Where angels meet

I once was in a wooded place as night began to fall.
All at once I heard the most intriguing sound like an angels call
In a trance I followed the angelic sound, till I lost my way
Then from nowhere came a light, that turned night to day
I covered up my eyes, the whiteness burning bright
It enveloped my all my senses, stealing my sight
As quickly it came it vanished so I could see
Upon the rocks a figure, finger stretched and beckoning to me
In a trance I walked forward, the figure clearer still
The figure luring me closer a feeling against my will
Slowing rise up its head, the figure looked at me
The angelic form I thought i`d find was not what I did see
The figure did not move, silent still it sat
Only its eyes, a feline slit, like those of an angry cat
The robe it wore once was white, now torn and ripped and wet
The smell of flesh rotting high, the worst my senses had met
A voice so sweet came from the mouth so cracked and dry and stale
The creature’s skin was smooth and white, a ghostly kind of pale
The voice it cracked and addressed me with a sinister looking grin
My heart if beat like a soldiers drum made of metal made of tin
“Walk with me a while for a story i have to tell
It’s older than life itself older than heaven and of hell
I beg of you to listen, spare a little of your time
Normally folk are too busy to hear the story that is mine
Yet if they really listened if they really stopped to think
Their heart would not fill with sadness, their heart would no longer sink
For the time it takes to listen, could change their simple lives
If they merely stopped to listen see the sorrow in my eyes
I have walked where angels fear
Where fires burn and hate is near
Where god’s power has no hold
Where many hearts have become stone cold
I have seen suffering I have felt pain
I have witnessed things I never want to again
I am glad I am free life now makes more sense
That now I can see from this side of the fence
Peace is here if you open your heart
If only I`d realise it right from the start
This place is better, its right for me
Hell is on earth now I know that I am free

Introductions to the scrapbook

The one passion which has never faded or changed in my life has been my love of writing. There has been times where I have had long gaps in sitting down with pen and paper to jot down my thoughts and feelings but I have always come back to writing. As Communications Manager for a charity the written word is of huge importance every day and after a day of thinking about writing for work sometimes my brain just refuses to get creative for personal written ideas.

Like many people who write or draw I have a huge amount of unfinished pieces collecting dust, I can't however bare to part with any of the little sentences or pieced together words and rhymes incase I one day find use for them. Besides, each was written for a reason, and like a photo, captures something which I was thinking at that moment in time.

I have recently begun to transfer all my little jots and scribbles onto my laptop for safe keeping. It may sound silly but even though I know they are safer on my computer than on paper I feel a little heartbroken everytime I throw away a piece of paper with my handwritten jumble of ideas, starky written in ink or pencil.

Some of my writing dates back years. Just the other day my mum told me she has found a little poem I wrote probably 15-16 years ago. She said it made her smile and I guess that is all I have ever wanted from my writing, to make people smile, or laugh or cry, as long as it makes them think I am happy.

Apart from the odd competition and lots of unfinished book ideas I have never done anything with my creative writing but, one day I will. However whether they are loved or hated they are wasting while lying in piles and under books and on the back of paper bags so I am going to upload my written story.

Welcome to a scrapbook of thoughts from the past, in the hope of inspiring myself to keep on going and to hopefully inspire others to do the same.