shifting sands grains unable to be grasped slipping through fingers sieve of my existence footprints vanishing in vain trying to leave an imprint, fingerprints fossilizing
as I watch sea drops dry on shells shells of mankind displayed non-selves on shelves
shifting painted shapes offer to take me away only to lead to the next drifting cumulous cloud lateral when I need to be higher homeward bound
shifting sands I open my hand spread my fingers wider I know what the answers are not to feel the silk is to feel nothing caught but sensory strokes the void in the curve of my palm no trail found to my entrance into the sea
saltwater can’t sting when the wounds are too far beneath the body’s surface
arms open I invite the above in home- sick let me know I am not
I must part ways with you now, dear Darkness; Light is forlorn without its Laura,
my aura is dimming the further I drift in this alluring cradling away from attempts
of putting forth the efforts to swim back up toward Bliss:
I still hope, believe (barely), that it exists.
A parting kiss…
Yes, I know that means I will have to let go, for now, of that dream, but I can keep the parts that were seeded, for weeds they are not; I feel it, in that new spot, how I can nurture it into something beautiful still…
I return to the isle from a distance, leave a trinket, so it is known I’ll always be near,
Turbulent tempest rises from within, mere earthly matters malignantly breach the borders where the spirit lives, tears mix with the salty sea, Wind whips through as the harbinger singing, assures His army is near my shore. I see the Beacon from above coming for
s h i p w r e c k e d s o u l s
ON ITS WAY TO me. Never was I lost, never forgotten, never in jeopardy of drowning. These truths I knew which led me here, the S.O.S. of my heart He need not hear for He is ever-knowing, always inside, but also right on time, my location always known, sometimes granted though the visual signs that my soul is not alone. The Light so comfortingly warms, and I am homesick no more.
A poetic letter to me sent upon a wave and star to reach through time, back to where you are…
This “he” of your fantasies receives your Little Red Balloon and your whispers to be delivered by Moon.
He will continuously clean your mirrors until you see as he does, all of your beauty clearly.
You will weave wedding wildflowers in your hair and feel the wind whip freeingly through the despair.
You will radiate in dresses and feel feminine, barefoot and free upon grass and sand.
Your wavy locks will be teased by the breeze. Your hand outstretched for a companion will receive.
Your heart reopened will be filled to overflowing, exceeding your dreams with God-blessed reality.
Your voice in song will again reach the heavens, your loquaciousness endlessly received with eager anticipation.
That voice in your head and grip around your growth will fall away as he convinces you to love yourself.
Your faith will grow as anticipated; God will see you through as He always has. He knows always what is ahead. He will deliver love if you cut the thread…
You will not give your whole life to this verbally-abusive “man.” Soon you will be filled with enough courage to act. You will come to realize those decades of hurtful words were lies all along; you will come to know your worth.
Who you once long ago hoped instead you were will appear as unwavering truths in every mirror.
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.