakness?
My spirit has been driven away.
Hollowness resides where my innocence once was.
Kisses upon my frame -
Upon this hollow vessel;
Cheapened by my father's derogatory acts,
I know no love.
I am victim-daughter.
Prisoner.

Can you free me?

Copyright ©2008 by Kizanne James