Drifting

Focusing on the edges
blurs out the sun,
but drifting into reflections
makes it drown.

So I’ll try again
to arrange
the composition
to slowly allow the flames
to warm the hearth
from within.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Light Bulb

In lieu of petals,
on a barren stem,
a bud of light
hatches open.

The message clear:
it’s all a bit more than
a matter of perspective.

You can focus on the loss
or fill it in.

One comes from stagnancy,
the other action.

We can do so much more
with what we are given.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Chambers

Some chambers
of the heart
cannot be revived,
but somehow, in time,
the others manage
to thrive,
filling in with extra
color and light,
like fall delicately
preserved despite
the returning of spring,
some things
simply adapt inside,
like a damaged heart
that syncs
to another’s beat,
incapable of replacing
or restoring that part
but giving new life
to a deserved and beautiful
heart.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Holding Photographs

nostalgia bittersweet
joy so genuine, effortless
radiating, echoing
from fading photographs

touched, held between
ringless fingers and the fumes
of a heart on empty
from the moment
so distantly removed

time does not warp
those precious instances
forever suspended
feelings will flutter on
thousands of centuries

bittersweet for the bliss
is eternally retrievable
but if the present is less
then the tears
breach suppressible

falling is the gravity
of sadness, all rain
nature running its course
to cleanse the panes

we simply must
adjust the frames
order the montages
strategically arrange

so when we step back
to take in the collective
the rainbow across
our present
gets light-refracted

If I Could Reach It

There is a pain in you
so exquisitely piercing,
in depths that cannot
be reached;
if I could dive
into the abyss of you,
I wouldn’t hesitate
to retrieve it.

But even then,
it could too easily
well up again,
so instead,
I would trace the source,
swim upstream
through your tears
and pluck
from the duct
the thorn.

But I cannot.
The furthest I can reach
is your heart
and transfuse the antiserum
from my own scars,
hold your hand
and see you through
each storm,
and all of my faith
add to yours
and send up
our plea

to the stars.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Ravaged Nest

mourning dove
the morning after
I will shed the tears
for you, dear lady

I will grieve

but we most both look
to the sun
it rises again
and our lives go on

even without
the physical presence
sometimes of lost ones
we love

the circle of life
contains the dark
and the light

the ultimate joys
the seemingly unrecoverable
losses

no deity induced
things just happen

I believe
He is wrapped
around us
grieving too

but reassuring
He will take them
to a place even more
beautiful

and hold them close
as we, too, will
always do

the sun rises
against mourning dove’s
rooftop silhouette

a reminder
a symbol
that represents

loss and love
will always be
the polar peaks
of life

so closely
intertwined

and whether we
are ready or not,
the sun again
will rise

continuing the
advancement of time

seemingly so long
before we can reunite

but this life
is but a blink
of an eye

and in that downward
motion of that lid
we still have much
love
we can give

to love
is the only way
to truly
live

Revolutions

It is inevitable

that a sun must set,

must sink

out of view,

bringing darkness,

signaling that a day

is through.

So it is with the things

that come to pass,

regardless of our will

or grasp;

some things simply

get laid to rest.

But just because

a sun, a heart,

sinks doesn’t mean

there will be nothing

able to rise

from the perceived demise,

for life

continues on,

light and hope

will inevitably rise,

for the circle

of goodbyes-for-now

are inexplicably intertwined

with new hesitant hellos

in divine timelines unknown,

unable to be perceived

from such ignorant perspectives,

for we are all but glorious specks

confused in an organized cosmos.

We don’t see the significance

of the setting sun synchronized

with the rising moon,

for The One who created all of this

did so out of love,

making sure the darkness

never completely covers us.

The light is ever-present

even when we are absent.

There is always something rising

as something else sets.

Even if we fail at the time

to see it.

Trust in a loving, larger

picture.

In the Ashes

I walk through the airy white ashes

of all the extinguished yesterdays;

along my cheeks, I rub the dark soot,

not like blush, but battle paint

for strength in a war

for internal peace.

There is always a sadness

buried in remains

after the combustion and fall

of what used to reign

so steadfastly,

in the end of the life

of the final ember’s glow

when the rain

saturates the last ignition hope.

The clean up and rebuilding

takes time and effort;

no amount of it can

ever restore the devastation,

for nothing

should ever burn,

save the passion

of united hearts, pure.

I walk through the airy white ashes.

I wish I could have saved it.

The soot tickles my cheek

and encourages me to go on

living,

while remembering

and making out of this,

a difference.

Not all loss

needs to be buried.

We can both move on

and carry,

as long as what we take

is fertile,

so in the worst of conditions,

it will grow

the sprouts and green

of the happiness

we refused to leave behind

in the ashes.