El Campo (The Field)

En el campo, mi familia anduvo
Miramos los pájaros en el cielo
En el campo, mi familia bromeó
Miramos la risa que salió volando

In the field, my family walked
We watched the birds in the sky
In the field, my family laughed
We watched the laugh that flew away

-Layne

La Vida (The Life)

La vida ha empezado
Débil y pequeña
La vida ha continuado
Fuerte pero indecisa
La vida ha terminado
Triste con aflicción
A todas las personas que haya conocido su alma bien

The life has begun
Weak and small
The life has continued
Strong but indecisive
The life has ended
Sad with affliction
To all of the people that knew your soul well

-Layne

Una Rosa (A Rose)

Una rosa que crezca en el invierno
Trae buena suerte a todo
Una rosa que crezca en la primavera
Trae sonrisas a todo
Una rosa que crezca en el verano
Trae calor a todo
Una rosa que crezca en el otoño
Trae feliz a todo
Pero, una rosa que te ayuda por el día
Es más hermosa que todas


A rose that grows in winter

Brings luck to all
A rose that grows in spring
Brings smiles to all
A rose that grows in summer
Brings warmth to all
A rose that grows in fall
Brings happiness to all
But, a rose that helps you through the day
Is more beautiful than all

-Layne

A Hope

Star’s solemn wish

Brilliant starry sky

In a world without light

A heart hopes to fly

 

Dreams rush passed

Heart’s cord gripped til’ release nigh

Pulling with vigor

Unsure thoughts a mortal cry

 

Crazed eyes in the dark

Morning’s gate nearby

Fear lies within

As memories pass by

 

Water washes in depth

No truth dyed

Sun rises in the east

Casting jewels through the sky

 

Rapid firing chest

Solid beats come shy

Eyes blink the past away

Heart calms in a sigh

 

-Layne

Snow Day

Have you ever tread in a winter’s snow?

With falling stars overhead

And frozen leaves under toe

 

One’s chest fills with a summer’s glow

And frost that winter bled

Clings to the willow

 

Decisive boot falls blow by blow

Uncracked earth just ahead

Iced cheeks in scarf’s plateau

 

Spinning white dancer’s perform and ending show

As descending droplets hit earths bed

And gather in gift bestowed

 

-Layne

Years Gone By

A baby

A brother

An elf with tousled hair

A child

A brother

Time passed without care

An elder

A brother

Endless days unchanged there

An old one

No memoir

Years lost in disrepair

 

-Layne

Prompt

WARNINGS: you may never look at plastic bags the same way

 Plastic bags. How they crinkle and creak. All wadded up into slimy damp balls or strewn about the parking lot, they lodge in me a deep fear. The very crackle sends shivers up my spine.
  Once, I had a dream that plastic bags took over the entire world. They crept over the faces of the humans and suffocated them in their beds. Then, they took to the streets and blew like tumbleweeds to the center of the city where they combined to form a terrible monster, which towered to the very tops of the buildings. Rattling and rustling, it sent the surviving humans to the sewers and droves where they instead lay forgotten in the running water. With that final image, I awoke with a fear that would never extricate itself from my mind.
  Now, each time I glimpse a plastic bag gliding through the parking lot, being used as a trashcan liner in a home, or lined up in a grocery store, I know that it is only a matter of time before they become fed up with their low, nearly forgotten state and rise.

-Layne

Torrent

 What do you see when you close your eyes?

   There is darkness behind my eyelids. It shifts and moves, sometimes gray and other times pitch, but always there in some shape or form. Sometimes I wonder if we all see this darkness. Sometimes I wonder that when I am seeing gray the stranger walking past me is falling into a gaping hole of black each time they blink. There is ghost of a vision, the moment of realization when the world came crashing down in smoke and dust, that haunts us. It lingers as if to remind us of each thought, each passing second of a storm within our minds. The clouds that cover the sun for which we long but can never seem to find remain. The rain pours with our own desperate desire to be rid of the clouds that hang heavily in the sky.  And, when the door closes and the soft breaths of slumber are heard all around you in the safety of your home, the shadows creep across the walls, playing the vision of your fevered mind. 
    Who can dispose of what they see behind their eyelids without first tearing out their eyes? Both eyes are wide. They widen in observation at the world around them, at news stands blaring the latest headline: Tragedy, tragedy!!! And yet, when the eyes can stay open no longer because of the burning tears that come with staring at the world to long, they turn inward and see the darkness of your own life. You feel alone and lost. It takes bravery to blink and see. It takes even greater bravery to face the darkness. For every demon faced, there always seems to be another that appears, maybe several that taunt and jeer at your incompetence at the game of dice that gave you your storyline at birth. You glare at your own incompetence as you blink again, and again, and again, each fall of the eyelid like a sharp blows.
    When the strikes become to much, the visions wear you down, and the storm rages  through you and those you love, it is almost impossible to believe that there is a sun behind those clouds. The faint belief in an existence in something better than your present existence is what keeps you moving on.
Yet, as you wade through the flood and the rain crashes upon your shoulders, you realize that there is a faint glow, like the beginning of a ray of light pushing away the darkness of the sky. Perhaps it was always there and you never realized it. You reach out in the torrent and suddenly feel skin, warm like your own and filled with the same strength in vitality. Grasping, helping, caring you trudge together through the flood from the storm that could no longer be contained in your own minds. Uprooted debris mix with thoughts and flow against both of you as you work through the storm. Sometimes another hand reaches out and grasps your own, and again, and again until a chain of heroes is formed. Stumbling through the flood, you hold on to each other through the rain and the debris that threatens to crash into you at any moment. Slowly, the waters drain away little by little until nothing but thin patches of lingering debris remain. Then, something you have dreamed for for a long while appears,  something that you began to doubt existed.  People who have walked hand and hand with you now dry themselves in the warming air with you upon solid ground. It is in that moment that you see your life for what has become, illuminated by the light that pours from the disappearing clouds, something that you believed it could never be but yet it is. Beautiful. 

-Layne