perhaps solitude is my destiny
being alone isn’t easy
but diving through my own sea
trying to understand the waves
often makes more sense than
asking anyone else
to grab diving gear
and I’m not a surfer
~image credit scubadiverlife.com
perhaps solitude is my destiny
being alone isn’t easy
but diving through my own sea
trying to understand the waves
often makes more sense than
asking anyone else
to grab diving gear
and I’m not a surfer
~image credit scubadiverlife.com
I dreamt I could hear all the lonely hearts
The echos of words unspoken
Feel the ache of each wretched beat
The splatter of shrapnel when broken
I dreamt I could hear all the whirling dreams
The hopes almost forgotten
Feel the life behind each fashioned facade
The fear of promises begotten
I dreamt I could hear the gurgling giggles
The laughter from hearts who so need it
Feel the swell of thirsty souls uplifted
The lightening of each spirit
I dreamt I could hear love’s spellbinding song
The sweet verse that hums between
Feel the vibration of hearts a’beating
To one chord, believed, though unseen
I dreamt I could hear the secret whisperings
In a world whose ears don’t always hear
Feel the thread of each interconnecting
The divine oneness that draws us near
-image via Pixabay
I stand, vulnerable,
exposed to my core,
your support and guidance
my safety net,
allowing fragmented pieces
to be carefully refit and joined,
an infinite, ever-growing network of colorful, reflective symmetry,
taking in the world,
famished, starving for all its myriad of tumbling color,
all it’s varying shapes and designs,
devoured, absorbed, and reflected,
creating patterns within and around me,
as well as welcomed, spontaneous bursts,
the wisdom of connection filling my entire being,
a kaleidoscope where once
there was no color
Shared in reaponse to the Daily Prompt, colorful; image via Pixabay
Freeze from sapphire heavens creates white earth,
Melting to steady rain, sparking rebirth.
Soon, sun burns a fierce smolder,
Long days turn to nights colder,
As colors fall, fading, crackling last mirth.
-image credit CNCacrylics via Pinterest, limerick shared in response to Mind and Life Matters’ Limerick Challenge, seasons, and the dVerse Poet Pub’s Limerick Prompt
She is made of fire and ice,
Of passion and vice,
Willing to pay the price
She is made of sugar and spice
Both naughty and nice,
No need to ask twice
She is made of snips and snails,
She’ll dirty her nails,
And even put up the sails
She is made of paths and trails,
Alive in the details,
Never hiding behind veils
She is made of loyalty and love,
She’ll put you above,
Fit you like a glove
She’ll be all of the above,
Be all you dreamed of,
If you let her
-image via Pixabay
I’m gonna leap,
I’m gonna run with eyes wide open,
and leap,
right off the edge,
no trepidus toes or anxious looking down
I’m just gonna leap,
even though I don’t know where I’ll land
Truth is, I’m not even sure if I will land,
but that doesn’t really matter
I’m gonna leap and seek,
and if I don’t find,
I’ll keep on leaping and seeking,
and see where my heart leads me
Because, funny thing is,
I’m quite certain that finding it isn’t even the point of it
I don’t even know what it is!
But I do know,
it’s all about the leaping
So, I’m just gonna leap,
and I’ll know it when I feel it
I might just feel it,
as soon as my toes leave the earth…
-image via Pixabay
I passed my old house today,
the longest lived of a dozen,
the one whose phone number I still remember
it looked so tired,
its warped cedar lining the sloping front porch,
and dirty, seamist siding cracking,
faded by the sun
and those same creaky boards offered welcome warning,
as feet three sizes too small walked me up the steps,
trepidus palms swiping years away to peer though the old glass
each foggy breath brought ghosts,
tear streaked memories,
mind’s eye seeing your long, silky black hair gone short,
your wistful hand stroking the womb swelling bigger than yesterday’s regret,
heavy dreams wilting, curling the corners of the flowered wallpaper
I heard your plastic giggle,
listening to the silly joke while you folded a shirt,
smiling on the outside, but your fickle heart fading like the scorched siding
and melting into mine
that’s when I realized I’d closed my eyes,
and my chest no longer rose,
my own heart threatening to atrophy,
and when that last warm, exhaled breath faded away,
I saw your reflection in the glass,
staring back at me
with steely resolve, I turned and walked away,
down that broken sidewalk, past my sunken handprint,
and never looked back
-image via Pixabay
Maybe it’s backward,
And eye is in the beauty
Of the beholder
-as per Ronovan Writes’ haiku challenge, Eye and Behold, although not written in English form
A journey long, paths yet discovered
Looping, rugged hills uncovered
I walk and walk, facing truths
Sometimes overwhelmed, others amused
Slowing to take in every moment
To feel and accept, let go of torment
Layers shed, peeling slowly away
Left in the soil to dissipate and decay
This path circles back to where I began
Eyes open wide and reborn skin
Free to be, to love with my all
To be vulnerable and ME, to risk the fall
Every cell awakened, every emotion alive
Hands outstretched, I’ve arrived
Not to a place of stagnancy and ease
But an ongoing evolution, one of peace
Now we can walk, hand in hand, at home
No premade trials, but a path of our own
she’s hard to love
she pushes for more and more
and pulls on your heartstrings
she expects you to be your best self
and tells you when she thinks you’re not
she believes that you can
and justifies her actions when she pushes
she whines when she’s exhausted or doesn’t get her way
and wallows in self pity when she shouldn’t
she rationalizes when she doesn’t want to see
and pleads for help when she’s capable but afraid
she over-thinks the hell out of everything
and craves structure in order to fly
she fears, which causes her trust to falter
and she crumbles under the weight of it
she doubts when she has no reason
and needs reassurance far too often
she needs you like she needs air to breathe
and fears one day you won’t be there
she’s all angles and edges and rough spots
a leaky glass that may never fill
she’s hard to love
-image via Pixabay