Commitment

the story of a marriage

is one of

trials

and

tribulations

forgiveness

and

letting go

of errors made

love

and

anger

compromise

and

patience

walking together

through life

sharing times

good

and

bad

most of all

reveling

in each other’s

company

until death

do us part

My Plea for Help

In the humdrum sameness

of my everyday life,

as teacher, mother,

sister, and wife

words have fled

causing undo strife,

piercing my heart like

an unsharpened knife

Oh, please, someone

come and rescue me.

Open my eyes that

I soon may see.

Fill my soul with

words: set me free

that I may write

what’s meant to be.

Why have the words

all flown away?

What did I do

to them betray

my inmost thoughts,

my flight from fray.

Come back to me,

without delay

Like a wee small child

I scream and shout.

throw all my pens

and toss about

long empty pages

lines, words without

hoping that soon

I’ll merit clout.

Tell me, please,

how to live again

with words and rhymes

flowing free like rain.

Send down a storm

to complete my brain.

I need you now.

That much is plain.

Looking Back

I never touched her.

Not really.

I held her hand

and stroked her blue-veined fingers.

I patted her shoulder

and pulled the gown up around her neck.

But I never touched her.

Not really.

I massaged her arms

and tucked the blankets under her legs.

When she cried in pain

and called for someone, anyone to help,

I never touched her.

Not really.

When tears poured down her cheeks

and tremors shook her skeletal frame,

When she struggled to breathe

and begged for water to moisten her lips,

I never touched her.

Not really.

I never looked into her eyes

or kissed her wrinkled cheek.

I should have held her tightly

and chased away her hallucinations.

I never touched her.

Not really.

When she truly needed a friend

and called for someone, anyone to be near,

When she breathed her last breath

and crossed over to God’s side,

I never touched her.

Not really.

A Tentative Hold

Despair disrobes my aching soul

Twisting me into nothingness

Stealing my solitary goal

Filling me with dire hopelessness

 

I cling to pleasant memories

Striving to erase my own pain

Fighting against complexities

That confuse my poor little brain

 

Hopelessness outweighs all pleasure

Crashing me into thick steel walls

Shielding me from golden treasure

Blinding my eyes to pleading calls

 

My life is pettily pointless

Of what use is continued fight?

To die, I must nevertheless

Today, no; and please not tonight

 

With a glimpse over my shoulder

I do catch Your glorious face

Floating, like a granite boulder

Uncomfortably out of place

 

Is there some hope? Will I survive?

With Your strong arms carrying me

I do believe that I may thrive

To express creativity

 

Hopelessness is driven away

Which cleanses my still burning soul

Nothingness chooses not to stay

I rejoice and set a new goal.

 

New Day Delivers

bubbles of brilliant blue

burst through the blossom-like

clouds

bringing much yearned-for

brightness to an

otherwise gloomy world

shrugging off stormy thoughts

seers sought soft,

sumptuous caresses

strips of comfort

seeping into the marrow

of the heart

comfort casually ceases

to tempt the carefree

cajoling them into

caroling loudly

coronation carols of the newborn

day

floating ferociously among

the now-frivolous clouds

freeborn fools giggle

with felt delight

first-time believers in

the flight of the soul

rejoice riotously with

royal revelation

as reborn receivers

rise with rejuvenated wings

weightless, wish-filled

centers re-calibrated

the new day

enfolds

   A Sensitive Soul

I was born with a sensitive soul:

hurt covers me like icy water,

leaving me shaken and weak,

unable to walk, to function

as a human being.

 

I weep when others sniffle,

sob when some merely dab their eyes.

inside fires rage and water boils

with an intensity measured

by the Richter scale.

 

Pain strikes like an axe

falling hard on my furrowed brow,

bringing me to my knees

begging for the waves to pass

and peace to come.

 

While some quietly rage, I boil over,

spreading my doom and gloom

everywhere my eyes travel,

making my presence felt.

Discomforting others.

 

Harboring my hurts

like a mother sheltering her young

I cradle them, caress them,

nurture them until splinters grow into

full-blown trees.

 

Letting go is not easy.

I preach forgiveness, but find

clinging vines cover my heart, blocking

my arteries, cutting off oxygen,

inhibiting rationality.

 

The good news is that time heals.

Positive memories release pain

allowing stories to cry away the hurts.

New days begin with hope

for those like me, born with

a sensitive soul.