1. |
Creation Story
01:42
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Creation starts with a question -
a plea,
a wish,
a problem,
a need.
Giving birth to
innovation,
solution,
and always more
Questions.
“Curiosity kills”
disarms,
inoculates,
silences,
robs
life-giving power.
This is an ode to Eve --
fallible, but full;
feasting on the questions,
leaving the answers to rot.
- amelia simone
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2. |
Facade
02:20
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Let my words be my face --
The imprint that persists,
The foil revealing my facets to the world.
Not features nor physical form,
What I fathom will survive me.
Fixate on my fancies,
Not my fleeting frills.
Give forever to my feelings,
Not my feminine fabric.
For what will remain is not this frame,
But the fruit housed within.
Forget my front,
Remember my freight --
Forever.
- amelia simone
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3. |
Windows
01:40
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Windows are always open in this city.
Windows:
Floor to ceiling.
Window shopping,
Windows of opportunity -
Only glimpses.
No welcome mats,
Leading to open doors.
Portals part for a moment,
Just long enough for you to “stand clear”.
But open windows surround you -
Just windows,
Just peeking.
Stand clear of the closing doors.
- amelia simone
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4. |
Untitled
01:43
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My mind has a mind of its own.
It lingers when I’m longing to leave.
When I want to stay, it’s long gone.
- amelia simone
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5. |
Wounds
01:36
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Wandering around wondering,
would wish but what’s the use?
Words of worship turned wicked
and I’m left wistful and weak.
Whimsical, you wooed me,
whittled me with your wiles.
Wisdom I traded for warm nights,
whirlwinds and wanton whispers.
Waited and waded,
as your weight made me weary,
withered my will and my worth,
washed me away in your waves.
I wilted while you watched.
Now I’m wakeless and woozy,
and woe won’t wane.
You won.
- amelia simone
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6. |
Repair
02:02
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Sometimes the broken things
Don’t get discarded --
Just rearranged.
Repurposed as ripe lessons,
Reinterpreted as resonant memories,
Reincarnated as resilient character,
Reclaimed as rare treasures.
Residuals get recycled,
Reminding us of
Redemption.
- amelia simone
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7. |
Revolution
01:42
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Full circle,
Round and round.
Ring of fire,
Familiar unwound.
The spark won’t matter
Once it’s aflame,
Growing with each wind,
Impossible to tame.
It will break, and it will build.
It will hurt, but it will heal.
Comfort disturbed with a shrill,
Illumination of things concealed.
When the smoke clears
And the peace is spoken,
Fragments that mattered
Will remain unbroken.
Things fall apart,
But the center will hold --
Emerge from the embers,
Shaken, but bold.
- amelia simone
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