She, is me.

From her knees she stands.
From my knees I stand.

The pressure on her,
The pressure to me,
Her heart strong.
My heart strong.

Those around her shape her path,
Those around me shape my path,
Guiding her relentlessly,
Guiding me relentlessly,
Forever to be her strength.
Forever to be my strength.

They do not leave her,
They do not leave me,
She trusts them all.
I trust them all.

They trust her as well.
They trust me as well.. My friends.

She chose them,
I chose them,
They chose her.
They chose me.

Forever they stand together,
Forever we stand together,
Never to allow anyone to fall,
Never to let any of us fall,
They stand, as friends, undefeated.
We stand, as friends, undefeated in heart, mind, body, and spirit.

Mari.

She.

Yeah, she is the one everyone turns to,
She has the shoulders their tears fall,
It is her voice above their sorrows.

Yet time always changes,
Never repeating itself as they say.

What happens if the voice is silenced, the shoulder slouched, and no should able to turn to her?

What happens when it is clear that she,
Has not a soul to turn to?

No one to turn to,
No one's shoulder for her tears to fall,
No voice able to rise above her sorrows.

Her own words echo throughout her thoughts,
All of what she had told them all.

By now, she is doubting those words.

Doubting her word that were spoken,
By means to influence happiness.

Her words that influenced others to smile,
To forget their pains,
Yet she cannot.

She cannot do what hose who came to her did,
She cannot forget.

There is no good coming in her direction.

Only complicated problems,
That she cannot solve.

Problems that not even she,
The one who stands,
Can solve.

Why is it that she seems to get one hard situation right after another?

Situations that she has no power,
Where she can only watch, and do nothing.

Yeah, who would have known that she has problems,
She is the strength of others when they are down,
The spiritual lifting, for her situations were - are worse.

There is a mask that hides her pain,
No one has lifted that mask.

No one knows it is there, they are blind to her pain, and always will be.

Under pressure?

Here she stand,
The pressure building,
Yet still, she stand.

Once a strong spirit,
Now brought to her knees.

"Times are tough, they always get better."

Brought to her knees by pressure,
Unable to stand strong once again.

She can't fight it,
It just builds and builds,
Until she is able to stand any longer.

From even her knees, she falls,
Crushed by the pressure of lost and broken love.

In the end, all will defeat her.

Us

To the end we stand,
Allowing none to stand between us,
And our goal.

A goal in which is made,
By the purity of thought,
And heart.

A goal in which none stand a threat,
No one can stop us,
As we set our goal.

Not a soul can separate us,
The shattered,
The fallen,
The broken,
The lost.

Two souls that bind to each other,
Not allowing defeat on either side,
That is who we are.

Going through the thick,
The thin,
Never leaving each other's side.

It is up to us,
As friends,
Te be there at the end.

Mari.

Little saplings.

You know, they are much like ourselves,
These saplings.

They start from the little seed,
And grow into the sapling stage,
Young and enduring.

We, in a way start as a seed,
Then stage on to a sapling,
From there a great oak, or redwood.

By each little type of tree will reflect how you are remembered,
How you are known to the world.

Live as if there is no tomorrow,
That way you will find joy.

And always be the little sapling.

Emotions.

You laugh, you cry,
You even smile and laugh,
That's how it is,
Sometimes.

You'll nod, and frown,
You'll even shout and show anger,
That's how it is,
Sometimes.

Emotions, a lovely little thing that we all express,
Daily, monthly, or even yearly.
But it always shows, whether or not you want it to.
Some show emotion more than others.

It doesn't make yours any weaker,
Anything but that, actually.
It takes a lot to close away, even hide your emotions,
Take it from someone who does.

Yeah, I lock them up in that circle room that is shrouded in darkness,
But they always f;are up a form of light and escape,
When I least expect it, so,
Expect the unexpected in emotions.

Even with love, that can be as unexpected as ever,
For the last person in this world that you would believe yourself falling, or having fallen for.
There is also hate, just as unexpected,
For that person who you last expected to love, could just as easily become your foe.

There are those that have experienced one emotion their lifetime,
Others who have experienced a million.
It's called having no moods,
Or mood swings.

Things happen, emotions flare like fireworks,
Yet fireworks that stay going forever,
The beauty of it never fading away,
Never going away.

Always there are new experiences, new emotions,
Yet don't forget the old ones,
They are always good ones to keep to,
Just never release your gift of having emotions.

This world needs more emotion, more life, why don't you give it?

A little thing that I have written up...

Two things she was known well for, sadly enough to say, too. One of great anger, great fiery anger, and it is also said that if she is into the pure anger, she will have large, black almost angelic wings, yet where feathers are supposed to be, there is a great, burning fire that's heat is said to match the anger she expresses. Her hair would be long, and a fiery red, her eyes a flicker between white and blue, the two hottest of the flames, her cloak coming to remain still, darkening and revealing nothing that lies beneath it. Others say she is very, very, unmatchably sorrowful with wings that are much like an angels yet it is skeletal, with still being feathered and the wind gathers speed around her as to prevent others from reaching her, to keep them from hurting her further. Through this way, she is known to have long, silvery hair, with deeply sorrowful eyes to match that. Those are what some of the stories tell, only of anger and sorrow. Yet, those are only stories, aren't they? Nothing but the fragments of imagination, made to keep children in line, as to not to what they are said to not supposed to be, right? Then how is it, that not any of these stories are told to children, not even any of them hold the four letter name she has, not a single one. Not even a made up name they usually do, was it really that serious? Was it really how things worked, as to not tell what/who is really out there? She isn't human, they often say, nor angel, not even demon. But if she isn't any of the following, what could she be? Where does she fit in this world's existence?
Well, she doesn't fit, and that is just it. And to let all of you know, she does exist too, not the fragment of imagination as everyone comes to believe. But how does the unmatched anger and sorrow come to fit her? Her hair was currently the kind of blonde that is so blonde, it almost appears white, each individual strand almost seeming as colored glass, almost coming to be see-through, it was odd. Her eyes also had the glass-like characteristic, yet not see-through, merely something as a light, clear color, blue, actually. Her cloak would come to be a very light color, maybe an off-white, it kept remarkably still, even through it had every chance to sway and show the clothing she wore underneath, it only swayed very faintly in rhythm to her steps, the cloak seeming to not even allow what she wore upon her feet to be seen. A mixture of scattered, lively trees reside to her right, not that many, but they stretched a very long distance, coming to do well for their name as a forest. Now along her left side would be a clear, soundless stream, it almost led her forward, for she was walking only a few paces slower than the stream itself, the erosion to the rocks within it, causing them to appear more favorable to the eye, glittering slightly as the sun hits them just right. To the left of the stream itself would be another vast area littered with the scattered trees, not seeming to end, from the eye's point of view. A sense of being at peace seemed her current emotion, no fiery rage, or windstruck sorrow, merely the sense of being calm, being led slowly forward by a winding, clear stream that holds nothing itself, other than the pure essence of how calm this world could actually be, at times.