From The Dust

I’m drawn within, held frail and thin.  

Look at what I behold:

A spirit strong, now strongly twisted… 

A blazing heart, now cold.

I look about, at tears, sweat, 

Burn, blood, and grime-

At all the pain I’ve caused myself, 

From the start of my earth-time.

I didn’t know I’d taint myself, 

Nor understand at all,

Why it was so important 

For me to heed my call:

The call to take my leave, 

To end my own great pain,

To walk away from bitter hell, 

To purge this inner stain.

But purging stains lodged so deep that 

I cannot, they, now find…

Knowing not how it is done, 

I leave my core behind.

Turning out to face a world 

With beauty I can't own,

I don’t know how to do this- 

To live life all alone.

A beating heart unfeeling, 

Broken others in such pain…

How can these heart-tragedies 

Be turned now into gains?

For you who know such heart-pains, 

And have known them well,

Will you dust off your treasures, 

Take them off your shelves,

Speak your soothing heart-balm 

To those who never healed

That wounds may now be cleaned and washed,

And kissed, and hugged, and sealed?

May this great world be healed from hate, 

May this my spirit dwell

With each who hid, and now emerge, 

From that wherein they fell.

Adam Scott Campbell

A Golden Word's Win

Liquid gold encased in crystal.
In my hand lies God's own Pen.
No gold word has yet been written,
Though tries have been undertaken
Since I obtained it.  It's weeks since then.

Gouges all over this my table
From when I tried to write thereon.
All my poems and every fable
I have attempted, forever gone.
How, with this Pen, may I write on?

Perhaps the wounds in every wall
And the scars upon the floor-
Reminders of my every fall-
Are each prayer at heaven's door
When I would, angel's aid, implore.

Why can't I write them? -The words meant
By this great Pen, heaven-sent?
Some secret stored in my own soul
Will this Pen full pour
And repay the gold it spent.

Out of another dream I wake.
No pen in hand.  No claim to stake.
And then, so quiet, thought-balm soothes.
A mental sense that, to me, proves
My Pen still waits.  I can, great words, make.

I turn inward, as I've done before,
Into my embattled, invincible core.
Knowing that treasures await my return
Treasures to know, to feel, to learn.
The treasures that I came here for.

No path I see.  I am blind by choice.
I seek wisdom by Celestial voice.
Beauty that so often heals
Can take true sight from one who feels.
Now begins the turning of wheels.

As they turn, so turns the earth.
I start seeing all your soul's worth.
Your life, your heart, your dreams-
What you try for, why your tears stream.
Your soul's depth- I see it, unearthed.

Knowing I've given many souls pause,
Knowing I've provided such wretched cause
For many to say, "I want no part,"
I reach for the doorknob to my torn-up heart
I will alter the meaning of my own soul's laws.

By crystal pen I can't feel touch my skin,
I write to those unknowing of treasure within.
Treasure that's fighting to make itself known.
Treasure to teach the great amount grown.
Appearance of gold words on heart-wall begins.

Soon to be crafted... A golden word's win.

Adam Scott Campbell