The Gap

“The heartbreaking gap between the way we were and the way we are…”

Just a book-review excerpt that got me thinking in my post-ending emotions…

Endings and beginnings, and after that and before. The way we were, the way we are, the way we will be. The way I was, the way I am, the way I will be. It’s what I would write about if I were brave enough.

Where in our timeline that gap, those gaps fall… that is what shapes each of our stories. Some look back on the glory days with the most fondness; some cannot even look back, the pain too excruciating. Some realize the missed opportunities; most never do. Regret can infiltrate nostalgia and release its toxins directly into the heart. The way we were, the way we are… sometimes the greatest heartbreak is the lack of gap, when we are static, when we are trapped, when we are still in that situation; it’s what broke me once, realizing decades later, in that inconvenient moment of denial ripped off, raw, it was the same as it always was.

I was trapped for half my life. Of course, no one ever truly is. But we might as well be, for the layers of boulders we submit to, allowing ourselves to be entombed. For me, I ironically stayed for my children, for if we left, I would have to send them back regularly without me. I chose to never let them be without me as their protector. I was aware of the light fading from the start, as I finally gave in to the vows. I saw the single sun ray through the avalanche the whole time. I chose not to move the rocks.

The way we were, the way I was… I look back on her now sometimes. Through windows. The one-way rainy panes of pain. I wish I could reach her. To let her know about today, who we are now. I know she will never lose faith, but oh those years… so many…. Yet, it simply is true: who we are now, we could never be, if we weren’t the way we were then. If I had the power to spare her, I don’t think I would. Well, maybe I would. To think she could have known happiness all those years…

In my late forties now, I have only just begun to become who I am. The way I am… it is the present. I could never be me until now. You never can be, I don’t think, without self-love. And you really have to be free first for that to happen. I honestly never really had the time or energy for myself; all I knew was survival mode. Crisis mode. Selfless mode. Sickness mode. There are always genuine pieces of us intact through that all though, I feel. Our souls that predate our mortal lifespan. The girl in the panes… she doesn’t realize. She just doesn’t. She and I are so different. Yet, we are the same. I feel myself still in her. The soul. The dreams she is loosening her grip on, yet always retaining fierce faith.

Sometimes, we deteriorate from the way we were. We chase what we think is happiness but always open our arms and hands to find nothing there. We keep chasing. We are still empty and our time is up. Or we succumb to the tomb. We had it once and lost it. We will never reach for that ray and remove the first rock. For others like me, all we have known is the rock cell. My story does not begin at birth. My life is just now starting. My future… well, I am confident that I will devote part of it to searching for such self-tombs, removing a rock from each. I think there is a universal rule that one is the limit. The rest must be done from the inside. I think I have found my way though, whispering, singing, and dropping notes faithfully through those single rays. And I wouldn’t know about these tombs without the experiences I’ve had. I visit my own from my past, and release a butterfly within; I feel his hand then slide into mine, and his sunset-silhouetted kiss in what I’ve come to know as love, makes my own flutter up inside. Again.

“We’re going to be more than alright,” I whisper to my past self through the hole. Then we head to his old tomb before heading home. Through the gap, in hand, we see my poem.

Mission Depletion

Overcasting the heart,
the plagued cloud
drew color and life;
eruption ensued,
torn from the burst
deep inside.
The salt rained
on the open wounds.
The gray swooped in, 
attempted final ruin. 

But a survivor returned
from his own
near entombment,
kissed petal lips
to restore the hues, 

and love rushed in again
to ignite the blooms,
imbued with goodness
the only truth.

The excess overflowed,
flooded the world,
infused each connecting branch,
bled the colors to combat 
all hopelessness. 

The gray cloud retreated.
Only depression was depleted. 

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is of God; everyone who loves is begotten by God and knows God. Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love. (1 John 4:7-8)

We love because he first loved us. (1 John 4:19)

Brook and Ocean

I am a mix of classic, 
old soul, timeless, 
monochromatic, 
black-and-white
nostalgic, 
dreams suspended, 
cared for, frozen
in time
to thaw, 
hopeless romantic,
most faithful 
disciple 
of hope
and love, 

but also from my core
seeps light and color,
the desire to bleed out
the excess,
emptying, 
unable to harbor;
outwardly, it overflows
a constant flood of emotion. 
Few are able to sustain
that much ebbless influx
from a misplaced
ocean. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Petal Shell

A petal shell, dried and fragile, 
colorless, ready to detach.
Another wilted, drooping
in response, also giving
in.

Hopelessness. 
Except

love nourishes, can always win, 
just needs
more than waiting on the wind;
love needs help
for love is not always enough.
Love needs lovers
to rise up. 

Love then can touch,
surround in green and blooms,
grow the heart,
heal the wounds. 

I’ll harness the setting sun,
and feed it
to you. 

It’s my turn
to be strong.

Hang on, my love. 
Love with nourish us through. 


So faith, hope, love remain, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

(1 Corinthians 13:13)

Love never fails.

(1 Corinthians 13:8)

I Bring You the Sun

I bring you the sun,
beauty too, 
sought after it, 
left the window view.

It’s all I can do.
I hope it is enough 
to remind you 
how much 
you are 
loved. 

I bring you the light
and the white flowers
and the glow from my soul
that you ignited. 

I bring you the rays
across the ocean,
a beacon to grab onto
to keep you surfaced,

to dispel the shadows
deep down inside,
to ignite the ember
and restore the fire. 

I’ll bring you me too
in person
soon enough 
and keep myself lit
for your touch,

and through my kiss,
you will be restored,
my healing breath
upon your flesh, warm. 

But for now,
I bring you the sun
through your window
to lure you up.

Come outside, my love. 
Let Mother Nature hug. 

Tears and Tears (Triple Haiku)

fresh spring rain on green
salty drops clinging to cheeks
all water cleanses

tears and tears the same
heteronyms for the pain
one dries, one remains

tears and tears post-storm
one can let the light reach through
one can bloom from love

Poems and images ©LauraDenise

More of my haiku and nature photography on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/bylauradenise/

Always Surmountable

©LauraDenise

We are never trapped,
just fated to faulty perspective,
succumb to specious perception;
it’s all relevant, related –

one more rock-move away
from the light 
on the other side
of the avalanche,

one more “wrong” turn
lost in the forest
before hearing
the anabranch…

much is necessarily experienced:

near suffocation sometimes the only way
to motivate a life-saving change,

the legs of the journey
in the humanless woods
lead to the reflection
and feeling of wounds,

and all paths probably have purpose
among the universe’s higher powers.

Without the lonely, looping trails,
we could not emerge anew
with our truest selves

and others we met along the way
not-so-coincidentally placed.

We are never trapped. 
We are never lost. 
At least not for very long. 

No change was ever ignited 
without the spark.
So many opportunities
missed, passed up, though
after being gifted matchsticks
but still refusing to start
the fire. 

When the Lamp Goes Out

Natural and manmade
silently juxtaposed,
constructed poles
off the mark,
crooked, leaning, 
despite attempted anchoring, 
branches gravitating 
in the right direction, 
toward the Light
of the World, 

rooted in belief,
faith running deep,
grasping earth,
dirt, free of 
concrete, 
sand and soil 
offerings
supporting vertical
inner growth
to break ground,
breathe air,
sprout, bloom, reach,
embraced,
loving whispers
saying you are
beautiful.

When the artificial light
goes out, 
I am able to clearly
see. 

Obstructed view,
no view, 
no proof:
nothing needed.

Even after
the sun retires
from rising, 
inside the seed of me 
will be found this
unshakable

belief.

 

Poem and this morning’s sunrise image ©LauraDenise

Too Soon To Title

You can find me among the wildflowers
in the golden light;
this is one of the few things I know
about where my soul resides. 

You’ll carry the scars;
they make you who you are, 
but rarely will they remind
of the battles you thought you lost
when you slipped through 
that presumed eternal hole
inside.

He lies. 

That’s all you need to know
for now.
God hears your prayers. 
Oh, broken child, 
please get up from the
cold, hard ground. 
I’ll be the one
to hold you for a while. 

One day,
so genuine and bright
will be
your smile. 

Seeing you here
on this pivotal day, 
your hemorrhaged
soul upon the tile…

This is it, my love.
The epitome of
raw, awakened denial. 
The tomorrow 
you consider
giving all hope on…
well, even the greatest
of fighters fall before
the rise. 

You don’t have to
dry your eyes. 
I just came by
to let you know
God does indeed
send you the one
to do more than 
have and hold;

he’ll show you how
to love yourself,
and with that gifted key
you’ll unlock every
chain and door,
be able to go
wherever you want,
for home is not
a destination
but who you are
when you

find me among the wildflowers
in the golden light. 

A poem to deliver to my 2018 self. 
A poem for those like me then. ❤