Sunday
Author: lteston
Gasp
the wounding is the same
self inflicted in moments perceived through lenses lost in time
birthing shame
eternal scenes rehearsed to protect a shattered soul from love scorned
beholding fear
so taught by mothers and mother’s mothers until each is carried
beyond this
gasping
Image courtesy of “Franziska/ Whataboutawaterbottle”
deranged
Time leaked
spaces feared and forgotten
memories wreaked
with daily breath once harboring hope and love.
Picture via “amdally” wordpress.com
Hug
The mountains hug forgotten ones
Souls known in gestures centuries old.
Wonderfully wild and high enough
where clouds can wet their tears and soften edges
All in breathless upward climb in rhythm find
a peaceful soul
and a memory, union sweet.
Then falling down in gasps of fear darker turns and twists
My footing gone
the mountain moves
in outward reach
– embrace.
Melancholy
A death comes sometimes without the warmth of grief
–emotion detached rising to shut the door
with you alone
A melancholy
in spaces outside of tidy ones
where light blends with dark and a journey beyond can begin
photography courtesy of Beauty of Abandonment
Doors galore
Open and vulnerable.
Lines
I race through lines of shadowed trees
marking highway miles
Beams of sun flash inbetween
stains of light on dark
Never slow. Never stop.
Nothing stills the soul
A one-way movement through the day
as still the cancer grows
Nothing soothes the sting of flames
lining every breath
A daily journey–race it seems
through lines of shadowed trees
Another lightning in-between the patient-doctor space-
Data-speak and comfort lines
my very human face
reflecting life as memories
shadows close the day.
Photo by Trevor Cole
