Forgotten
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts
I never thought this blood would come off. I tried but failed. I saw your face so motionless that it crept into my soul. You were so young. So pretty. You looked like you should be laughing with friends or running like the wind. Why did you do it? Why? Couldn’t you keep it together just one more day? Someone would have cared. Someone. Anyone. I cared. You didn’t even know me. I cared so much that I begged you to come back. I didn’t even know your name. Why did you let go? I’m sorry this world blinded you. I’m sorry this world was blinded by you. You deserved to be seen. Everyone does. You deserve so much more than to lay here by yourself cold and alone. You were never alone. You were never alone.Â
Surviving
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Spiritual
On my knees? That’s where you think I deserve to be? You’ve got a lot of nerve for someone who took so much from me. You can take my family and you can destroy my life, but I’ll never believe that you are anything good. I’ll grind my teeth, push myself till my bones break, and fight until my blood stains the grass red. I won’t quit. Never. I won’t quit because you can’t make me. This fight is something you can’t win. You’ll have to kill me to make me quit. You can make every second of every minute filled with pain, but it’s not going to break me. It’s going to push me to succeed. I’m going to ride the fury you gave me until I see eye to eye with you and then I’m going to show you that no one is god. You have to beat me into the ground until I’m gone forever because every time I get up the only words escaping my lips will be “I survived”.
Creative writing about a friend
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Friendship, Spiritual
I found a kindred spirit. Apparently covered in ash, merely keeping an ember burning while the wind of life attempted to wash the vibrancy of it’s flame from the world. It was quiet yet enticing. Few would have dreamt the subtle glow slowly fading into dream could again breath. Few could have realized such passion could exist in a spark of life that many didn’t even acknowledge.Â
 But life, like all dreams – is something that possesses both passion and desire. The smallest of which gives us the power to find ourselves. It gives us the chance to breathe each day and explore the world as we see it. More importantly it gives us the ability to see the figments of life that were originally pieces of our dream, yet now they exist in life because of our own heartfelt desire.
 In this kindred spirit I have found such a piece of life. I see within a single ember a brilliant blazing glory, a fire that leaves my meager heart in awe, a passion for life that wants to consume everything before it. This untamed vibrancy could change the face of the world and everyone who sees it if only they took a moment to care.
 As for now, it is an ember. Covered in ash. Unnoticed by so many.
 How are so many flames left uncared for?
Why can I be different, an inspiration to life
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Spiritual
Someone once told me that they couldn’t live this life. They told me there was something different. I thought to myself- is this life not whatever we make of it? Is it nothing more than a second of time or a moment of thought? Can it not be defined how I choose to? Am I not the master of who I am?
The words they spoke seemed so tied to a single path, not realizing that every step forward could be a different one. That every step could be in any direction including backwards. I looked at them and felt so troubled that my passion for doing things for the people I cared about was not clear. I wanted nothing more than to give them a moment of enlightenment to show them that all roads are not equal, yet all roads are as unique as you make them.
My soul and who I am doesn’t feel constrained; I am not a god yet I can choose to do anything. Every path is mine to choose. Yet every moment of moving down a path is defined by one thing.
Who will I share it with? Who amongst the millions of people will this path be shared? Will they realize that the path I have taken leads me to them not by coincidence but by choice? Will they understand that the moment I spent with them was special and unique? Will they believe in knowing that they can do anything, be anyone, and become something greater than I can imagine?
Do they know they can change into anything and that they can choose any path? I don’t know. But I believe. I believe that the faces of every unique person in my life are wonderful ones. As unique as I am.
Poetic Riddle
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Dedicated Poems, Inquisitive, Mystery, Spiritual
Upon midnight’s glow to these dreams you should know
To be adored, would you never hear it evermore
And while I thought my words became entwined with this heart
As if no one could hear the gentle beating missing
No this heart was not fleeting nor would it be lost in lore
Upon these dreams I heard the sound, gently saying this verse once more
A beat so strong that it became not yet like a song
Touching it’s memories, to be loved and belong
While singing this rhyme to which it had never rehearsed
Belonged just a sound that was lost from the start
Confused and beguiled, it became lost and wild
“But could it be remembered” I asked, to be lost like a child
This riddle of falling would not lead to sorrow
Yet tomorrow would entice a heart to answer with time
Long before reversal of reason or the knock at the door
Would it be answered, could it be ignored
No it was chance to perhaps lead to more
A never knowing envy to be quietly ablaze
Whom to this heart could ever believe
This was not the reason nor was it me
The poetry of describing love became like a maze
But faith believed was not a treason of the soul
Merely momentary relief of being adored
One can say it was stolen, if not by will or by chance
No sound could be lost, as if in silence was grief
Reason regardless, it led to living and dance
If a heart would forget, I’d be labeled a thief
To sing of the chances, of kisses, and romance
For the beat was the pen and the sound was it’s worth
Believing in poetry so forceful it would always come forth
When years became wisdom and the silence became broken by tears
Yet two hearts had parted, a sudden confusion of fear
Half one part, the song lacked an end for the start
Forever needing singing, never needing anymore
This sound of quiet became the question foretold
Never forgetting dreaming and the reasons too cold
Pale grew the sound beating at the season’s door
Questioning the dreaming of becoming something more
Creative writing about a friend
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Friendship
I found a kindred spirit. Apparently covered in ash, merely keeping an ember burning while the wind of life attempted to wash the vibrancy of it’s flame from the world. It was quiet yet enticing. Few would have dreamt the subtle glow slowly fading into dream could again breath. Few could have realized such passion could exist in a spark of life that many didn’t even acknowledge.
But life, like all dreams – is something that possesses both passion and desire. The smallest of which gives us the power to find ourselves. It gives us the chance to breathe each day and explore the world as we see it. More importantly it gives us the ability to see the figments of life that were originally pieces of our dream, yet now they exist in life because of our own heartfelt desire.
In this kindred spirit I have found such a piece of life. I see within a single ember a brilliant blazing glory, a fire that leaves my meager heart in awe, a passion for life that wants to consume everything before it. This untamed vibrancy could change the face of the world and everyone who sees it if only they took a moment to care.
As for now, it is an ember. Covered in ash. Unnoticed by so many.
How are so many flames left uncared for?
The navigator
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Defiant, Spiritual
There was a moment in my life when I failed
I tried to do something that was impossible
My body wouldn’t move anymore, it was beyond exhaustion
I had pushed myself to the breaking point and far beyond
Exceeding my limit, I lost sight of who I was
But most importantly I distanced myself from everyone
For a short while I believed in defining who I was alone
Yet for this solitude I discovered not who I was
Simply marking the point that I could not pass
I forced my dreams to carry my corpse
Farther than anyone should ever travel alone
I managed to mend broken bone with an unbreakable will
But as my spirit slowly failed my body became still
My hope could not resist the plea of hearing no voice
As the only sound I witnessed was simply my faded and shallow breathing
A soul half awake and half insane
Trying to find itself a light to signal the way
Yet the flame to which it was lured had never faultered
and I learned without doubt or hesitation,
that my heart would always choose to stay
Describing Beautiful
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Romantic
If I could tell you how simply beautiful you are, if there was a way for a moment, a fraction of a second…to let you know how perfectly graceful your soul is…
I would ask myself ‘Do I think you are beautiful’
and I would answer, without pause or hesitation-
‘Without a doubt’
Sun, where do you go?
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Daily thoughts, Romantic, Spiritual
I watched a sunset on Edmonds beach last evening. It is one of the best places in Washington to watch sunsets. It got me started on a whole set of thoughts which led to writing this poem today. Something about the hues and colors of a sunset has always brought something to my heart. Maybe it’s the romantic in me.
Sun, where do you go?
What was I looking at
Just a perfect blue
Can I remember what it was
Did I see the sky like my canvas
Was my heart the painter within the wind
Watching the colors as they poured across my vision
Were angels guiding my minds palette
Did you know I was the architect of such beauty
The colors were so perfect
That I couldn’t even perceive the sky
My mind was enwrapped in my painting
As if my heart was colored by it’s feeling as I cry
This canvas cannot be completed by me
So why does my heart try to change what it sees
It knows that my hands are so tired
Yet this beauty is drawn from within me
Where do these thoughts appear to go
Am I to know my own dreams and creations
Will you please come back to this land near the sea
Please come back and light this dream I cannot hold
I’m scared that my vision has already gone
Thinking of her
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume One, Creative Writing, Romantic
I hadn’t seen her for days. I felt somewhat lost about it. I mean really, why should I be so wanting to find out about her week? There wasn’t much going on with her, but I just wanted to hear her voice and see her smile. Hearing about a simple week would be so invigorating just knowing that she was happy and well. But it had nothing to do with that. It only had to do with her.
While I loved hearing the little details, it wasn’t about the details. It’s about the way she described the details. The way her hair moved when she spoke. The subtle way she sighed between sentences. The way she would catch me looking at her and it would make her pause. That is what it was about. The brief connection about the words she spoke and how I heard everything she didn’t.
It made me feel good. I don’t know why. Having a simple conversation about the most irrelevant topics was interesting. No, it was enthralling. The ideas we shared had everything to do with what I could feel and almost nothing to do with what I could hear. She would ask me a dozen times or more what I was thinking about and I could only honestly say her.
I was foolish. That is what my mind was always telling my heart. No one appreciates the little things so much. My mind spoke to my heart like it was a child. It was in many ways. It was gleeful, humorous, and playful. It wanted nothing more than to appreciate the beauty and substance of the moments I shared with her. My mind sometimes complained, yet even when it managed to muffle my foolish heart I could still hear the words it had peacefully calmed from my mind.