I can’t make it stop.
It won’t go away.
It stays and steeps
And hides behind the other.
It plans in silence
Until the silence can no longer contain its need and then…
Then it becomes too much.
It takes over, controls, sucks me back down and makes the need too much to take.
I know I give it too much power,
But how can I not.
It is what it is,
What it wants to be.
My opinion doesn’t matter, it never has.
I can’t stop it, I don’t know how.
I can’t learn the language.
| There comes a soft sadness with
Sunday evenings.
A time of day that remains empty unless full, Lonely unless shared.
One week’s ending is Another’s beginning.
Just as his absence is just another ending And his staying away just another beginning.
My lonely heart aches and Forgotten tears fall in silence as
My memories of him are left to collect dust in the corner, Their silence speaking volumes.
No one else cares, No one else remembers, and still, The soft sadness of Sunday afternoon silence Continues without end. |
There is a voice inside,
A tiny one that speaks to me in the seconds before night turns to day,
Those hard seconds before truth and light floods out the darkness.
The voice is soft and lonely. I can never hear what it is saying.
And all too soon its time is up, the sun rises, and the seconds and the voice are lost in the light.
Maybe tomorrow it will speak up, maybe tomorrow I will hear it clearly and finally know.
Maybe I don’t want to know,
Maybe, maybe …
Peace Trees, their soft edged shadows grow with the season
Becoming silhouettes that blend together in summer’s lushness.
They grow and soak up the sun, turn it to life and
Feed themselves and my soul with green.
Peaceful trees; a lesson in truth.
There comes a time for change,
A leave it all behind kind of change,
A back-lit stage leaving of sorts.
An abandoning of soul, but
With a reservation in eternity.
Only the collective experience of two remains in
A lost place, a place hidden in time.
Where The ticking has stopped, daylight has faded to black,
Pictures have come and gone and
All is left behind, but never forgotten.
So the story continues. The players change but in the background, heart and hurt remain the same.
Same feelings in different colors, awash with love,
But always broken.
December snow still remains,
Its essence uncovered by the spring melt.
A leftover from the beginning of the season,
It holds on, clutching the earth with icy fingers.
What was a soft powdery snow is now compressed with the weight of winter
Into hard, cold, sharp ice crystals.
Wanting to melt, it looks forward to returning to the earth to begin the cycle again.
It won’t be gone long as it will be back as summer rain and autumn frost.
Ever changing yet always remaining the same.
The well is dry,
My heart is empty,
The cycle is complete.
Nothing left to do but begin again and fill the well,
Stoke the fires of my soul, and
Let its smoke rise and season my heart.
My heart is well seasoned as this is not its first round.
Time and time again it has been smoked with sorrow.
So, it will either become soft and sweet from the fragrant wood chips
Or hard and tough from the endless heat.
The choice is mine, but am I strong enough to make the right choice?
Only time will tell…
I am getting older; the days seem shorter,
But more beautiful with each passing year.
I am filled with gratitude as my time here draws nearer to the end
and I am able to take the time I need to look around and really see and appreciate this life.
Who knew it would all go by so quickly…
I want to spend the rest of my time loving and living every moment to the fullest
In truth and joy.
And with truth comes power. Power to see things as they really are.
Power to be who I really am, finally.
My growing love and appreciation of life accentuates the beauty in the ordinary
Making everything extraordinary in its own way.
I now see clearly the beauty and magic in the color of sweet potatoes, a robin’s spring song at dawn, spring peepers serenading each other,
The smell of freshly mown hay, the light in a baby’s eyes, and
The sound of my lover’s heart beat in my soul.
There is a smoothness and subtle grace in every action I take, not because I bring it, but because it already exists everywhere if you just take the time to see it.
I have no more room for lies and no time to waste.
There is only now and now,
Beautiful now.
Tea lights and wine held
Soft sounds and warm hearts.
Buddha, with his eyes closed, witnessed
Our love expressed in silent whispers.
But now, in this silence, there is only eternity
In a missing heart beat and
Sorrow on the face of his flowers.
I must have loved you very much.
My heart raced with I heard your voice.
My eyes could see no one but you.
The touch of your hands made me melt inside and
My thoughts were only for you.
I dreamed of you every night but
Time moved and
My heart ceased to beat,
My eyes became blurry with tears,
My body ached for your touch and ,
My thoughts were only of your absence.
My dreams have changed…
I must have loved you very much…
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