It’s that time of life when gentle and innocence fall
the eyes of the deer go dark
while the heart of sporting egos reign.
We all feel broken a bit
and generations suffer generations.
As foot prints in the snow crush the buds beneath
we all stay hungry for peace.
When the under stuff sticks
stays
like a cape
covering all the hurt
hate
from within
reaching up to find
a breath.
Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy on Pexels.com Robinson, Marilynne. Gilead (Oprah’s Book Club) (p. 7). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
Hidden
wounds
living time
beneath the
insecure reach
that trades touch for protection
Life moves beyond the time of a single life
no longer seen or known or heard
aware no one is aware
the hundreds of heart beats pound in fear
so small
so alone
to catch your eye if you dare
Cold near death
alone
no warmth of breath
no embers of care
but running deep into pain
a voice heard without a sound made
into a space where healing begins.
Cold near death
alone
no warmth of breath
no glow of caring-
but running deep into the pain,
a voice heard
without a sound made—
Be healed.
Restless for the air outside
in the light of un-stained glass.
I count my breath to calm my spirit with
doors closing and hushed children.
Invocation then
to dreams and freedom
away from pretense and prose,
Amen.
I don’t know in the night
about corner edges and how they hurt
about who is in charge of my broken heart
breath so loud with fear
and yet no voice
tears fall fast and never seen
the space divorced from eastern light
I don’t know in the night
about me, about hope
Barely awake with tangled thoughts
around hurt
around pain
reaching around
for the energy of presence
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