Olympian

What is it to spend one’s life waiting for just one day?

The day when it’s up to you with the whole world watching.

To prove that you have what it takes to outdo the best.

Watching in awe as these amazing Olympians perform,

I know one day that will be me.

I may only be a kid, but I see my victory.

I may only be a kid, but this desire in me to compete will knock most on their feet.

I’ve traded in play dates for practices.

Lightheartedness for discipline and dedication.

My motivation remains those five rings.

I do not see my dedication as a sacrifice because I believe.

I know I can.

Years have passed.

My family has given up so much for me.

They support me as I dream to compete.

The pressure builds as I think of the things that they let go.

This dream is no longer just about me.

With all that they do, it has become our collective vision.

To finally arrive. The five rings in sight.

My dream should be appeased just to compete,

But nothing less than first seems good enough.

In the eyes of the hundreds surrounding me, I see the same desire.

Some of us will succeed, but too many of us will lose.

It should be enough to make it so far, but we all know it’s not.

The student. The teacher.

My coach keeps me a believer.

The nights we sacrificed away from our families.

Sad, frustrated, and hurt at times.

Our fears, our hopes, and our dreams come down to this next breath.

The sacrifices of his children’s laughter.

The arguments over the time his family lacked.

They are all here.

With my win, their sacrifices allow them to share in.

The time has arrived. My time to take flight.

The seconds beat a hammer against my heart.

Some believe that I can succeed.

Others hope for my defeat.

In this moment, the world is looking upon me.

But I block them out.

I focus on my next step.

One last deep breathe.

Only my tunnel of competition is left.

Like a machine.

With this last breath and my quick blink,

History will know the rest.

The only voice that I carry with me during the rest of my steps,

May not be my father, my mother, my sister or my brother.

My coach is my believer.

His words of encouragement pushing me forward.

The deep-fitted commands.

The tough words accepting nothing less than perfection.

The horse-remnants of his voice cheering me to my finish.

The record.

The line unattained in so long.

So close and so far.

The finish is unfounded.

My tears begin to surround me.

Whose anthem will we hear when we head to the podium?

Proud to be standing even in third,

But we all feel the pain inside for the one standing in third with first so close.

For the ones, who fell lame and limped across the finish line.

Against each other we compete, but in each other we find sympathy.

And at the moment I discover, I will stand the tallest.

I will hear the anthem being played for me.

Gold!

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Dance of the Dead

The dance of the dead is calling to me.

The music is so enchanting that I seem not to mind the joyousness that I would leave behind.

The utter restlessness I always feel seems to be pleased with the dance of the dead.

The drum’s dreary rhythm seems to overcome my heart and ransoms my soul for a state of euphoria.
Like a star above, prisoner and lover of night,
I am left suspended in time- neverendingly numb.

With a whirlwind of emotion, I am trapped in the beat.

Locked away from the world. 

Lost in another dimension.

Slowly, the music enraptures my body devouring all my false implications.

It opens my eyes to that of the purest beauty beheld by the world.

Some events caused by sin seem to withhold some consecrated vows unknown to living souls.

Unknown to those breathing,
the dance of the dead is a never-ending invitation to the final frontier.

The rhythm is the key. 

Fascination is the method. 

You stand before ready to unlock the door.

The event is the ending unwinding to an entirely new beginning of eternity.

The rest is left open to what you desire.

All that remains is open and untouched by the enchanted dance of the dead.

©2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Scorned

Deep betrayal born from burning sin.

Yet you wonder where my forgiveness has been.

The broken heart that you have caused has bled.

All that is left is the vindictive mind that you now find.

Stand before me at your own accord.

My actions strained by my pained plight.

The world that you thought was nothing more than yours

has grown cold form the loss of your touch.

I look away.

Anger and sorrow replay each day.

Without you, an empty hole do I find.

No scream that I share seems to ease my despair.

The ties of our love left in ashes by your lies.

The pressure within my chest gives me no rest.

How could you?

With no reason did I give to you.

Yet such betrayal did you slap across my face.

Dead and lonely you intended to leave this space.

Your betrayal.

Heartache leave.

Anger I now plead to as my motivation.

My life tomorrow will be my salvation.

For me, I will heel. My heart shall reopen.

For you. Alone. Your lies and misconstrued life.

You will remain.

Blind to the pain. No light will you find.

Anger be gone.

No more time on you shall I waste.

For you, I pity. I replace.

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Step by Step Imagination Brings Life

Dark lit trail.
Overgrown. 
All alone.
I run along.
I wonder where I belong.
The stars above twinkle light.
They help me with my hindered sight.
It is the mystery of life that comes alive at night.
Under the marvelous moon, a gentle mist covers my sweat-drenched body.
Ignition.
My imagination.
Up above I gaze upon wistful dreams and constellations.
With every step, I feel my anticipation.
My desires.
Magnification.
Stet by step, I move along.
My concentration grows insane.
Need for dedication.
It is why I train.
The humid air.
My lungs scream that it is not fair.
Deep set sense of heaviness.
Surrounded by nothing but quietness.
Again, overgrown.
This path makes me feel so alone.
But alone is where my ideas take flight.
Breath by breath.
Heavy step by heavy step.
Confusion lifts.
Clarification sets in.
My hope for tomorrow begins.
Creativity wins.
As the end of my run brings life to my not yet spoken dreams.

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Hypocritical Political Official

You protest so loudly against the rest.

Except the screams you yearn to shout remain locked inside.

The message spoken but not received.

Your simple battle has started the war.

False courage plagues your heart.

You leave your convictions as weak as a brittle branch during a storm.

Your fear lies hidden behind glass walls.

You judge others so harshly while you find countless excuses for your own mistakes.

You claim to fight for the greater good.

Yet your compassion for others comes up so short.

How clouded is the mirror that you use to look upon yourself?

How little light you let into your life.

Like sunshine breaking through at dawn,

Retrospection will bring light to your deception.

Words were resisted yet words were still given.

Your mask of polished, unshaken confidence trembles with the instability of your conscience.

Sit sipping your tea.

Your pretentious points conflict with your own precious party; don’t you see?

Ticking clock.

Your anxiety will continue to increase.

That is what comes with such dishonesty.

I let it be because my smiles were finally so serene.

Truth in hand I felt so grand.

But rights refused now leave me less than amused.

I will learn to step past my fears of confrontation.  Fast!

Against the hypocrite, I will myself to now take a stand.

Before me you stand.

Fake, blank face in hand.

Freedom exists in my right and love of expression.

Irony exists in your moral suppression.

Decisions made.

Words will help me to stand tall.

Words will be what cause you to finally fall.

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

For Those with Weak Voices We Fight

Down we were pushed

With only questions left to cushion our fall.

Abandoned we felt.

Those who once cheered us on now looked upon for our defeat.

And at their feet we did briefly fall.

But no more.

Now we stand tall.

This is our comeback.

This will be our victory.

Twisted words they did spew.

Fear they did try to push.

But the truth of our spirit is stronger than their fist.

Within ourselves we find the strength needed to lift the world from its fallen hope.

For those with shaky voices and those who struggle to share,

We shall take on their causes.

Our voices united.

Their causes supported.

From the rooftop, their message shouted.

The world shall hear.

No more will they fear.

For those who fought for the weak’s defeat shall be the ones that are beat.
©Elizabeth Rockhill

Temptation and Resistance

One night upon a vast black sky you came to me.

Up above the stars were so scintillating.

Within your eyes, the need for love was so gravitating.

To resist you was to hurt you.

To give in to you was to help you.

You needed this, but I would resist.

I mustn’t want you.

You shouldn’t touch me.

We mustn’t move past the sacred borderline created within our minds.

Forever would never last if we tried to be together.

You speak of how you breathe just to hold me.

You plead to me how you yearn to consume me.

What we so frantically want can never be had.

To take the first step would be a leap from a cliff.

Our only time together must be suffered apart.

Only from the distance would our eyes ever be permitted.

To give in to you would release me.

To resist you would save you.

You reach for me, but just past your grasp, I would always remain.

To say goodbye I know I should try.
For your love and passion I should refrain.
Jumping off the ledge would bring so much pain.
But like rain falling from the sky, that leap was never mine to deny.

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Wouldn't It Be a Dream

05/29/1995

Wouldn’t it be a dream if we woke up one day with an attachment of wings?

Like a bird in the sky, we would spend the whole day in flight.

On a breezy summer day

with the sound of crashing waves

the scent of freedom flowing in the air

the world lays just waiting

So free in the sky

That’s what we would be

Wild and free always in flight.

High up in the sky

The colors in sight make everything seem right.

The visions we see just seem to speed by.

The sounds that are heard are unreal in all form.

The view from up there is magic in the morning.

But in the morning my flight will take rest because my eyes will open wide.

For all this will be only in a dream.

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Confessions, Identity and Hope

I was briefly lost in a world not my own.

Living with a forgotten identity.

While striving for eloquence, the cloud of silence grew.

The passion of my voice lay suffocating underneath the surface of truth.

In the pool of misguided intentions, 

I let others almost drown my most deep-felt convictions.

My self-destruction and guilt-ridden actions came along to reignite my words of hope inside.

The profession of my most desperate confessions has helped me find forgiveness from most of my transgressions.

With this that I decide, it is not now, or has ever been my intent to hide.

All that I have done with all that I hope to do has become the foundation of my life.

Beyond the past, I live now with such revelations that I hold true.

Although sometimes the rains of pressure try to force my concession,

knocking a wall of my belief down to nothing but rubble,

I no longer fear what dust remains because I have my words to use for my affirmation.

It is with the confessions of my fears and darkest indiscretions that I have learned to forgive and let go of old judgments.

Parting ways with the mistakes of an unreachable past helps to clear the stormy skies allowing the rays of hope to shine through. 

Just because I have learned to say goodbye to the broken walls of yesterday,

does not mean that the shattered bricks from the rubble of my history will not help to remind me of the smiles, laughter and tears that have helped create the design of my life. 

It is with my understanding of yesterday that I hope my deepest confessions will become a beacon of light giving others a chance to see the good within their own souls-no matter what demons they have hidden within.

For if not for our demons, the journey of our life would not lead to such great discovery.

It is with our open professions;

It is with our ongoing fight to preserve our identity;

It is with our hand held out to another;

and it is with the tears in our eyes and the smiles lit up inside that the beauty of hope will continue to grow.

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill

Hell No to Censorship!!! We fight against Suppression. We love our right of Expression!!!

Your suppression of my expression makes me no longer fear your rejection.

What about my words cause you so much distress?

Do my words written paint a picture of your desires that prove that you are nothing more than a hypocrite and a liar?

This is why we will always fight.

We will always rise against your suppression.

Our future freedom rests in our own right of expression.

We will retaliate against the zipper of your censorship.

Our words work to color the world.

Our anger.

Our love.

Our fear.

Our hope.

Our passion.

Our desperate confessions.

Our words lay the stonework of tomorrow’s pathway.

Your push to censor us will never be victorious.

Your suppression of our expression has created the reason for our aggression.

You stand with hopes of our concession like an ass to stubborn to move forward.

You throw threats hoping for us to hide.

You wish deep down for us to fall into submission.

Go ahead and hold your breath.

The stick in the mud that you call your life.

Your judgmental quotes.

Your close-minded plan for the rest of us.

Listen for once to your own message.

You fear what you do not know.

You preach the words, but you have forgotten their meaning.

Deep down inside you know that the face you see in the mirror is nothing but a fraud holding on to a house built of cards.

This is why we will always fight against your attempts at our suppression.

This is our voice.

We will hold onto our right of expression.

For those who try to force our feelings, we lift our hands and flip them the finger!

© 2012 Elizabeth Rockhill