Branches stripped bare,
devoid of leaves, protection,
rustle in the breeze like a skeleton
of a former living human
rattles.
Leaves, greenery and life
will rejuvenate the branches
as will love and hope,
for you.
Tag: poetry
early morning glow
Strange, how
the early morning glow and warmth
rests upon my eyes in a new way,
like I have never before sat in the kitchen
eating breakfast before work
and looked outside to the world waking up.
It must have happened before,
years before,
and days too many to count.
How unfortunate
to think of those mornings unappreciated,
showing up to start anew
yet passing by my clouded eyes,
gone.
frustrations
I am mindful and present
with my frustrations,
acknowledging them
giving them power, more than they deserve.
Holding frustrations over situations beyond my control
weighs me down,
noticeably so.
Give them away
so I can give more of myself to you.
Give, in hopes that you
will give too.
Fill the balloon
Fill the balloon
with the exhales of anxieties.
Blow them all out
slowly
and forcefully.
Tie a knot
and let them go,
drifting into the clouds
and out of sight.
pain inflicted
One day
you will come to forgive yourself
for the pain you caused others
and for the pain
inflicted on you.
strength to keep swinging
It seems easy to tell
by looking from a distance
those who live their true selves
and those who try fitting in the mold.
Those who carve their own path, through the woods,
and those who choose the one already paved.
My true self
has an axe over her shoulder
ready to create the way only meant for her
but I wonder
if the world also sees the axe shining
like I do, heavy in my hands
and my muscles quivering,
searching for strength to keep swinging.
Strings in the sky
Haphazard strings
clumped together and strewn apart
dance across the setting sun,
with the wind
drawing closer and louder.
Coordinated strings
shaped to form a ‘V’,
multiple ‘V’s’ actually, size
and deepness ranging.
Fragmented strings
broken into beads along the thread
each a part of the whole,
beating wings
singing.
As the individual beads become clear
they blend,
mutating once more
into a cluster of thread,
dancing away
across the sky.
my mind in poem bedlam
I started to share
all my thoughts with the world,
but have been silent of late
with my brow slightly furrowed.
For although silent online,
I have been anything but.
Filling pages and pages
with words, commas and dots.
I have been writing and writing,
words pouring from my heart.
Running out ink from my pen
on topics hopeful and dark.
But although all my writing
has filled over a book,
flipping through the pages
makes me take away a look.
Some I want to keep private,
so not to cause concern.
Others I am proud to share,
for their publicity, I yearn.
There are too many to choose from
and all good in my mind,
so I elect to post none
and another writing book find.
Is this choice right? Maybe not,
but still writing I am.
Let the words fall where they may,
my mind in poem bedlam.
what-ifs
I do it to myself
I know
playing the game of what-ifs
that never ends.
The lure of possibilities
never taken,
likely never to be explored
offers respite, a getaway,
temporary change.
The hard part
is coming back.
What to make of this
Days, evenings,
once demanding planning
preparation and time away
now look at me with blank stares
seeking purpose, fulfillment.
What to make of this newfound time,
this gift, this opportunity.
What to make of my racing mind
battling unease
grasping for structure
where there is none.
Dawning Words 