Art That Is You

You are are beautiful in all your mess, in all the grit and grim from life

you are beautiful in your muddy bloody shoes, saturated from your travels

you are beautiful in your tears mixed with dirt you've been dragged in along your ride

you are beautiful in your mouth full of smoke from your cigarettes, that carry secrets from locked boxes in your chest.

you are beautiful in the scabs on your knees, developed from the many pleads, to your God, wherever he may be.

you are beautiful in your song of things that came, left, and were let go.

you are beautiful in the momentary glisten, that appears in the center of your eye, as you dream of a better life.

you are beautiful in your desperate reach to be stronger

your are beautiful in your fickle yet surprising way of showing love.

your are beautiful in your silly, whit, and charm

you are beautiful in where you came, in where you are, in where you are going, and in where you will be.

you are beautiful in your skin

in your shell

in your depth

you are beautiful in your...

Art That Is You.

Continuous Capture

Life seems to be like a camera, continuously capturing moments along the way, I choose to develop and store beautiful images, simply learning from the unflattering on how to master finding the right angle.

(c)Elizabeth Zsamboki

Quiet Moments

It's in the quiet moments of my day when I remember the little things, they brush up behind me like an unexpected breeze that never lasts long enough. (c) Elizabeth Zsamboki

Landing Where I've Landed

wallowing in endless conclusions
rewinding reels of archives, depicting retained conversations
playing in slow motion
dissecting every word and wrong I could have said
numerous mistakes along the way, intertwining reasons worth defending
creating a script that I've printed in my head
anxiously needing to scream it, remove it, push it along my breath
translate it until you understand, accept, and believe
any harm to you I did not mean
My fingers felt yours slipping, fear of dropping, falling, landing
where I've landed.
believing there's less damage with a warning
wallowing in endless conclusions
rewinding reels of archives, changing, reinventing conversations
altering the ending depicting me landing where you've landed
©Elizabeth Zsamboki

The Wind

She moves, pushes, gently brushing aggression
Invisible strength and grace lowering
Bending the trees to their limits

Sudden attacks demanding attention

She rips their roots and tumbles the weeds
Interrupting the quiet gathering of leaves
Frightening them into a twisted scurry

Breathing uneven rhythm of heaves

Irritatingly nudging litter down the street bearing against the gutter
Burst of air filling bags of plastic inspiring them to dance
Until whimsically inflating up in flight

Pushing and dropping with all her might

Her soft breeze brushes my hair interrupting my busy mind
Others without warning and involving all her capacity
She comes at me with her heavy hand wakes me from my deepest thoughts
Forcing me to close my eyes as she swallows all their moisture

Vindictively challenging my posture

I watch her from the protected side of the pane
Listening to her howling definition of passion
Laced with her invisible power convincing the earth that she‘s alive and moving
A declaration only lucid, believed, and understood
While standing on the other side of the Pain

Only from the inside can one appreciate her beauty that will sustain

©Elizabeth Zsamboki

Winters Wind

He rode in on a winter's wind
The warmth in his smile carried the sun
It glistened in his eyes and warmed my skin
His voice echoed inside my head as it left his lips
Stirring up vivid images of how they’d feel on mine
He road in on a winter’s wind
Drifted just before the bloom of spring
Leaving behind secrets that I’ve planted in the soil of my memory
Allowing it to grow bittersweet memories that only I can smell
I wish for the cold wind to blow again and carry me with it
Take me as it warms me with the light of his smile
©Elizabeth Zsamboki Feb. 2011

All That Is You

Deep inhale
Of all that is you
Holding, slowly releasing
Diminish the need to replenish
Breathe again the smell
Of all that is you
Exposing the tops of my lids
Eyes dancing along the backs
Scanning the blue paint
Of all that is you
Lips quivering a broken imitating smile
Of all that is you
Memories projecting silent movies
I’ve lost the sound
Of all that is you
Hands moving underneath my sleeve
Across my face
Following the tracks
Of all that is you
© Elizabeth Zsamboki

Above the City

City lights lay below our feet
Some moving others simply glistening
Stars twinkling above our heads
The “falling” ones I can only wish were “listening”
The howling of animals quivered up my spine
Their cries so near
I can only believe were weeping from the sadness buried in my belly.
The yells from the local train echoes in a “questioning” distance
I quietly yearn to be amongst those of all aboard
Following its “tracks” that dissolve upon looking back.
The bitter cold night carried our testimonies on puffs of smoke that once developed in our hearts.
Tiny clouds of mist escaping through our lips
Violently leaving our spirits
“ Fading” into the night
Mixing into the darkness
No longer “dwelling” as secrets in our souls.
©Elizabeth Zsamboki

Recurring Dream

Recurring dream
always beginning with music
lyrics that pull me in, trick me into believing
trusting that in this world of imagination
I am the most amazing, beautiful, and brilliant woman in the eyes of my narrator
inundated with compliments that slip into my ears and force me to shut my eyes
it is then when I lose my way and fall deeper into subconscious
trusting that this dream shares, longs, and understands my life outside this slumber
naively falling deeper into this sleep
loosing myself in stories that I've pulled from the dusty box of my memory
spilling secrets that hesitate on my bitter tongue
until my narrator coats it with his buttery attempt to empathize
it is then when I swallow my fears and allow his voice to guide me
take me to a place that I have always imagined
it is here where I fill my spirit, my heart, my soul with comfort and ease
bathe in the softness of his hands
stare into his eyes until the air has dried their moisture and I'm forced to blink
it is now that I'm afraid to wake and loose all that I am feeling
it is now that his face starts to lose focus
it is now that his words become less and begin to fade
it is now that I recognize my fear has coated this dream with black
my recurring dream is now a nightmare that I'm unable to escape
it is now that I acknowledge this nightmare as my life outside my slumber
and my sleep is when I'm released from this recurring nightmare.
©Elizabeth Zsamboki 2/17/11