***:::*** LIFE POEMS ***:::***





Small Pain In My Chest

The soldier boy was sitting calmly underneath that tree.
As I approached it, I could see him beckoning to me.
The battle had been long and hard and lasted through the night
And scores of figures on the ground lay still by morning's light.

"I wonder if you'd help me, sir", he smiled as best he could.
"A sip of water on this morn would surely do me good.
We fought all day and fought all night with scarcely any rest -
A sip of water for I have a small pain in my chest."

As I looked at him, I could see the large stain on his shirt
All reddish-brown from his warm blood mixed in with Asian dirt.
"Not much", said he. "I count myself more lucky than the rest.
They're all gone while I just have a small pain in my chest."

"Must be fatigue", he weakly smiled. "I must be getting old.
I see the sun is shining bright and yet I'm feeling cold.
We climbed the hill, two hundred strong, but as we cleared the crest,
The night exploded and I felt this small pain in my chest."

"I looked around to get some aid - the only things I found
Were big, deep craters in the earth - bodies on the ground.
I kept on firing at them, sir. I tried to do my best,
But finally sat down with this small pain in my chest."

"I'm grateful, sir", he whispered, as I handed my canteen
And smiled a smile that was, I think, the brightest that I've seen.
"Seems silly that a man my size so full of vim and zest,
Could find himself defeated by a small pain in his chest."

"What would my wife be thinking of her man so strong and grown,
If she could see me sitting here, too weak to stand alone?
Could my mother have imagined, as she held me to her breast,
That I'd be sitting HERE one day with this pain in my chest?"

"Can it be getting dark so soon?" He winced up at the sun.
"It's growing dim and I thought that the day had just begun.
I think, before I travel on, I'll get a little rest ..........
And, quietly, the boy died from that small pain in his chest.

I don't recall what happened then. I think I must have cried;
I put my arms around him and I pulled him to my side
And, as I held him to me, I could feel our wounds were pressed
The large one in my heart against the small one in his chest.

Winter's Roads

I cannot speak for all who stem
'Long roads less traveled as their way,
Nor question choices made by them
In days long past or nights long dim
by words they spoke and did not say.

Each road is long, though short it seems,
And credence gives each road a name
Of fantasies sun-drenched in beams
Or choices turned to darkened dreams,
To where each road wends just the same.

From North to South, then back again,
I followed birds like all the rest
Escaping nature's snowy den
On roads I've seen and places been,
Forsaking roads that traveled West.

This journey grows now to its end,
As road reflections lined in chrome
Give way to roads with greater bend
And empty signs that still pretend
They point the way to home sweet home.

But all roads lead to where we go
And where we go is where we've been,
So home is just a word we know,
That space in time most apropos
For where we want to be again.

For even home, it seems to me,
Is still a choice we all must face
From day to day and endlessly,
To choose if home is going to be
Another road - or just a place.

Below the Sun

No man is one
below the sun
No one’s alone
and never known…
No man is lost
or trouble-tossed
who can thus say:
“My life’s a ray
to touch someone
below the sun.”


They say my work
makes them feel alive,
might help them heal.
They don’t realize
that some days when I hear from them
I feel tired or lonely -
and their words make me


I sometimes look into my eyes
while brushing out my hair
I wonder who I’m looking at
while I am staring there -
It hasn’t been a good few months
my eyes look sad to me -
as soon as I step outside the door
you see the best of me…

I smile and with the makeup on;
you cannot see the tears
with lotions, cream and other things
that help erase the years.

Where did the other girl I was
disappear from here?
The young one with the baby
who lived in hope and fear…

I have grown into a woman
afraid of nothing anymore -
I nearly died a year ago
and am afraid no more -

My son, the child, is now a man
they say he has my eyes
and now he’ll be a father;
I hope he will be wise…

I hope he’ll take the time to read
to his wee darling boy;
to play with him and hug him
and fill his life with joy.

His child will have a father
whereas my child did not -
In 32 years of his sweet life
I have ne’er forgot –

I gaze into the mirror
at the woman I now seem,
made wiser now, made softer now
like the gently melting stream…

I am the one I am today,
life has made me just this way
with lots of laughter, and lonely of tears
my eyes show how I feel each day…

And when I look into your eyes
such gorgeous brown, like mink,
I look at you and see myself
reflected back, I think.

Disappearing Into Stardust

Now, there’s no one in the picture -
no one but her.
No Jack or Jackie, no John -
In the blink of the Earth’s all-seeing eye,
they were gone.
And I thought:
Who will be next to disappear
from MY life’s photograph,
to become a bit of stardust
in the sky,
here today and gone tomorrow?
And it makes me question
What is the “Why” of all of this?
Why worry about the sadness
and the sorrow -
why worry about getting ahead -
or whether, in the morning rush,
you forgot to make the bed?

None of it matters, in the
long run -
not in the timetable of the moon,
or the fleeting seconds of the sun.
Nothing matters but that you
tried to ease another’s pain -
that you sheltered someone
from the rain
that you were kind to the loved ones
and the furred and feathered ones
in your life -
that, somehow, you rose above
the common strife
above yourself, to do some good.
It matters that you understood,
that you wrote a poem or a song -
that you tried to gentle someone’s fear;
for in the doing
you will leave the
essence of yourself behind....
to show that you were caring
and that it mattered
that you were here.

If Only…

If only Mother Earth
could speak
of the atrocities she’s seen;
of all her clear streams running red
and fallen men upon her green -
If only she could tell about
the damage that’s been done
by politicians ordering
one man to fight a mother’s son;
If only Mother Earth could cry
She would be crying still
at the child-like foolishness of Man
and his stubbornness of Will.

Full Circle

As the sun sets
and the moon rises,
and the reverse
begins again,
so all things
are circular
and ever will remain.
The wars are fought
and won and lost
and oh, the human,
heartfelt cost.
First the beginning,
then an end -
and then war starts
sometime again -
Full circle for all men.

Birth to death,
and in between -
these lives we’re in alone -
we’re born alone
we die alone
but we’re not meant
to live alone…

and so we go full circle.

Our mothers give us birth
our fathers, also there;
and friends and family members
with whom our lives we share…

The earth goes through its seasons ~
Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall.
The end and the beginning ~
birth and death and in between,

Full circle, go we all.

Gun Nut Ditty

Hubby has a gun
I do not
Don’t want to shoot
OR get shot…
Too blind to see
in the night,
prob’ly shoot the dog
if I had to fight!

I have a hatpin
under my pillow
I’ll wait ‘til he’s close
then stick the fellow…

Now if the dog can’t get him
or if he hurts my pet
I’ll have to pretend
I’m asleep and yet,

I’ll be wide-awake
I’ll be waiting there
with a pin under pillow
and an angry stare

If he tries to get me
it’ll be a fight
I know how to kick
and I know how to bite

and that little pin
I bet it will hurt
If I jab him hard
in his private part –

If he’s far away
then I’ll have to run
‘Cause I, unlike hubby,
I have no gun!

In Communicado
I’d like to be in
for awhile –
Just be quiet
not have to smile

I don’t feel
happy, just right now.
Don’t want to fake it
anyhow –

Tired of bad luck
and sad things occurring.
Tired of being unhappy
and tired of worrying –

I’d like to live in
just for awhile, just so
enough time goes by to
feel happy again
if I can
until I can be myself -
the person you all
think you know.

My Soul

I cried to the Wind to find my Soul,
and I cried to the angry Sea -
‘til the Earth replied I’d have to find
it deep inside of Me.

Our Demons

I write for those of you who can’t or won’t ~
who have been afraid to face the past,
but now are brave enough, at last,
to turn and look the horror in the face,
and in so doing, put the nightmare in its place.
As well, I write for me.
I didn’t realize the things I’d kept inside ~
~ my anger at him, because I would have listened,
but he would not confide ~
~ my anger at having to be a single mom
~ my fury when someone asked me
“How come you guys lost in Vietnam?”
We all have our demons ~ those of us who went
and those of us who stayed ~
So I write for all of us ~
those of us who have faced the darkness,
and those of us still afraid.

Quiet as a Mouse

I look the same
And I smile on the outside
and I laugh
I talk and read and
seem the same
I’m still “me” - I
still have the
same old name
But on the inside
I’m completely different
On the inside I am silent
I am as quiet as a small
brown mouse
I am afraid;
I am afraid that
they will take the house.

Sleeping Late

I rarely sleep quite late enough
to see images on the blinds;
the sun upon the plants outside
spin ghostly shadows - Nature’s signs -
A spider wove a web criss-crossed
(I watched a long, long time)
I lay in bed and thought of Life
and what is left of mine.

And then a bee came jauntily
and had a taste of vine
and flew away quite tipsily
as if he had drunk wine -

the shadow of a bird shone through
and a lizard put on a show.
I almost chuckled to myself
I thought: It’s good to know

that nature and the world go on,
when we’re each troubled so -
I stretched and pulled the shade up
I must get up and go…

and then I had the greatest gift
that would be mine today…
a blade of vine, with diamonds;
two sparkling drops of dew
two diamond earrings
on the vines
just waiting for my view.

Silence… Is

pasture lands smothered in snow
the thing we share before you go
golden on an old & hallowed ground
a long and lonely peaceful sound.
Silence … is
when the cannons are finally hushed
when a baby’s cries are finally shushed
morning’s icy glitter on a winter stream
what you hear when I want to scream.

Silence is…
the grief for people gone before
what happens after the slamming door
when you say goodbye and board the plane
when you go, and I remain.


When the storms of my life are over
and I am scared and slightly
worse for wear
I run to you.
It is enough for me
to have you there.

When Blue Stars Turn To Gold

Grandmother had a blue star
hanging in her window -
I have the star now, tattered
in my living room, and know
that when a loved one passed away
the blue star turned to gold…
and the loved one lost
never became bent or old…
Only the mothers grew older
and grayer and tired and sad
wondering about the life,
her darling might have had…
what he might have done,
and grandchildren in the morning sun…
all now eternally
Not many of the mothers left,
Myself - I don’t know any -
But way back then, there
were oh, so very many -
Blessings on the Mothers
and on the fathers too
whose sons and daughters
didn’t make it through -
a time when gold stars once were blue
and their loved ones, ’ever young,
turned golden in their hue.

Someone Who was Nothing

Strange - how Someone
who was nothing
could mean so much.
Why should I lower myself
to longing for your touch.

I guess because Someone,
who was nothing

was for just a moment


There are Times…
There is the first time
and the last time -
the only time -
the future,
and the past time…

There is the time a baby tastes
snow on his tongue and laughs
with plain delight -
when an older person
yearns for someone in the night –

There is the time of great distress
and longing and dreadful fright…
sometimes there is a time
to fight…

There is the first time of love
and the first time of loss
and the time when we
must pay the cost
of reaping what we sow –

There is the time of letting go -
There is a time of being young,
for being wild, and free,
of being settled-
and of sometimes feeling
lonely in a crowd
when everyone else is talking
but words in your head are loud –

There is a time of healing
a time when there is loss of feeling
a time of conquering, and gladness
a time of failure, along with sadness…

Enjoy it all, and keep on learning
because, in reality,
in the world’s constant turning
time is measured in
milliseconds of the sun –

Time is all there is -
and at some point,
the Time


I sit here in this little room
and spin out simple rhymes
for people that I knew back then
in complicated times
I write for some I’ve never met
and likely, never will ~
the ones who fought so bravely
on some multi-numbered hill ~
and all the ones who went away and never came back at all,
and soldiers, SEALS and sailors,
and some now on the Wall ~
I don’t attend reunions
I’m not a joiner or a member
the best that I can ever do
is help us all remember.
My dad hid in a phone booth
when he came home from War
and watched his family waiting for the man he was no more.
My husband locked my son and me
out of his life for years
what he went through affected us
and caused so many tears;
through it all I spun my rhymes
to help me make it through
though rarely shown to anyone
they helped when I was blue ~
Then one vet said “Keep writing ~
You just might save us yet”
So that’s just what I’m doing ~
I’m honoring the vet;
the only way to show my thanks
is through my simple rhymes
for the vets I knew, or never met
in complicated times.

The Night Before

We lay in bed that night
listening to Rod McKuen’s records
The Sand, The Sea, the Sky -
he finally fell asleep
and that’s when I began to cry -
All kinds of strange imaginings
passed before my eye
as I listened to the ticking
of the minutes on
the alarm clock going by -

After making love and talking,
he finally slept -
I knew the words he said
would be the ones I always kept
inside my head.
We had a son, a baby
9 months old -
and he slept, too, in his
little baby bed…
Innocent of War.

I knew

that when his father returned,
he wouldn’t remember him anymore…

I played “The Sea” on “low”
over and over, and then
suddenly, it was morning,
once again -
No matter how I tried to stop it,
the sun rose anyway…
and now it was the “dreaded day”…

Up early, getting dressed
a smile upon my face -
so much to say to each other
and neither was able to speak -
I wanted to scream “Don’t go”
but that would never do -
He played with the baby,
Hide and Seek.

You’ll be hiding, all right, I thought,
too far away to be found -
I thought of all these things to say
and couldn’t utter a sound.

Off to the airport and checked the bags;
regular passengers unknowing
All by himself with a wife
and parents whose fears weren’t showing…

And then… he was gone.
And we went home…
I broke down in the kitchen
and I said to my mom:
“What if he doesn’t come home?”
It’ll be ok, she said -
you have us, and you have your son - -
it’ll be ok… she said again, and again.

It was noon, and he’d been gone
since ten…

The Homecoming

I couldn’t sleep that night before -
the same as when we’d parted -
I’d wondered if we’d make it;
he seemed so distant-hearted
His letters said he loved us ~
something worried me as well,
I didn’t understand quite yet
that Vietnam was hell..

I wore a purple pantsuit
with stripes along the side
and thought I was quite something
as we started on our ride

Off to that same airport
where he’d said goodbye before
Had it been a year already?
I never thought I’d make it
when he walked out of the door.

I had a job, and Michael didn’t toddle;
he could run and he could walk.
He didn’t babble anymore;
he liked books and he could talk.

He knew Daddy from his photos -
I shared them every day
I did not want him to forget
though he was far away -

I left him with my mother
I didn’t want to share -
Just me and my in-laws, off again,
with me, a little scared.

I slipped into the ladies’ room
to fix my face and hair
and came out, just in time to face
my husband standing there…

Oh there were happy hugs
and hearts
I heard every little word.
But I knew what I was hearing
no one else had quite yet heard…

He’s still in Vietnam, I thought,
back in that sad, sad, lonely place.
But I smiled and ate my dinner
and put on a happy face

The Games

Play the Game
of words and touch, but
be careful not to talk too much
or you might become involved.
Doesn’t anyone want to care -
Want to talk and find out
who I am and where I’m going?

Dear God, am I not worth
the knowing?


Soon it will be time -
time to leave.
The boys will leave for War
or for school to learn a
way to pay for Life…
or with a Life.
We will wait.
And miss them
and get together to
talk about our boys…
We’ll talk about the letters
and the calls -
and then there’ll be a sudden silence
in the midst of all the chatter going on -
Somehow I have the feeling
that when our loves
some beautiful part of
our youth will be gone.

Let It Fall

One more anti-hero worship
from the depths
of some enigmatic fool
that left the suburbs
for the open fields
of post modern flight from hell.
No, not from the quakes
or the rumblings of racism,
that stench we all tend
to want to get rid of,
but the fact that there
were just too many things wrong.
So off I went to the last
journey of my youth,
through the pubs and alleys
of Los Angeles that served
many nights of reckless talk
and the establishment be damned.
There goes Happy House, Scream
and all those open up at 10 pm
party houses, where you paid 5 bucks
to drink yourself to life,
and walk out Saturday morning at 6 am
like the kind demons we were.
And dance the pain that we had
kept for the week
and wonder what 30 would be like
and if the Virgin Prunes
were right about
"If I die I die".
But then, that love in your soul
the one that makes you write
and pour out those false indignities
that caress your heart and mind
for after all we've been through
stars have their moments and then they die.

Rose Of Life

I am unfolding gently beneath
your loving touch
I let wholeness breath my
petals free
Sweet fragrant Spirit touching
senses into life
Giving beauty back to the universe
Each petal, sweet miracle of life
We are hues of color, yet one
in Spirits blossom

Garden Of Tao

"What the caterpillar calls the end,
The world calls a butterfly" - Lao Tze Tao


My lamp, under dimmest light,
offers only shadows to comfort
for this day is taking too long.
Woken into this now I can not evict
from my head all the fury visited upon me.

I shower vainly to pacify my emotions.
Standing before a mirror; my reflection
as the only witness to my existence.
My exposed mind trembles with
the marks of boredom taunting eternally.


Under the shadows of the rose bush,
a lone caterpillar escapes its cocoon;
mutilation of its primitive self
shed to progress,
revealing a beauty nurtured within.


Construct a boundary bury my pity
within its fertile soil. Brittle leaves
wilt upon my scars, allow my garden to grow.
As a skeleton, in slumber,
of autumn. I await the cycle of rebirth.

Winter is unwelcome, unable to decay.
Death exists only within the cycle of renewal.
in the silken waves of tulips
I breathe the harmonies of nature.
My spirit, lulled of the tortures, is truly free.


Was walking down memory lane,
Was walking on the beach,
Throttling the feelings of pain,
Keeping doubts out of reach.

Had a look at the sands of time
The hours when time itself stood still,
Could hear distant bells chime,
And I was walking while I still stood still.

Felt the heat of the sun beating,
Could sense an awe that the past left,
Saw the sheath of life fleeting,
Glimpses of what was there were best.

Their Pain

I can only imagine
What it's like to sacrifice
How it feels to do without
What it takes to pay the price
To offer all I have
Unto others with a need
I can only imagine
For myself, I live in greed

I can only imagine
What it's like to be alone
How it feels to be rejected
How to get by on my own
To never share a secret
To feel empty deep inside
I can only imagine
For myself, I live in pride

I can only imagine
What it's like to be abused
How it feels to lie awake
Feeling angry, tired and bruised
To have no friend to turn to
Filled with rage I can't release
I can only imagine
For myself, I live in peace

I can only imagine
What it's like to know such pain
How it feels to wake each morning
With a past I can't explain
To live a constant nightmare
That no else can parallel
I can only imagine
But for them, they live in Hell.

I Am

I am ...
A woman
With a full heart, hidden
Somewhere in an empty room ...
With eyes not quite of autumn's gold, and yet
Neither all of summer's green;
I wonder ...
If love is a tale made for children --
A granting of sweet dreams in their innocence --
A honey-coating to help their throats
Choke down the bitter draught ...
I hear ...
A voice that whispers warnings, half-formed,
Bodiless as hope, until I swear I cannot draw
Another breath unless this spectre be unmasked,
His lies mangled ‘neath my righteous tread;
I see ...
A woman, proud, uncompromising,
Diaphanous as air -- less, even, than the tears
That fall in desolation about her weary feet,
Salt poison pooled upon the withered ground ...
I want ...
A measure of quietude, a certain silence,
The echo of alone which heals me of dreaming,
The nothing that stills the wanting,
The numb, the cold that laughs at pain;
I am
A woman,
hidden ...

I pretend ...
That I can live forever -- that Time
Has no puissance but that which I afford Him --
And so, I can wait, I can be happy tomorrow,
Sleep is for the dead; but its ghosts haunt my waking ...
I feel ...
Too much -- too deeply to be directionless,
Too real for imagining, and yet the familiar eyes
Hold nothing of recognition -- only my reflection --
A meeting of shadows in sunlit glass;
I touch ...
The downy wings of hope, in wonder,
In reverence, in need, in hunger;
Alas, it burns my fingers as a flame,
A sacrilege, self-defined ...
I worry ...
That I am alone; that in my longing
I have forsaken all -- but oh, what reward,
What smile divine should light the path to freedom --
And how can I but heed the siren's call?
I cry ...
For having too much, for fear of bursting,
And then, when by the pouring of my soul
I lie, a vessel emptied, I cry again
For what was had, and lost;
I am
A woman,
empty ...

I understand
That life is what you make it,
That sometimes, the coat of many colors
That marks your triumphs brightly, blends only
To loneliest of grey ...
I say
That we are made by life, shaped,
Broken, perhaps -- unmade and voided --
But always, the core of us remains, waiting
With only faith, with trust, to be reborn;
I dream
Of bluest waters, reaching
With unnatural hands toward the faded sky,
Of dolphins that wander in seas without limits,
Carrying me water-breathing past corals and clouds ...
I try ...
To lead by example, knowing
That merely the telling holds no power;
A gift of giving is merely a day, while
A gift of knowing spans forever;
I hope ...
That my darkness holds you gently,
That pain is halved by sharing, that feeling
Wields nothing past the words it summons,
Except that it touch you with only healing ...
I am
A woman,

A Rose

A lovely rose with petals soft
A scent so sweet and light
So beautiful a flower
With colors shining bright.
But something not so savory
About the fragrant rose -
The thorns, so sharp upon the stem,
That sharpen as it grows.
Yet still lovely is the flower
Despite the thorns that prick
Just as life and love are sweet
They too have thorns that stick.
But do not fear to live or love,
Life's not exempt from pain -
So pick a rose, you may get hurt,
But you will also gain!

Into Every Life

She looks into air, herself falling rain
Dripping coldness past, memories old pain.

Drops fall, the puddling her damp water-life.
Spiraling a mirror, self-lonely strife.

A sigh, one frown, crying soft saddened tears.
Storms of remember - through bleak yesteryear.

Clouds a-whorl, dark sky sheltering fair heart.
But how can she joy, while taking no part?

Cov'ring cold soul, corona of defense.
Defying the stab of her fate's intents.

This is madness, she thinks in plaintive cry.
I'm here, on the cusp, of lay down and die.

What my destiny, but an empty-off dream?
A plaything with which gods and angels scheme.

Am I doomed then to live, time never-free?
Subsumed wholly 'neath life's scattered debris?

Is justice, outside this torrential doubt?
Perhaps more than sorrow, painful fall-out?

Is love, perhaps, just a sliver of sun?
Shining through mists, revealing Avalon?

Personal paradise, which I can own,
Evoking happiness, hither unknown?

She raises from streets of lonely no more.
Light slicing through darkness, hopes washed ashore.

Her withered gait now straightening with pride.
She glides like an angel 'cross future's tide.

Belief in life renewed, no, only found.
Footsteps echoing, a cadence of sound.

Caressing the ground, sing the beat of her heart.
Into the sun seeking love's brand new start.

My Autistic Son

Autistic shackles hold your little tongue
From telling me the punch line of the joke
That caused your fits of laughter to provoke
Excited happy tears. You've never sung
Your fav'rite Barney song and, when you clung
To me that winter night when you awoke
To bitter, fearful sobs, you never spoke
A word of what tormented one so young.
Although autistic shackles bind his speech,
His love is blazoned on his beaming smile.
Although I missed the punch line of that jest,
I laughed myself to happy tears. And each
Dark night when he awakes and fears defile
His sleep, in Daddy's arms he finds his rest.


Standing on the outside,
looking in.
Afraid to knock
on the door in front of you.
How many times have
you stood at the threshold
but been too scared to cross?
What is it you fear?
The unknown lies ahead.
What awaits you on the other side?
Only one way to find out.
The door swings open,
Will you enter?

Look Within

There is so much beauty in
This wondrous, blue rose
If only we could capture it
Within our very souls

If we could take its beauty
And apply the glow within
Search a little deeper
In the soul beneath our skin

Take what it does stand for
And shed its love abroad
Don't hide the glow within you
But share the love of God

You know you can't touch beauty
Without it rubbing off on you
And spreading it to others
In the kindness that you do

There lies within each one of us
The beauty like this rose
When it's used in touching others
Then its beauty overflows


On a day like today,
a young lady arrived
at the airport,
with family
and friends.

Her heart was heavy,
and she was sad.
For she knew the time
has come to leave
this Heaven and
return to the
far lonely

Unsettling feeling
in her heart,
a kind of longing
to stay back forever.
A kind of familiar loneliness
that she was acquainted with,
comes to her again.

And she sighed,
wistfully, forlornly,
hoping again hope,
to stay in this limbo
of joy and

'Oh no, I'm leaving again',
she murmured,
hot tears threatening
to well in her eyes.

Bravely, she forced
a smile at her
loved ones.
Without much of
a second look,
she bid them

In the plane,
the girl sat,
with eyes closed,
reliving those
and fond
she left behind,

and those sweet voices
and carefree laughter
that accompanied
every single image
that went fleeting pass.

a faint smile ghosted at her mouth.

'I'll see them again soon.
Take care, my loved ones,
I'll be back.'

Sometimes You Have To Choose A Song

Rain . . .

Softly falling down . . .
each drop a symphony of sound . . .
as it hits the tin roof . . .
tap . . . tap . . . tap.

It can sound just like a sad song with a slow beat . . .
the kind that makes you daydream . . .
and feel sad and sigh . . .
as you think of what might of been or could be in your life.

Or maybe it is a happy song that brings back sweet memories . . .
tender thoughts and special smiles . . .
thinking of someone who makes your heart beat faster . . .
and your laughter ring with happiness and joy.

Or maybe it is a love song . . .
with sweet and soft lyrics . . .
tender and romantic and sensual . . .
that makes you think of dancing in the rain.

Only you can decide which song . . .
is the one you are hearing . . .
which music soothes your soul . . .
and which song you want to sing along with.

Sometimes, you have to choose a song . . .
and the choosing isn't easy.

I Am Someone

I am someone
I walked past a dead face
even though the person was alive
I saw my eyes in the mirror
and cried at the sight
I looked at a person I didn¹t know
and I met a friend
I got heads to turn
when I walked past
I learned a lot about myself
when I lost a new friend
I cried every tear in my body
when I thought about love
I got hit bad
then got back in the ring
I climbed a mountain of rocks
and saw an eagle fly over- head
I heard terrible things about myself
when no one thought I was listening
I realized I was strong
when I didn¹t cry when it hurt
I found out who I was
when I was with someone else
I thought I was lost forever
when a friend found me
I held a life in my hand
and it was my own
I was a pawn in someone else's game
so I surrendered to a brook
I walked the fine line between surviving
and not wanting to survive
I still am
I am someone

Whispering Willows

Whispering willows in the wind,
Throughout their calm, majestic leaves,
Breathe a sigh of unspoken tales,
Fables of hangings and murder plots,
The love-affairs of courting couples,
Names on bark entwined for love,
Sleeping beasts awaken at dawn,
Burrowing to the surface skin,
But at night, how she sleeps,
Her slow steady process,
Growing, receiving and giving new hope,
Where she falls, others will succeed,
Her place overturned in the,
Circle of life.

Her Will

Lonely words on doorstep the day he walked away.
Left behind a shattered woman, two children out at play.
Which way to turn? She pondered as the night grew darker still.
A withy woman she was not, yet, had to find the will.

Sidewalk beneath her footsteps. each day a search for work.
Had to find a way to live - could not remain a clerk.
Cashed in the life insurance to attend the school at night.
Never would she give up - no, not without a fight.

Now, a nurse at thirty, she's made their house a home.
Proud of her accomplishments and doing it on her own.
Two children, steady, strong are they, she takes with her great joy.
The love and faith of three - the one did not destroy.

Have You Ever

Have you ever felt,
the cold and lifeless hand of an infant,
gazed into their unblinking eyes,
and observed the face of death,
when masked in bittersweet innocence?

Have you ever touched your dreams,
and felt the simplistic joy,
of feeling them become reality,
only to abandon them,
for reasons you cannot explain?

Have you ever watched your family,
who once shared the greatest of loves,
suffer an unforgettable and unforgivable tragedy,
that will slowly, painfully, and inevitably,
tear them all apart?

Do you know, firsthand,
the evil that resides deep within the heart of every man,
every woman, and every child?
Have you seen its face as it randomly seeks,
a soul to torment and destroy?

Do you know the darker side of life,
the one that awakens you,
in the still of the night,
crying to the unknowable God's,
‘Save me from myself. '?

Does your heart constantly question,
whether humanity is obtainable,
in a world corrupted with suffering,
and where war,
is the favoured solution for peace?

If you really want to know me,
and understand the forces that compel me to move on,
then take these questions,
and take this pain,
for this who I am.

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