Static

There’s no music in these headphones,
No rhythmic beat a’playin’,
There’s no cool lyrics to sing to,
For dancin’ or hip swayin’

There’s no music in these headphones,
No recharging chord,
There’s no lullaby for comfort,
When times get really hard

There’s no music in these headphones,
There’s no power supply,
There’s nothing but the static, 
And the tears that have run dry

-image via Pixabay; Mental Health Awareness Month

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Fate

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried

my soul became raw from fighting against itself;
everywhere I walked, my fate walked with me,
dragging along, crashing into my heels,
a suitcase with two broken wheels

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried

lugging around that suitcase, 
I told myself fate was that which nestled itself inside,
and the only way to outrun it, 
was to keep that zipper closed tightly, 
and to fight like hell

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried 

what they don’t say,
is that fate is a living, breathing thing,
which is not static;
it grows and evolves along side us,
wisdom lying in wait,
a fairy godmother with no wand

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
but I tried 

what they don’t say,
is that truth and love are magic,
and seeking it is our fate,
and the only way to find it,
is to stop fighting against it,
to unpack,
to listen

they say all that will ever be 
is written before it happens;
there is nothing we can do to stop it –
so I stopped trying 

-Image via Pinterest 

Snow, a Quadrille 

once, her world sagged 
under the weight of the storm 

today, the storm is finally receding;
rain’s long, wet fingers caress,
hope falling in chilly droplets,
cleansing in goosefleshed trails 

there is something peaceful about her,
as if snow has settled inside her soul

-image via Pixabay; created and shared as part of dVerse’s Quadrille Monday

Anew

the sweet glow of January sun
chasing away the cold,
droplets of April rain cascading,
making new of old

a deep, soul-cleansing breath, 
after a stress-filled day,
simple, meditative calm,
chasing worry away

color-bursting lilies a’bloom,
shaking sleep from my eyes,
mourning doves a’greeting,
a euphonic surprise

that’s how it feels
to sit next to you,
and breathe in your presence; 
my souls feels anew

-image via Tumblr

Rescued


there’s a very real and elaborate world inside me,
a constant and ongoing dialogue,
mountains and mountains of words that for many years I kept to myself

the thing I never knew about my own words,
was that writing and speaking them aloud could help me to see just what I believed in,
in whom I believed,
and set me on a course on which I was meant to be;
sharing helped me find my why

the thing I never knew about my own words, 
is that in sharing them,
they could rescue me

-Image via Tumblr

Backward 

time didn’t seem to pass –
through her tiny eyes, there was only the present,
the right now

yes, she remembered, 
she had so many memories;
but time traveled in an unseen sequence,
one which didn’t require much thought

today is all she felt,
and the concept of tomorrow was barely believable;
being anything other than what she was right that minute was inconceivable;
anything else was almost magic

and then there came a day when the magic came to a screaching halt,
when she realized her eyes were suddenly not so tiny,
and time no longer felt weightless

she wondered what it could have been like to go on thinking about nothing,
to ignore death and fate and the possibility that life can be shaken to its core

this is how she knew she’d left childhood behind –
she felt time’s passing,
and she wished for it to go backward

-image via Pixabay