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One Voice: A Poem
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The dandelion begins life as one small fluffy seed.
A seed with one voice.
Blowing in the wind, the journey begins.
The seed finds a home.
It pushes up towards the light,
One voice gleaming gloriously with each new day.
As night draws near
Or when weather threatens,
The dandelion bows its head.
The days go by until,
The dandelion's voice is almost spent.
But, a new voice is just beginning.
The stem elongates.
Its brilliant crown fades.
It no longer retreats after the light of day.
A gust of wind carries the remains
Of the dandelion's voice,
To a new home,
Where each will find anew,
Its One Voice.
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A Babe Still Rests There...
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She climbs into my chair; all legs and arms, all grown.
She doesn't really fit there. Yet, she seems at home.
Something inside that body, defying me, growing up in haste.
A babe still rests there; in her heart, if not her face.
She still seems to want the warmth of the one who held her first.
And, for this, I will always be grateful.
This life, once mine, given birth.
Oh, the day when I would first gaze at you -- oh, how you'd turn my head.
The first I laid my eyes on you, my heart was filled with dread.
I knew it was the best day of my life and yet the very worst.
Someday my hellos would be goodbyes, only sorrow, never mirth.
I'd blink and you would turn to go. It's just as it should be.
But, you would feel like it was time. For me, eternity.
Time is cruel. It passes slow, just when you most need haste.
And when you wish it would crawl and dawdle, it quickens up the pace.
I knew all of this that very first day. I knew someday you'd be eighteen.
I knew that day would come too fast. And, I'd be left to grieve.
The tears fell softly, even then, as I vowed to treasure the minutes.
I could not know then, you would never leave. My heart and soul: you're in it.
I did not know that was the plan - to save me from my grief.
There is no end to love, my dear. No end.
Just believe.
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She Bleeds~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She bleeds.
Each month, half a life leaves.
A nursery is destroyed.
A new one prepared.
She bleeds.
She weeps a little, wondering who that could have been.
Knowing it was not her time.
Tomorrow will come again.
She bleeds.
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Always There
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Always there, if only I remember.
Always there, if only I see.
Always there, if only I surrender.
Always there, waiting for me.
Always there, willing to help me.
Always there, wanting to smooth the way.
Always there, if only I'd remember.
Always there, be it night or day.
Always there, waiting to comfort.
Always there, waiting to smile.
Always there, waiting to share with me.
Each little step, every mile.
Loving me best. Loving me most. Loving me always.
Yes, my Jesus, you are,
Always there for me.
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A Father is a Gift
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A Father is a gift, come down from heaven above.
A Father is a gift, to remind us of His love.
A Father is a gift, that helps to make us strong.
A Father is a gift, which tries to right all wrongs.
A Father is a gift, one can never really replace.
A Father is a gift, a heart, a memory, a face.
A Father is a gift, I hope you have one too.
The Heavenly and the Earthly, they are both precious to you.
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Rain Has Come Again
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Pinging from the chimney.
Could it be?
A gentle rustling outside, as of gently falling water.
It's dark, I can't see....
A distant flash of light.
A violent clap of thunder.
The sound of wind-driven rain whipping around outside.
And, the downpour is getting stronger.
How much can we drink up?
The dry grass, the trees, the flowers, the insects & birds?
How long will it last?
And, once gone, will it return?
The first day of summer.
Yet all around is not green.
Rather, shades of brown and yellow.
No color as far as the eye can see.
Color takes water.
Of that, we're deprived.
Color must wait.
Green too, must subside.
Until we have water,
there's no reason to fret.
We'll learn to appreciate the color
and to not wallow in regret.
The feeling of thirst
clambers around my every move.
But, as the rain falls,
suddenly, I feel renewed.
I want to stand out in it,
let it fall over my face.
But, I dare not tonight,
the thunder keeps me at bay.
Tomorrow the world will be a little greener.
The birds chirp a little brighter.
The buzz of insects a little stronger.
Our hearts a little lighter....
Rain has come again.
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The Prison of a Few
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Most want to remember.
Most want to mark the day.
Most want to feel that saddest of Septembers.
To remember their pain.
If we remember,
If we chose not to forget,
The lives that were lost,
Will not see regret.
I cannot help it,
I want to forget,
To put it behind me,
Not to imagine the jets.
I want to imagine the world as it was;
The world before that dreadful day.
I want to ignore it, not mark it,
So the piercing memory will fade.
But, I know that can't happen.
We must mark our grief.
We must feel our collective pain,
No matter the thief.
We were robbed that day.
And some things can never be undone.
We were robbed that day.
Yet somehow, we live, and we feel we've won.
But every time we mark the time,
the hour, the pain, the grief.
Every time we remember the sacrifice,
the horror, the sadness, the thief.
We relive it again.
The wound opens anew.
Healing, that much more distant.
Pain, the prison of a few.
Dedicated to all those innocents and heroes who lost their lives on 9/11, all those who thereafter lost their lives in Afghanistan and Iraq, and those who are yet with us for a time, but will lose their lives in the wars that are yet to come. Offered likewise, in honor of the walking wounded -- the countless numbers whose lives were forever changed and marked by grief and loss, and continue to be, from the genesis that was this horrific act. May their numbers cease to be increased.
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She Sleeps
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She Sleeps.
She draws the covers a little tighter.
She drifts in and out ...
Her body craves something, but what?
Her soul wanders, but where?
Her heart yearns, for whom?
She does not know.
And so,
She Sleeps.
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Ode To My Dad
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For all the money you gave, but never had.
For all the boys you tolerated, though certain they were bad.
For all the times you agreed, when you knew you'd been had.
Thanks for all that and more....
Thanks for bein' my dad.
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All poems authored by: One Voice Speaking@Copyright 2011-2012
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