Too Early to Title

Are you here?
You’ve been searching,
collecting clues;
perhaps this segment
of sea will weed or
reveal identity truths.

Just you here
and your mind.
What do you carry?
What have you
left behind?

Look about.
Family. Strangers.
One in the same.
Or entirely different?

Who has come
to search,
and what for?
Who will leave
with less, 
with more?

So many shells,
filled and hollow.
So many opportunities
made and lost
among people. 

Memories can be made.
Promises broken. 
Second chances given. 
Losses counted. 

Each drop significant, 
each drop matters,
though so vast is
the ocean’s water. 

Water is one,
a singular thing.
We don’t count drops
until we are thirsty. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

For A While

Times are changing,
the earth keeps rotating,
seasons arrive and depart…
Change is always hard on my heart.

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No shadow now joined to my hip.
Gradual independence.
Children grow up and detach.
How can we know which kiss may be the last?

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Years unravelled from finite twine; 
at the end, the kites will fly.
If Father Time were to grant my wish,
which moments would I revisit?

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The sands keep slipping;
no way to flip it.
How should I spend this day?
What memories can I make
to leave my family as legacy
to have, to hold, to keep
as the distance continues to grow
and life leads us down different roads?

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Tomorrow is never promised,
another sunset never guaranteed.
Priorities must be organized
so nothing overshadows the people.

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This moment may be all we have,
so when I reach for your hand,
let me draw you nearer.
Come sit for a while and talk with me, dear. 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Footprints & Silhouettes

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So many silent, untold stories

in yesterday’s leftover footprints,

in this morning’s sunrise-silhouetted

figures in the distance.

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I am a people watcher,

always curious about

human nature,

collectively and within each

individual character.

 

When the stage lights are unlit

and the microphone off,

I wonder about each’s

private feelings and thoughts.

 

We are not actors

on life’s stage;

we are each keepers

of our own private plays,

 

longing to be brave enough

to raise the curtain, so you

may get but a glimpse

of a scene of what we’ve

been going through.

 

So many footprints and silhouettes

crossing paths,

so little we know

of the bodies’ souls

leaving the tracks.

 

What lies inside the impression,

what lies within the shadow,

those are the mysteries

I continuously wonder about.

 

Which footprint seeped love,

which footprint seeped grief,

which figure is weeping,

which figure rekindling dreams?

 

Hearts upon sleeves

are taken up by the wind,

feelings in chests

locked and buried again.

 

So many untold stories,

so many opportunities passed,

to initiate conversation with another

and simply ask.