Mother’s Messages

Nature has a way
of knowing
us so personally:
when is the last
time you slowed
or stopped to notice,
to receive,
the messages
in clouds
and leaves?

Reverie

These illusions and pitfalls along the way
in which my heart, so sure, unveils to stay
only to have to again prove my strength,
revive the beat from buried and scathed,

I hope again are changing
to sojourns not so painful.

In the aftermaths and in-betweens,
the shrapnel in me remains indelibly inked
and paroxysmally bleeds,
keeps me still from seeing
any heavenly reasoning.

Still, I must keep faithfully believing
in His thaumaturgic design of feelings,
love and all my deaths
in the pursuit of requitedness.

Again, I am clinging
as a raindrop to a moment inevitably fleeting.

Petals

I found a pile
of moments,
once treasure,
memories preserved
in sensitive limbo,
or waiting
in purgatory,
or for surgery,
or autopsy
to know, to have
final say-so…

Is it the light and shadows
that determine
if each, or collectively,
are worthy
to keep their sweet
olfactory hold
on our soul,
or simply the decision
of a heart to cradle
or let go…?

Between Brick Walls

Between brick walls,
faux stars:
still the magic
makes my dreams
flutter
in my heart.

Above the lights,
the universe:
I imagine lanterns,
launched with whispered
verse.

Soar

When the world is silhouette
in the darkness of new day,
and The Maker begins to add
the first colors of paint,

beginning with the sky
and blending into the sea,
as each ripple begins rippling
and the seabirds spread their wings,

my heart awaits the bristles
upon the lonely shore,
always hoping He’ll add wings
so my love can finally soar.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Oasis

When drowning in the desert,
I make my own oasis
to anchor my hope upon
’til tame becomes the tempest.

I know the weather patterns,
just not when the wells will dry,
but when they do, I’ll resurrect my heart
from its protected burial site.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

The Condition

The thing about self-love
is the condition
that it be
unconditional.
I must be a friend
to myself
when I need
one the most

and remember
what makes me, me,
are not flaws,
and in the handling
of my wounds
after stumbling
must come
the greatest care
of all.

Pieces we can’t get back
and permanent scars
must simply become
part of the beauty
of the sculpture
of the heart.

Repel With A Cause

What if
I repelled the shame
of all the ways
my overly-passionate heart
led me seemingly
astray?

And what if

this heart of mine
were not in fact
a curse
but one of the greatest
gifts bestowed
upon this earth

to wield not
a shield welded
from past pains
but to let loose
in full potential
this love
like saving
rain?

One By One

One by one,
I pluck the thorns
barbed-wiring my heart in;
obstacle after obstacle
I surmount to prove
that love
will win.

Naturally, the plucks
unclog also the ducts
that keep the dammed rain
bayed,

but that doesn’t mean
the salt will wilt
the bloom who’s too far
on its way….

Petals in the Sand

I am still faithfully following
petals as paths
with my soul’s whispered directions
to where you are at,
the one to reciprocate
all this love I have,
and along the way,
I’ve grown to love
the way
I am.