After-Storm

Unedited after-storm sky,
heavens open up
as if to apologize 
for the tribulation
necessarily survived,
though still withheld 
must be the why.

Instilled with a knowing
a higher power so loving
is in control when I spin
in my free will off trajectory, 

I simply pause all the swirling
emotional turbulence within 
and feel the wind,
the exhale of the one above,
mighty breath on my skin;

my hair and soul lift up,
and I wish my feet would. 
Grounded on this earth for now;
let me master all the lessons.

There is nothing but comfort
in the after-storm sky,
a sojourn wrapped in serenity,
a glimpse of afterlife. 

Gripping Sand

Sometimes we must firmly
grip the sand
instead of merely wishing
to be carried to shore.

Sometimes it is best
to escape through the window
rather than open
either door.

Sometimes when the photo album
has so many empty pages,
it’s time coloring the sickness yellow
since it can’t fade non-faces.

Sometimes in the dark wood
instead of striking tear-soaked matches,
we must look up for the beacon
of light through the branches.

Sometimes from the cliff of depression
instead of digging our nails in,
we must be willing to release our grip
and reach for the offered hand.

Sometimes for a while longer,
it’s good to remain on our knees,
but He cannot help us rise
if we let lie His gifted bravery.

Sometimes when we grip the sand
and claw our way to beach,
we complain it’s the wrong island
and forget we were just
drowning in the deep.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Mystery to Me

Heart-sensors

extra sensitive,

picking up mixed signals

of every human emotion,

eyes brim with

unidentified sadness

but do not spill over,

for tears that mix

simultaneously with

happiness

get recalled to the cauldron

to start over

in the feelings-concoction,

stirred not by hand

but all that I am,

have been through,

have yet to see,

and the substance

that holds it 

all together

in the center

comes from the faith

I feel

He has

in me. 

I am transforming

into exactly who

I was always

going to 

be,

still a mystery

to me.

Lord, keep making me

an instrument

of Your peace. 

 

The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi 

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, the truth;
Where there is doubt, the faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.

Alive

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My roots, my veins,

my soular capillaries,

every inner

and immeasurable

part of my being

craves, thirsts, seeks

the quenching

that only feelings bring,

for to feel

is life

as well as the meaning.

 

I choose to only feed

from now on

on the good and happy things,

so move me,

sky, flowers, trees,

friend, lover, hobbies;

let me drink in

that life

that fills me beyond

capacity,

keep my feelers tingling,

my colors bleeding,

never let me be defeated

by a drought

of feeling

 

alive.

 

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Poem and images ©LauraDenise