ChloePage's blog

Completing a melody,
Developing the harmony
The essence of a tune,
Brings meaning to the room.

The core of winded silence,
Remembered from a distance
Forever live the lyrics,
A music maker’s physics.

Staying where song has ceased,
Bringing comfort, even peace
Lasting life times now and then,
The ringing words will never end.

World circling around her,
Busy people, rushing and thinking;
In their world of preoccupied life.
No one has the ability to notice her sitting,
There, on the park bench attentively waiting;
If they had seen her, they’d know she was waiting,
Considering it a human weakness of sorts.
But looking closely they may have noticed,
The smile twitching at the corners of her lips,

Puddle boots on and rained coats donned, two girls are well protected from the rainy elements.
“Psh… Who needs make-up?”
“Not me!”
The ten year olds travel along the side of the car, crouching near a puddle nestled in the driveway. Dipping their hands in to the gushing ooze, it turns colors at their finger tips.
“Ellie, watch this. All we need comes from nature!”

I study the curtain,
Its dusty red ripples hide me from their eyes.
I am the performer, the one who tells lies.
My life is a stage, but the curtain won't lift,
It hides me from the world, a place I don't fit.
A mask over my face, I cannot stay behind,
The curtain won't lift, but I part it with my mind.
I enter a courtyard; I can hear voices now,
But everywhere I turn high walls surround.

Dear Mr. George W.
Dear Mr. George W.
Misleading, mistreating from our
Dear Mr. George W.

How do your eyes not see the world around you?
Your lies shut your eyes,
Does that not astound you?

Dear Mr. George W.
My Mr. George W.
Do not hear us?

Yes us the screamers,
Yes us the dreamers,
Yes us the keepers,
The peacemakers, tax payers and lie haters.

As I cry
My tears wash away the dust that
Is my pain.

They Water the seedlings
In the dirt that is my mind,
Now the plants begin grow.

They strenthen the river of time
So it will flow faster,
And new times will come,
My sorrow will pass.

So com what may,
Keep raining tears,
My pain will GROW away.

She walks through the hall; walls are made of eyes plastered together with harsh whispers which hide none of their contempt. The walls move in closer and quickly she ducts in to a near by safe haven. Here the walls are of cold shiny brick, but it brings her warmth, she knows this place so well, too well.

Preview:

There’s that little person
You know the one I’m talking about?
The follower, the mimic, that one
The younger one…

Downsyndrom, her battle
I “fight” it with her, but how I don’t know
It is a constant in my life
I could never tell the difference, because I don’t know anything else.
What would my life be like if she had been “normal”?

They are here, figments of our imagination. But what makes them real? Are they truly present, scaring us sending shivers up our spines, is that a real ghost? Or is a ghost a memory, of perhaps an old acquaintance or friend; a memory that is brought about by the mood of your surroundings brought alive by the dark chill of the early evening.

Persuaded By Me!

First I ask nicely, that’s always the key
Smile politely; they’ll like what they see.

I’ll carefully craft the question and wait,
To see if they’ve followed my bait.

But if they don’t my honesty ensues
And they learn all my reasons and views.
My blunt opinion comes out of it all
And they know that the conversation won’t be resolved