Seasons

Seasons about,
seasons within,
seasons of life,
seasons begin.

All seasons end.

This brings about what pleases
and that which disappoints,
that which shatters
and that which fills with joy,

but who are we to judge
what’s in our best interest
from our non-omniscient,
limited perspective?

Who is the narrator?
Who is the character?
Who is the author?
Who will read it

in the end?

Dusty cover,
spring breeze,
dust to dust,
seasons never cease.

I resist the gales of change
even though I’ve grown wings;
sometimes our comfy cocoons
are stirred on purpose
by the leaf.

Premature nostalgia
begins to take hold;
I try to focus on the excitement
of what He has in store.

Seasons never cease.
“Nothing gold can stay,”
but it returns so loyally,
and in its absence regrows

faith.

I will harvest the gold
in the center
as the petals unfurl,
life within life…
keeping or returning to
the purity and light,

I believe,

is the eternal goal.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Parting Kiss

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 will.

I return to the isle
from a distance,
leave a trinket,
so it is known
I’ll always
be near,

no need to desert
every future
possibility.

We will all
someday
see.

Broken Blind(ers)

Always broken blinds,
dirty window panes,
I listen for a message
in the language of The Rains.

Hours pass by as I lie
in honesty – open, transfixed,
determined to encourage
Revelation to visit.

On my island where I desire
the silence to shatter
the chaos swirling, chanting,
withholding the answers.

Sun returns
prematurely.
Cross-breeze through screens:
I listen for the whispers
to reveal what I plea, need,
to know

in my bones,
in my soul.

1/6/22

Dress Pockets

Over the years, I’ve collected
the best fragments
from the jagged breaks
of the past,
revisiting the scenes
after the immediate threats
have into ashes passed.

When the sun faithfully returns,
each ray seems to gently lead,
reflecting in intermittent beams,
to rebuild resilient dreams,

refracted off each of these
gorgeous shards of glass.
I add to these, the heartifacts
unearthed from avalanche

and dug up from old spots,
buried for protection,
washed and polished rocks
diversifying my unified vision.

In dress pockets,
I tuck into shadows
the reflections resurrected,
reunite them with the rays
as I sentimentally
deconstruct them,

assembling a mosaic
stained-glass arboretum
to grow from pains and grief
a new garden of suncatchers
and walk among the rainbows
into a new and beautiful future.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Resetting the Sand

With wide-opened arms,
I offer myself
again to the sea,
double-red flag at the
abandoned beach
and in me.

I give it all to God
who takes it up
with the wind,
wild waves
rush up from within.

Benevolent powers
remind me
who I am
and what I’m capable of
in this lifetime chance

when He is inside me
like He’s always been,
and all of nature,
my lifelong friends.

The beach itself
is rippled clean,
new slate
on which to imprint
the path
He leads,

another first step
into the trust
of His plan,
the next leg of a journey
to lead me even closer
to where He is at.

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Gravitational Falls

We all fall. Sometimes.
It’s inevitable. Natural.
Stumbles and knockouts
along the way.
Bumps and potholes,
from obstacles and pitfalls, 
All paved roads, manmade. 

No wonder we get lost. 
We make through-streets
when we are meant to meander
on foot, following brooks
and the day-star beacon
through the trees. 

I believe it lights
a different direction
for each. 

Newton’s laws are really
a Universe thing, 
term ego-coined by humanity,
but even that which 
has no momentum to soar,
has never been granted
the boost or breeze,
seems to fall
with a harder thud
from crawling.

Perhaps the greatest
and most needed fall
is the one to our knees,
when we give it all 
up and let Him 
take the lead. 

Perhaps in that moment
we are granted our wings. 

But in that excitement,
will we remember
to fall silent and still 
enough to feel our soul’s 
gravitational pull?

We can now go anywhere
the heart leads.
This time I will stay away
from the paved
and listen to the whispers
of the wildflowers
and leaves. 

I feel your heart
out there
gravitating toward
me. 

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.