I Meet You There

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Held in a place where no one will ever know
the tears that were shed, sorrows that freely flowed

Held in a place where no one will ever see
the fear of what was to be left behind, or will soon be

Held in a place where no one will ever feel
the release of heart-captured love, one that was real

Held in a place where no one will ever hear
the echoes of a rusty hinge, repeated so clear

Held in a place where no one will ever guess
an embracing of light and tenderness

There with the worn leather straps, and dented corner view
A place is held for me to return to.

May 2, 2017

Dear Journal

Dear Journal……..
I come to you each day leaving my heart on space filled lines.
I often wonder what I would do if you rejected me
Where would I go?
Who would listen?
How would I spend my time?

You help me to think things through
You allow me to whine and moan and complain
You allow me to cry and react and feel insane
You allow me to find peace and quiet and a song
You allow me to release and move along
You allow me to think and shrink into dark filled time
You allow me to expand and grow beyond today’s line
You allow me find the right words to say
You help me to feel alive each day.

What would I do, if I no longer had you?
Sincerely,
Ink-filled pen

Windswept

Winter Approaches

 

The vibrating moon pulsates against my breast,

pulling me just close enough,

to get lost in the orange glow rest.

 

Beams dance across a chambray colored sky,

a two-step rhythm gleaning the air,

Listening for the song birds sigh.

 

Captured and held for moments and more,

a deep breath kept,

while from  waiting branches,  winter is tore.

 

Tip of My Pen

 

As the tip of my pen touches the page

I wonder what the value truly will be?

 

Will there be a cost felt with each stroke,

with each letter, with each word,

with longings waiting to be heard?

Will separated hearts appear

and lost journeys be brought near?

So much held, so much given up,

strained and sifted onto a page,

overflowing…waiting

experienced wisdom and sage?

Independence and partings

live at the tip of my pen,

where all good stories

start or come to an end.

 

As the tip of my pen touches the page

I know what value there will be

a closer look at what is held within you and within me.

 

Windswept 11/26/2016