Category: Uncategorized

Whisper

I tuck my hair behind my ear.
Bite down on the edge of my pen,
Try to think,
To breathe.

The cover of the journal curls
Under my fingers, my grasp.
Questions swirl,
Unknowns

Pound my head, creating doubt.

Sometimes words come as easy as breath.
And I hold on to them, waiting for the picture
To come through,
To match.

And others, the image comes to mind,
To life, first. And with a little tweak
Here and there,
It sits.

Waiting for my thoughts to catch up.

They come from every direction,
When least expected, when looking
For answers,
For time.

But the thoughts turn to more questions,
And the questions often turn to tears,
Of sadness,
Of fear.

I just need an answer to one thing.
But I’ll just sit here in the silence,
Still waiting,
Listening,

Even if it’s just for a single whisper.

Puzzle

Each day is a piece
Of the puzzle,
But also a puzzle
All on its own.

Some pieces are
Temporary,
Only there for a time,
Or a simple season.

Some pieces stick
Around, lasting
Longer than you
Ever thought they could.

Some pieces come
With proper closure.
Everything understood,
Nothing left unsaid.

Some pieces fade,
From the sun and rain,
From the weight of
Questions unasked.

Some pieces break,
Suddenly snapping off,
So it no longer fits.
Forever changing the picture.

Each day is a piece
Of the puzzle.
But also a puzzle
All on its own.

The full picture,
Impossible to see,
Until it’s all
Done.

Rose

Every rose has its time
A seed to bud, a bud to bloom
A bloom to fall.

She comes back, again and again.
Wiser than the previous
Stronger than the last.

Her thorns protect her, and
Her family. They help her hold
On with new found strength.

Her bud unfolds, one petal,
One piece at a time,
A new chapter with each day.

Red, unmistakably red.
Shining brighter, standing truer,
Showing love like no one else.

Her color never faded, never shied
Even through all of life’s storms,
Even when each petal fell

Back to the ground
from which they came.

Every rose has its time
I’m just so grateful,
You were a part of mine.

Let Go

I loosen my grip,
Lift up my hands,
Let everything slide
Away.

I move each finger,
Maintain my composure,
Make myself take a
Breath.

I stare at my reflection,
Sigh so I can think,
See the pain mixed with
Hope.

I blink back the tears,
Break away from the mirror,
Bring myself to face the
Truth.

My grip will never be,
Tight enough, to hold on,
To anything that isn’t
God’s plan.

Frozen

Green.
That’s how it started,
when life was new,
when spring arrived.

But spring became summer.
Heat and drought
stole the color.
And broke the stem.

Wind came and chilled
the air and the ground.
Scattering, shattering,
forcing it to go away.

To a new home, or place,
down on the ground.
Unprotected, a victim,
to the glass cold hold

Of the ice.

Even if the sun comes,
even if the ice melts,
even if the leaf thaws,
it’ll never go back

to the life it knew.

It’ll never go back,
onto the branch.
It’ll never grow back, 
onto the tree.

It’ll never again,
be green.

Not Done

one decision, one second, that
can’t be undone
brought me here, to a place
where memories haunt.

everything spun, out of control,
but seemed slower
than real life ever could—
accenting each mistake,

the regrets, the words unsaid,
screamed louder than
before—and echoed behind closed
lids. keeping me from peace.

but the silence now seems louder
than the screams ever dreamed,
leaving only the pounding truth
of my own heartbeat.

dreams, plans, and goals, can
just disappear, with
the next breath, the next blink,
leaving everything, everyone, behind.

life isn’t ours to keep.

it belongs to the One who
created it,
Who makes plans I can’t comprehend,
showing love that’s not deserved.

with arms outstretched, He reached
from east to west,
welcoming me back, no matter
how far I’ve wandered.

He takes the lies I hold as truth,
and showers me
with His grace and mercy,
telling my heart it’s okay,

telling me I am loved, that
I am more
than my mistakes and faults,
that there is a purpose,

Because He isn’t done with me yet.

Dandelion

We picked them as children,
Seeing a pretty flower,
A rarity, a prize,
Running around with the stem,
Clutched in our fists,

Until we found the perfect spot,
The exact moment, to hold it up
To the sky, to the light, twirling it
In our fingers, thinking,
Dreaming, of what to wish.

Air filled our cheeks, our eyes clenched shut.
We puckered our lips, exhaling
Sending dozens of parachutes into flight,
Hope clinging tightly to each one,
Even if we never knew where they landed.

Now, they’re only weeds—a
nuisance, somewhere they don’t belong.
Interrupting our lawns, our gardens,
Choking the crops or the roses,
Stealing their water and sun.

But what if they’re the products
Of a parachute we sent off as kids—
Floating, flying, falling, finding right
Where to land, where to live, to grow,
In order to teach us, again, to dream, to hope,

Right in the place we need it most.  

Keys

You said all you knew
Of the piano,
Were the sad chords.
Of heartbreak, of
Disappointment.

I watched your reflection
In the smooth, shiny black
Of the music stand.
Your eyes stayed down,
staring at the keys.

If only everything was
black or white.
Right or left.
Half or whole.

You played without music,
Your ears led the way.
I stayed silent, wondering
If you could ever believe
Your talent was worth the pain.

Our eyes met, and held
But our walls stayed in place.
I could teach you the happy chords.
Or you could teach me the sad—
The best melodies are made from both.