Tag: poem

Focus

It’s out of focus,
Felt and seen, but fuzzy
Around the edges.
Blurriness.

The colors are there and
Some shapes are vivid.
But the whole picture lacks
Exactness.

The wrong angle, the wrong
Set up, here and there,
Brought this image of
Uncertainty.

Light was given to the
Wrong place, darkness remained
Over what needed to be seen.
Invisibility.

A mistake, an image worth
Nothing. Just something to throw
Away, something to be
Forgotten.

A lesson missed, advice not
Taken. Pray, wait, and see.
Hope that it’s not just
Forsaken.

Fading

Rainbows fade,
Sunflowers wilt.
Their beauty
Only lasts
For a certain time.

The sun will rise,
Just to set.
The day ending
Whether you’re ready
Or not.

The young stallion,
Grows old and Arthritic,
In what seems like
One rotation around
The sun.

The heart breaks,
In an instant,
Without warning,
When the unexpected
Takes it’s firm hold.

Confidence,
Shakes and fails.
Causing doubts, disbelief,
That anything done or said
Will ever be correct.

Rainbows fade,
Sunflowers wilt.
Maybe to teach us
To enjoy what we have
While we have it.

Eyes

Eyes
Are said to be a window,
To what lies within,
To the secrets that try
To stay hidden.

Colors
Shine and reflect with what
they’re holding, with what
They’re feeling. Seen
by those who care to look.

Shapes
Work inside, allowing them to
See outside, bringing the world
To their heart. Letting them decide
Who, or what, to believe.

Waiting
To see, to find another,
A complimentary color, shape,
Who looks into the window,
But finds a mirror instead.

Cidney’s Song

What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
repeating—  
Worth sharing with others?

Sincerity.

He sings from within,
his eyes full of light,
When he sees,
When he hears,
His person, his place.

His melody holds strong,
His heart full of joy,
When he runs,
When he jumps,
His life, his love.

He writes the harmony,
His mind adjusting,
To his new role,
To his new lot,
His home, his forever.

What makes a song
a song—
Something worth singing,
Repeating—

Sincerity.
A story worth sharing.

Little Things

It’s the little things 
most don’t notice.

An ear, flicking
Listening,
To what you say.
Whether it’s voiced.
Or through movement.
Or not at all.

An eye, blinking, 
Thinking
Of what you want,
Warm and soft, full.
Or cold and distant.
Empty, unforgiven mistakes.

A muscle, twitching, 
Reacting,
To something small.
A reminder of how light,
How soft, sensitive,
You need to be.

A muzzle, blowing, 
Searching,
For anything you might give. 
Breathing into your palm, 
Or your ear. Putting you 
Back together. 

It’s the small pieces of 
Themselves. 
They so freely give,
To replace the pieces 
Of our own hearts 
That go missing. 

And it’s these little things, 
Most don’t notice.