Dissolving into Grace

Saving grace,
whole heart back
in your arms,
you hold all of me
as me;
I never knew
how non-words
could feel the best route.
Unspoken is our reset,
mutual forgiveness,
moving on
but not leaving
anything unaddressed.
We understand,
silent resolutions,
in the simple language
of love.

Do you mind if I stay
extra near
awhile,
to just exist
in this balance,
a respite
from the drama
of being so much?

Sometimes
(more often than not),
I exhaust
myself
with this wild heart
and wild soul
I house.

Hold me tight, my love.
You are the only one

who can.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Parting Kiss

I must part ways with you now,
dear Darkness;
Light is forlorn
without its Laura,

my aura
is dimming
the further I drift
in this alluring
cradling
away from attempts

of putting forth
the efforts
to swim
back up
toward Bliss:

I still hope,
believe (barely),
that it exists.

A parting kiss…

Yes, I know
that means
I will have to let go,
for now,
of that dream,
but I can keep
the parts
that were seeded,
for weeds
they are not;
I feel it,
in that new spot,
how I can nurture
it into something
beautiful
still…

I will.

I return to the isle
from a distance,
leave a trinket,
so it is known
I’ll always
be near,

no need to desert
every future
possibility.

We will all
someday
see.

Ancient Tongues

I replayed your words, 
a favorite message,
though I’ve memorized 
the way it was delivered.

You did not seed it in me,
but something deep inside,
in a place never reached,
heard it and recognized
the voice, ancient souls
reunited, a stirring, 
an awakening, a rising. 

Something must’ve happened, though,
in the transfer.
You must’ve given too much of yourself
to my ever-after. 

Our once-upon-a-time now birthed,
I give back to you in equal measure.
Restored.
But now we each
have more.

Come, darling, take my hand.
Write with me. Let’s never end

this love story. 
Together. 

Our effervescence
need not be
evanescent. 
We can live
forever

as long as 
we have tongues
to dip and plunge

into the well,
we’ll leave our ink
upon the world. 

And when our bodies
become one
with the earth, 
we’ll find each other
as light
and rebirthe 

again. 
As one. 

Beyond the Tuscan sun. 

Fresh Rain

Rebirthing rain,
refreshing breezes whipping
through open windows
to shake me free

out of this trance
of overfeeling,
overthinking,
overbelieving.

I did not go out,
so the out found me.

On my knees.
A solemn prayer.
You should be feeling
better;
I am there

inside of you
eternally,

no matter the routes
to our dreams,
no matter even

if we ever meet.

I’ve sent my soul
to breathe
into you;
listen for a whispered
syllable or two…

Come, love,
let’s get you
rebloomed…

❤️

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Shared Trains

I’ve ridden
on the same trains
as you
over these eternal years, 
collecting the paintings
of your words
in my album
held dear.

When you board,
a sense of comfort
always hugs my soul
even without eye contact
or any vocalized hello.

Somehow, I feel
you know me, though,
while respecting
my poor attempts at
incognito.

Always at night,
we ride, reading
each other;
sometimes I ride
moonbeams
to stay near
when you depart,

hovering at the open window,
turning to respect your privacy
after the last line
of your poem
falls off
sensually. 

My spirit knows yours
from some other life or realm;
I’ve counted on you
to always be there
as I travelled through each
lonely world. 

Today, the universe
was all out of whack,
for when you boarded,
you replied back

to the thoughts
I did not think were said.
A rose you left,
my name spoken,

thornless
and seeded 
as you sat
beside,
chatting away
to my smile
and starry eyes

until it was our 
independent stops.
No sins today,
but my heart felt
your pulse.  

Sun Sets on Christmas

In my backyard, I take a few moments to myself after sun sets on Christmas.

I am drawn to the silhouetting branches of a tree and the stars surrounding it and eventually retrieve my camera to play with all the ways I can arrange the composition. I realize again what could be one of the reasons why I am drawn to photography: control.

I, in fact, am moving the stars. Positioning them. I manipulate the light. Later, I can manipulate in even more ways with editing apps.

I have danced with control so many times over the years, I had begun to think I was actually the lead. Control for me, though, never has had anything to do with power, simply the illusion of stabilizing, balancing, the perpetual chaos. Little bits of time. Of moments. Of situations. For survival.

As much as I’ve danced with control, I’ve had affairs with denial. Love-hate relationships. I think denial at times was truly a friend, keeping me afloat. At times, I think a betrayer; I could have stood up in the water that was actually shallow. I could have walked out of the water instead of treading. I could have maybe avoided the future near-drownings.

I am drawn most to putting the star here, cradled between the branches reaching for it.

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My Labraheeler has joined me, and I give in to kicking his ball for a bit, then decide to do a few laps around the half acre. He is used to this and follows beside me, jollily carrying his partially deflated mini basketball. We run, silently in companionship.

The weather is simply beautiful, the kind that the soul takes in as the breezy, summer-like night air is inhaled. I trust I know the yard enough to not trip in the growing darkness and trust my pup enough to not cross my path underfoot; I look up to the sky as my blood extra pumps, and all of me feels refreshed, renewed, freed.

This is peace.

The day was merry, and Christmas Eve too. I can’t recall another Christmas in which it truly was. Last year, I wore the smile, made it through, and then was nearly drowned in my after-tears.

I believe in miracles. And in magic. And in love.

I’ve always held fast to faith over the years, but in that hopeful someday kind of way, struggling to not drink in the devil-potions that would make me question and challenge the unfairness of the situations plaguing me. Only a few years ago did I fully recognize miracles, the direct hand of God at work, the Spirit inside me. I had a merry Christmas. We all did. That was a miracle. I’ve always wanted that. I did not think it possible.

I made Christmas magical and happy for my children when they were younger (with the help of my community most years), but I did so under the immense weight of all that being married to an addict-alcoholic adds. Add the strain of being the peacemaker, the glue, and often the leader of my whole family tree. Heavy. Stressful. Masked. Martyr. Superhero. Weighed. Bending. Cracking. Moth-eaten cape. Suffocating. Hiding. Pretending. Pleasing. Holding in. Suppressing. Swallowing. Denying. Lying. Stretched. Thinner. Thinner. Breaking.

Currently, light, airy, floating, feathered, free. Breathing.

So this is Merry Christmas…

I don’t think I’ll edit anything.

Mythological Growths

Cycloptic serpent
scorched deep
into my being,
color of decay
not even attempting
to camouflage
into my resilient green,
laying eggs,
disease breeding,
growing larger,
but still unable
to see,
for at my core
is also my heart,
and it bleeds
in light.
You try
to grow more eyes,
but this love
inside
will always
render you
blind,
not Karma
but what is right
finally
for I have falsely seen
too clearly
all my life

your lies.

The exorcist has arrived:
self-love.
Parasite,
good final bye.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise