When there is,
in this soft heart,
a tear for sweet love departed,
a tender wave of grief upon the shore;
where do these small hands go?
How do I hold
and kiss
and whisper
each precious ache
into wholeness, once more?
There is an apricot sun in the distance.
There is a mighty perfection
twinkling in the eye.
And so it is,
the ache shall be
here
and I shall know her.
Until I have known her eternal home.
As the ice drips
from this frozen heart,
here grows the beauty
of feelings gone by.
How I remember you,
dear echo of friendship.
How clear it has become that
kindness
was the angel there.
I feel the truth
only because of the false.
A seeing
beyond the faces of clowns.
Play rolled in fear,
don’t you see
the squeaky carousel?
They feel the brittle bones
of life gone by
and bleed again,
but only if they see.
No.
They won’t see,
they don’t want to see.
Be anyone but the truth,
they whisper.
Be anyone
but me.
Life is a story I tell myself.
And I daren’t tell it wrong
for fear of the unhappy ending.
But what is unhappy?
And what is an ending
if a beginning is found
on the other side
of each new end?
The wind was crisp
and the sun sang warm to my skin.
The rest of the world was too fast
to know bliss like that.
The truth is: the truth is too expensive;
a depth of emotion most are unwilling
to pay.
Humanity can’t see through true eyes.
Can’t see the fighting is a small child’s game.
Who are the adults?
Let me know when you meet them.
Wounded and scared;
don’t you know how deeply you once felt the world?
The carpet is there for a reason.
The broom is used by all until the carpet
spills the truth.
The truth, they say,
will set you free, and I am free
to tell you that.
But, then again,
the carpet is good, too.
If light though the trees is your wish,
it is my wish, too.
If a meadow awash with eerie shadow
calls you,
I am gone.
Already beyond the boxwoods
and sweet peas
of my garden, home.
Day 24. Somewhere over the rainbow.
I’m going to gift myself something beautiful, tonight.
I’m going to gift myself time.
I’ve been running on full speed, trying to be everything I can be, just in case I run out of minutes in my day.
Most days, as a Mum of three little ones, I do run out of minutes.
And energy.
So, tonight I will sit and breathe.
I’ll not need to go anywhere, I’ll not need to do anything.
All I’ll need to do
is be.
And the time starts…
now.
How small we are in the largeness of it all.
Our tiny cries barely heard over roaring humanity.
But we each have a sadness, each of us, true.
Of your sadness, I say: I hear it.
I see it, as clearly as I see you.
And you must know that in my ears
it is as loud as it always has been to you.
It is as loud as it needs to be for my heart
to mend it for you.
In waking dreams I see the past
and feel it waltzing me
down a sweet, sweet road.
Oh, darling days gone by.
How lovely to feel you tickle my bones.
How lovely to remember the depths
that sang to my aching soul.
Always, I will remember the nectar
of those darling days.
Never again will their shadow
remain hidden
by choice.
Here on this hillside,
this sweet patch of earth,
I have become.
And there is no further to go,
there are no wings to grow,
I am there.
I am there.
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