Dimensions

My heart and soul
tire me out,
always frolicking
away and about,

relentless in their
prodding and searching,
no toe-dips,
just all-in swan-diving

into every unknown,
exploring, testing, challenging
the boundaries
of this world,

restless to breach
every deterrence
placed by societal rules
and norms…

So much fear
in potential soulmates
with whom to travel
these magical non-roads.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

Aforementioned

There is no greater feeling
(other than love, and perhaps forgiveness)
than the way the heavens
ever so slowly open
in the last of the
fading rumbles,
parting clouds
to reveal nothing more
than the forgotten,
that supreme is
all, above and beyond this,
that we never were alone
through any of it;
it makes me almost wish

for another storm…

I realize that this is
that love and forgiveness
aforementioned
taking form.

This is how inner
peace is born.

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Poem and images ©LauraDenise

I Pray Not

I pray not
for Him
to expedite
my wishes;
I wait not
for Him
to do
what I can.

His timing
I keep
full faith in
and ask
to know
my part
in His
perfect plan.

Poem and image ©LauraDenise

My Sky Last Night

After-Storm

Unedited after-storm sky,
heavens open up
as if to apologize
for the tribulation
necessarily survived,
though still withheld
must be the why.

Instilled with a knowing
a higher power so loving
is in control when I spin
in my free will off trajectory,

I simply pause all the swirling
emotional turbulence within
and feel the wind,
the exhale of the one above,
mighty breath on my skin;

my hair and soul lift up,
and I wish my feet would.
Grounded on this earth for now;
let me master all the lessons.

There is nothing but comfort
in the after-storm sky,
a sojourn wrapped in serenity,
a glimpse of afterlife.

Rooted to Trees

Tree-hugger for as long as I can remember
(my favorite nature companions),
known sky-and-cloud obsesser
to those who discover a drop of who I am.

I write of the sea
because I have been living by the beach,
and if my writing you currently read,
you know mountains aren’t my thing.

Wildflowers, especially white ones,
have become infused into my self-journey,
but if I could only keep just one,
I’d have to keep the trees.

Size does matter sometimes
for I need the large circumference,
and the older, the wiser, I find is true,
(secret bias though toward non-coniferous).

In the national forest,
I seek the inner grove,
the largest sequoias I can find
so I can visit my soul’s home.

A hand, a hug, upon the giants
fills my heart, and my authentic
smile naturally shows.

Rider

Illusion of control,
I never really drove,
not on a road trip
of my own;
I rode
round and round,
hair in the breeze,
holding on to the mane
of carousel dreams,
never free.
Now I am.
But the invisible reins
of pleasing so long
keeps me stalled
in the corral;
my voice on auto-pilot
agreeing with everyone else.
A passenger yet.
I sit quietly
still looking out
the windows.
But in the rearview mirrors,
I frame my favorite parts,
and up ahead in the near distance,
I see the peaks
of my heart’s desires.
I think I am ready
to take the wheel
while listening to nature
on God’s behalf appeal
to my soul, that home,
I’ve carried all along.
I only needed to use my voice
to steer to where
I belong.
I will need to put it in park
for the final leg,
so I can ride bareback
on my stallion
away from all of them…

Poem and images ©LauraDenise

Bubble Dreams

Dangerous to dream, I know.
Foolish to fly in a bubble!
Either could burst
without notice,
drop you fast in a plummet
to the hard reality surface.

But what if…

the trajectory was directed
by angels’ breaths
and the bubble made impenetrable,
a shield only able to be
forged from the past,
and you were gently lowered
precisely as intended
by the benevolence
of your higher power
assisting you in the navigation
toward your heart’s
deepest and purest desire?
What if the bubble
met passion’s fire?
And in the ashes
two phoenixes rose
and began new life
and left behind
all the rainbows
found in bubbles?

Sometimes The Heavens

Sometimes the heavens
seem to shout
without a sound,
send in golden tsunamis
to knock us out
of our sacrilegious head-bows,
hunched over the false light,
oblivious to whom is beside
let alone above.
Another tidal wave of wonder
crashes against an overpopulated shore
unheard and unseen
despite its colossal reminder
that we were not meant to be
islands caught up in the streams
on screens
of mind-numbing nonsense when
the caged spirits within
continue their deafening
pleases turned to pleas and
silent screams
to be released.
Our souls see
heaven’s reach,
but our eyes and minds
are locked
in self-imposed
escapism stagnancy.
And another stair to heaven
disappears, as the case
little by little,
shrinks.