Let Me

Let my honeyed-elixir voice
in your left ear
reach down to the raw & scarred
present and past tears,

those rips in the abyss
of the soul:
let this touch caress
and these words slowly dripped
from my lips
coat.

I know
each deep,
dry-well fissure
all too well:
let me stitch you
with these
golden threads
like I’ve sewn
myself

and fill you
with the feel
of liquid hope.
Let it
overflow.

Lay down your armor
beside mine,
undress so I
may dress
the wounds
unable to be healed
by Time.

You are safe
tonight.
Let me take care
of you
until the return
of Light.


Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Drifting

Blue skies seem sometimes
behind us too far,
and when the oasis of nearness 
dissipates into illusion
yet again, 
we dangerously tire,

as the colors of hope
fade
like sidewalk chalk 
in the rain,
and we drift
without care
into the storm. 

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But as long as there are
forks and bends
in the paths and roads,
what-ifs and depends,
Fate can only temporarily take
hostages,

for choice and circumstance
and weather will permit
the opportunities
to change direction
over and over again;
only lack of faith
can lead to the
false perception 
of dead-ends. 

Sometimes when we are
too weary to drive,
another takes the wheel: 
sometimes God,
sometimes Satan, 
sometimes someone
who loves you still. 

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Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Simply Love

The purpose of life, the meaning,
has always been crystal clear to me,
never has a non-mystery
been more obvious and accessible:

to love
is the reason
and the miracle,

to be gifted hearts and souls
to find others on the way
home.

Who will you bring?
Who will you pass over?
Remember the Savior
may be the homeless
or aborted,
the silent one
in the corner,
the one deemed
a misfit, different,
deformed.

Each created
from love,
each loved
from above,
each returned
after this
to the metamorphic,
body-molted
non-shape of
love.

The purpose of life, the meaning,
has always been laid out:
Love thy neighbor.
Love thy spouse.
Love thy enemy.
Love thy self.

May we love
the children,
first and foremost. 

Wish Depletion

No wishes for you;
they’ve all been used –
all that’s left,
dark silhouettes
on a backdrop
of gray doom… 

not entirely true! 

These particular wishes
attached to prayers
have all been 
sent by another
who cares,

and with each
of those breaths,
so many more
seed-wishes
with wings

were launched 
to find where
you are
and rebirth
your dreams.

Turn around and see
the field gifted to you
from me. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Parking Lot Thoughts

Turn not a blind eye upon
the beauty that surrounds;
sometimes you simply must
expend a bit of effort to

seek it out.

There is never a beauty drought.
Look about! 

In a grocery store parking lot,
for you, I frame this bouquet,

non-bought, 

to send you a wordless reminder
of my love, 

to remind you are dearly
thought of,

desiring that the white-petaled hope
could be a moment that lingers in
cheering you up.

I will never stop
sowing in you these seeds
of my love

in eternal spring,
whispering 
for your dimples again to

blossom. 

Poem and images and love by Laura

Sending This Ray


Thinking of you, old friend,
and sending this ray
to reach you and remind you
you are valued today.

Thank you for all the ways
you inspired me to take up my pen;
I haven’t let it rest since then
and never will again.

It’s not right for the shadows
to ever find you so I
chase them sometimes
because you forevermore deserve
peace of mind,

and souls connecting
in this life
is what most matters,
so these shadows
I’ll continue to endlessly help
sc a t t e r

because you changed my life
for the better:
because of you,
I am a writer.

Pick up your guitar
and strum away
the shadows encroaching
upon you and others today.

This Is

Sunrise kisses brushed upon eyelids,

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Quenching drops nourishing, renewing, the spirit,

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Velvet petals caressing the flesh, erasing false perfections,

inner seeds in ecstasy sacrificially spilling,

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Breezes always joyfully willing

to carefully carry the heart’s deepest wishes,

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Lonely floating feathered silhouettes receiving comforting sunset ripples,

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Faithful mutually blooming companion, a bud always returning,

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Upon a pure canvas, watercolors mixing,

slowly, beautifully messily dripping,

fluid, never fully setting,

in the swirling abstract showing

what each individual soul has mourned, is yearning…

This is poetry.

And art. And music.

And, I suppose,

love.

 

All words and images ©LauraDenise