Place

life has lead me through experience
to thought,
and thought to action,
through action to trial and error,
on a path back through words,
to love,
and creation

it’s been the most amazing,
eye-opening, and soul-baring ride

and this life keeps leading me back to words,
to love,
and a call to action –
a call to being

but, oddly enough,
that call to being is, at times,
at odds with words,
with time itself

and I can’t quite find my place to be

-image via Pinterest

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Reverence

something had shifted,
they could both feel it;
it hung in the air,
an energy circulating the room that neither could ignore

it was as if they’d been in the dark,
just out of reach of one another for far too long,
the reverberation between them reminding them why they were here,
why they’d always been
right here

impassioned, something deep inside him stretched out and curled around her like a shawl,
his finger reaching up to move the curls from her face so he could see directly into her eyes,
and he kissed her,
all of her,
even the parts they’d both been afraid of,
and he didn’t let go

and she let him,
her fingers careful and deliberate as she undid the buttons of his shirt,
her body following whatever her heart desired,
wherever this energy took them,
allowing him to see her,
needing to see him too

they touched each other gently, at first,
as if it was the first time they’d been together,
and that was true, really –
they touched with no expectation,
with no pretense,
with all they had to offer,
and receiving with an openness that had taken all these years to find

they noticed everything,
every shiver and tingle and gasp,
each curve and freckle and goosebump

they noticed their bodies were older, now;
she gripped muscles that weren’t as strong as they used to be,
kissed the wrinkled lines reaching out from the corners of his eyes,
and he traced the silver scars from childbirth weaving a patchwork across her abdomen,
cupped breasts that had become much more malleable –
it was all a part of their story,
a story they wished to tell with the lights on

so they touched in fevered fingertips,
with an urgency that rose from a depth they’d not once known –
they no longer had to be careful of one
another –
they had a reverence for their fragility,
but knew they’d never break

-image via Tumblr

Wood

her heart was hand hewn,
a butchered block of aged wood –
heavy,
weathered,
cracked and dry

it no longer beat;
it only pained her,
its weight a foggy barrier,
keeping distance or closing in –
she wasn’t sure which

all she knew was that it hurt,
its splinters scraping against its walls,
gnashing at the soft tissue,
tearing through

and flooding her chest with dust

-image via Pixabay

Elastic


the first thing you realize 
in a situation without light,
without any way of measuring 
the length of one moment 
over the length of another,
is that time becomes very elastic 

you left,
taking with you everything 
that shone brightly in my world

I’ve tried counting – 
counting the seconds,
counting my heart’s beating,
counting every inhale and exhale –
but my soul can’t focus,
I always lose count 

all that’s left is this dark ache,
time’s cruel richochet,
the backward counting –
retracing the seconds 
to the last time I saw you,
the last time we touched,
the last time I felt
your words grasp my heart

the last time you kissed me 
and made time stop altogether  

-image via Pinterest, original credit unknown 

Weary Bones, a Quadrille 

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 the slap-flapping of valves
   working overtime,
     ‘cuz they’re leaking

I feel the slowing tempo
 of waves receding,
   the acquiescence
     of my spirit weeping

I hear my weary bones a’creaking,
 but I can’t give in –

my soul’s still seeking

-image via Tumblr, source unknown; written as part of dVerse Poet Pub’s Quadrille prompt

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

Pay Attention

she was always coming or going, 
life and love at light speed,
until she became only
the coming and the going,
until the going became imminent,
a glimpse of ‘what if’,
prying wide her eyes,
forcing her to see that
her feet were rooted in the moment,
which was fleeting

best pay attention

-image via Pixabay