Searching endlessly does no good.
Hoping beyond what I can hope, being left out in a vast desert landscape with no way to return to normal ordinary things.
Intensely missing myself, I go deeper inside, hoping to become catatonic, except through my writing.
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Reeling to memories of Waylon Jennings, singing with his band at our family reunions throughout the years, never tiring of his rhythms in life expectancy.
Honoring the elderly, mentoring the younger ones, giving from his heart in musical precision.
Shaking salt over wounds of yesterday, breaking them open again and again.
joy of yesterday.Hoping and wishing to go back in time, knowing it cannever happen, because reality is so true – so stark – you can’t get beyond it.Living through days of sorrow, grief pounding on my heartand mind, bringing reminders and traces of love to the forefront.
Writing poetry, sitting on a little wall at Brophy, my mind keeps getting interrupted by sounds of falling leaves.
Stopping and taking a look up, I watch for a while and then finally see the cause of such commotion.Sitting upon the roof, some pigeons are gathered there.By sounds I hear of sweeping, it appears they are doing some spring cleaning.Apparently using two feet – one of them is pushing dead leaves off the roof,…
Stranded in a land of unknown fears, wondering where life will leave me, hesitant to surmise.
Living in a quandary of thought, not knowing whether I should give up sooner rather than later.Hopefully, gathering many prayers to hold me up and keep me going, if only on faith for now.
Reckoning with myself, being pulled in many directions by people who say they care and love me.
Walking away, I practice instant forgiveness and learn to live and depend on myself alone.