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Held down.
Held back.
Held to.
Held tight.
Held up
In darkness.
Held close
By light.
Always
Held safely.
Always
Held to
Higher,
Stronger,
Mountains
'Round you.
Never
Abandoned.
Never let fall.
Never treated
Poorly.
Never
The wall.
Sometimes,
Often,
Usually pained.
Something
Good, ever,
Will be gained.
Graced comfort,
Light glowing
Within,
Arms and
Hands round,
Gaining
Your win.
What broken
Soul can
You now save?
How will you return
What, to you,
God gave?
What
Sacred soul,
In tank top
And jeans
Is being hated
For being
A different
Human
Being?


Adam Scott Campbell

Meant To Be

I held a treasure, a jewel most rare
In my imperfect, mortal hands.
It slipped, it fell, it shattered
Both itself, and all high plans.

I knew not hope nor despair,
For both gave way to ice.
However sharp life's blade,
I'd numbed Self from its slice.

To you who feel, and know both pain
and joy of burning love,
You know that purest burning
Goes with happiness, hand in glove.

Perhaps you, too, have given up
On having them again,
Though part of Frozen You
Aches for what you had, back then.

What if you found your soul mate,
Whom you never knew was real?
Could you take the pain of thawing
And dare, again, to feel?

Will you do so?  For I'll tell you
True love is very real,
For you, for me, for every soul
Whether able, or unable to feel.

It's not my scars that made it rough,
Vulnerable to be-
Laying my heart out for those around,
And all the world, to see.

Twas only that my darkness was precious,
Sacred, treasured to me.
Being vulnerable tears me up, each time.
I do it repeatedly,

Because sooner or later, someone,
Who looks so deep to see,
Will be the soul mate, breathtaking,
priceless, special, meant for me.

Adam Scott Campbell

Furnace Of Dreams

The world will tell you it's impossible.
They will say that the dream you carry inside you
Cannot be, and will never be accomplished.
They will even give you reasons why you should not
Stretch your wings,
Take a running start,
And fly.
Only birds were meant to fly, after all.  That's why they come with wings.
Humans do not come with wings.
We have learned to make our own.
We are the beneficiaries of human genius.  We can climb into
An airplane, rocket, jet, glider, balloon,
Or squirrel suit and go faster and higher than any bird.
Humans can fly.
You are human.
You can fly, too.
You can have your dream, and you will have it.
You did not come here to planet earth to fail in your dream.
My dream was to get a college degree.
It turned out to be a two-year Associates.
It took me ten years.  I spent some time in an closed institution
In the midst of all of it.
It hurt to be there.
I did it anyway, and got through it.
It hurt to get to my degree.
I did it anyway.
It hurts to live.
You and I both do it anyway,
Every moment
Of every day
Of our lives.
Work toward your dream.
Fight through the fire and the storm,
And get to your dream.
Understand that you have a dream for a reason.
You are the reason.
As you battle toward your dream, other dreams
Will come.
They, too, will require another trek
Through a different fire.
Fight through it.
Crawl. and fall, and work, and laugh,
And cry through it.
You will become the bearer
Of your own dreams.
Dreams fashioned as you kept moving in
The place where all dreams are brought about.
The Furnace of Dreams.

Adam Scott Campbell

Forevermore

You had your goal, your aim, your dream.
You knew you could not lose.
Your path was laid before your feet.
You did not have to choose.

The pain you saw another felt,
You'd never have to feel.
New wounds could never slow you-
You were certain that you'd heal.

No matter what could happen,
You would push on just as strong.
You'd live your dream, and prove your aim.
Your goal could not be wrong.

For goal or dream any higher
Could not be mortal-found.
Or so you thought, until you fell
On hardened, stone-cold ground.

Around, you looked, and viewed, in shock,
A multitude of foes,
Hardened warriors all,
Unconscious, in broken rows.

Victory in sight.  Foes
At your mercy, all.
When from deep inside you
There came a strange, new clarion call.

"Let rest what rests," said Call did say
"Leave these who always stayed.
"A chance to rise above them...
"This, the chance for which you've prayed."

Then new sight, fresh understanding
Into your mind did glow.
This was the time to leave old habits.
To let each last one go.

To set your sight upon the heights
'Pon which you're meant to stand.
Push onward and press upward,
Just like you've longed and planned.

Last year, last month, last hour,
You left them each behind.
With unwavering greatness
You now are firmly aligned.

Tis you, O battler, to whom I speak,
You who, these words, now read.
You do now, and you will,
Forevermore succeed.

Adam Scott Campbell

Fire And Storm

I entered the fire and could have quit-
Could have turned, and walked away,
Weeping each step for passed pain.
I chose, instead, to stay.
I stayed, and the flames went high
Far taller than little me.
So high and so bright, all around,
That soon I could not see.

I knew nothing but heat and
Pain, too soon to ring me round.
But stationary I was not.
I yet moved on blackened ground.
Recalled I much triumph,
Much joy as I had pushed through
Struggles of storm and tempest.
For in the past I'd chosen to.

But burning in this trial,
Different than nature's ire,
I beheld the choices
Of both honest man and liar.
Each I saw inside me,
The lie that I loathed life,
The lie that each fault was mine-
That I had caused all strife

The lie that I was worth naught,
The lie that I could not do
Anything and everything
I wanted and was meant to.
But honesty, too, spoke
And said that I'd endured,
While things both dark and evil,
Inside and out, had stirred.

That I had tried, and tried again,
That I was yet still trying,
While my heart and even soul
Could not cease their crying.
Between both ends I found myself
And, puzzled at my state,
Wondered how I ever functioned
With so much on my plate.

Wisdom's dawn approaching,
I find my central door.
I open it, and view within:
The things I laid in store.
Many are good and helpful
A few even divine.
But many, from the darkness,
I also could claim as mine.

Seeing I want them not,
Knowing I'm worth more,
I gather up the darkness.
I toss it out my door.
A particle of wisdom, then,
Into my mind did come
The fire and storm, together,
Enable me to reach my sum.

Bittersweet Aid: A Deadly Endeavor, Part 2

        "Let it go..." the lady whispers. "Let it out!"
        Her arms wrap round my middle from behind.  Twas good sport at our last meeting.  The possibility of death at the hands of beauty was, put simply, both pleasure and honor.  Now heart-pangs have engendered a more candid reckoning of inner struggles.  Again we meet.  Again I have put forth no effort to protect myself, for despondency holds my heart captive as no woman ever could.  I have come with half a hope that she would end my suffering.  Instead, this.
        "Lady," I say, my voice thick. "This I will not unload upon thee.  Tis not thy work.  Thou art no beast of burden, but an angel at war with thine own inner light.  I have done naught but evil concerning thee and thy kind.  Separate thyself from me."
        Her arms grow tighter.  "Never, dear poet-warrior."  A break I hear in her voice.
        No!  May sword and arrow pierce me through, no angel should shed tear!
        "Lady!  Please do not weep!"
        I hear her sniffle.  "What else may I do, dear one?" she asks, further tears evident in her speech.  "Tis a broken heart and beaten spirit I embrace.  How do I heal them of what has been done?  How do I help one who has so little love for himself?"
        I am wretched and shattered and burnt-up within.  It hurts to have a heart.  It hurts worse to have it awaken after attempted freezing.  Would that an entire battered existence could be erased.
        "A tendril of thy thought in the air I catch, O Poet," She says in hushed voice.  "This thy wish, to be undone?"
        "True, lady.  Tis but sweetened agony I am given for to taste.  What remedy have thou?  Wilt thou use razor steel to give me blessed, eternal relief?"
        "O Nay, precious soul!" she cries out, fully weeping now. "Live!  Live for the sake of all you can help!  I need thee here!  So many need thee here!"
        "I stay for thee alone, lady."
        "Have a care, sir.  Grief alone will such motive bring thee.  Broaden thy perspective.  So many hurt, much like unto thee.  Empathy mayhap can bring healing as naught else.  For their sake and for thine, shoulder their grief with them and find release from this, thy pain."
        I find no answer.  A long moment passes.  The words I have long dreaded, she then speaks.  Others of God's precious daughters have spoken the same in times past.  The blade twists deeper with each new use of the words.
        "I do thee no good to be here."
        She removes her arms from around me.  I turn.  Already she has begun the trek to her waiting mare.  At times, grace enables a poet to speak words of wonder.  At others, grace disables my ability to communicate at all.  Tis the latter I suffer now.
        Fare thee safely, lady.
-        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -        -      

        The young man sits quiet at the travel crossroads.  A tattered shirt, threadbare shorts, holey shoes, and a worn cap on his head are all he has with him.  Not even a knapsack for the barest of necessities.  His clothing says much.  The look on his face says all.  He has lost everything.                         Carriages pass him by, seemingly oblivious to his want.  I have walked far, travelling without aid of carriage.  The use of limb to make haste is more helpful than travelling in ease.  It helps to quiet the mind, somewhat.  Perhaps the lady is right.  Perhaps giving aid to another will help me, in turn.
        "Have you food to eat?" I ask him.
        He shakes his head, looking dazed.  I take my own knapsack off my shoulders, and pull at the leather drawstring straps to open it.
        "I have hope that you are not averse to cold victuals."  I unload the pack, setting out cold meat, a half-loaf of bread, some good cheese, and a flagon of cordial.  He looks, mouth parted in astonishment, at what I have laid before him.  Then looking teary up at me, he moves his lips in an effort to speak.  He finally croaks out,
        "Thank you."
        A mere four days since the lady and I parted and my pain has already begun to subside.  She had been right.
        She is always right.

Adam Scott Campbell