She walks in beauty

So, I think I'm in love...there's this poet, and nearly every word he pens makes me involuntarily melt inside. His name is Byron. George Gordon (Lord) Byron (1788-1824). And today, I'm going to share one of his breathtaking works with you.

"SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY

SHE walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair'd the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!"

Running To Find You

Run away.
I just want to run away
From all these doubts and fears of disappointment
Feels like I'm going nowhere at the moment

Drive.
I wish I could drive through the night
Emerging in the soft glow of the morning light
Unafraid of not knowing when or where my journey ends

You.
Sometimes I wish you wouldn't plague me
Or that you'd swoop in and save me
From the chaos in my mind

But instead you hover
Like a shadow of a lover
You're there one day, then gone another
Like you can't make up your mind

Skip.
 I wish that I could skip somethings in life
Like this unpleasant feeling we call 'lonely'
But then I'd miss the whole adventure of you getting to know me

Though, I know there's so much more to living life

Life.
Why can't life, most days, be easy?
I feel like some days that I won't sleep until I die

So I content myself with dreaming
While through my window sunlight's gleaming

Because they who dream by day
are aware of so much more
than those who only dream at night

Night.
 For many, I feel, night is a truly confusing time of day
My body is weary
My feet are dragging
My mood is dreary
And yet, Night is when my imagination comes out to play

Here.
 Here is where I leave you
But where 'Here' is, is up to you
And with you, I leave an image
Though a rather fuzzy image:

Of a girl wandering through life
skipping town
driving through the night
A girl running away,
 just to find you.

Running away to find you, here.

Poetry in forms of pencil strokes

A peculiar treasure

There is a girl I know, whose helping hands help people grow.
Her heart, so beautiful, is larger than the oceans
And when she speaks, love is verbally put into motion
Beloved by all, this girl of slight frame stands bold and tall
This gorgeous creature is blessed with compassion knowing no bounds, truly a heart for the lost
This gorgeous creature is blessed with skin the color of creamy coffee, and bouncy black raven locks
A precious and peculiar treasure, is this girl I know
For she belongs to a savior who's love has made her pure as snow
And though, some days, she feels crushed, as if by the whole world's cares(and sometimes told things that catch her unawares)
She will always have arms to run to
Arms ready for a sweet embrace
Arms to calm and reassure her
Arms that make her feel safe
For she is a peculiar treasure
One only a fool would let go
Unique and unattainable by all
Except the one who sees inside her soul
This is the girl I know
I call this girl my friend
This girl, like me, a peculiar treasure
One I'll cherish 'till the end.

"A cup of coffee shared with a friend is happiness tasted and time well spent."

Musings from a Tipsy Scatterbrain

your fingers pluck on my heartstrings like a skilled musician. The idea of you, as steady as a drum beat in my head. I peer into a sea of faces and wonder if you're lost in there, are you trying to get out? Or are you hiding instead? Being alone, and being happy. It's a hard thing to master. Especially when all around you everyone is paired together.
So, who are you? I'm dying to know!
My heart is calling out, it sings its song so loudly, trying to wait patiently for the return of its call. I'm searching for a pure heart. One that's brave and true. Kind and patient. Gentle, loving. Does this sound like you? Do your eyes see things the way they are, from a surface view? Or do you see with a creative imagination, making old things seem brand new?
Images in my head, belonging on an artist's wild canvas. But sometimes it's hard to find the right form of expression for all these thoughts found where head and heart meet. Should I use a gilded paint brush, or illustrate with my bruised and battered feet?
I need to move to think, it's just the way I am. On most days I need more then pen and ink to exercise my crazy plans.
If you think you can handle my insanity, well, then you're welcome to give it a shot. But I must shoot you a warning:
This brain and these emotions don't come equipped with a switch to turn things 'off'. I need a kindred spirit, someone who shares my goals. Someone to bring me coffee and a kiss at 3am when I'm tired and starting to feel slow.
Whisper that you love me.
Place a smile on my face.
Forgive me when I hurt you.
And share with me God's grace.
I can see you smiling as I place my hand in yours, as we walk down a path lined with trees. Our hair goes from dark to gray, and eventually we walk with canes.
You'll be my hero and my lifeline and keep me from going mad. I'll drive you towards insanity but you won't mind, because being crazy's not so bad.
I have many dreams of life, and love, and art, but you...
you yourself are a dream ...
But O, to dream! To dream is an experience I'll never forsake. For it's in the adventurous, nonsensical world of my imagination that I get to meet you.

Poetry by pencil strokes

- art credit to: Sophia