She imagines the possibility under the cover of her flaming locks.
I can still feel the sun’s heat on my face,
even when fear wrestles with grace.
I can still see love in another’s eyes,
while facing the darkness of demise.
I can still water a flowering bud,
as my emotions get swept away by the flood.
And I can still believe today will be tomorrow,
when my heart mends from subsuming sorrow.
In the quiet of the night
In the hole of the soul
In the alley where it lived
Under the moon covered in clouds
The sadness it did bring,
Pulling the stitches of the world
Infecting the tears of many
While living in the body untold
Through the darkness it spread
Killing wisdom with a stone
But through it all a tiny light did glow
And with it, brought hope
Small and grand gestures brought healing
Like vitamins from the sun
And the virus disappeared
Into the cave from which it did come
For humanity is the strongest medicine of all
Dropping joy like seeds
Which turn into trees
Growing through the seasons of her life
The leaves unfold
Each a story told
A canopy from the essential strife
When comes her last call
A final leaf in the fall
It will cut with a silent knife
She can turn the world with her smile.
Her heart, a song, coloring your eyes with something better.
She is fiercely kind and kindly direct.
Swiftly tilting her head, she questions the patriarchy.
A poet mathematician. A singer scientist. A musician doctor, healing your tired mind with her laughter.
She is precisely messy, delightfully charged, a force of joy.
A daughter, sister. friend to all.
She is water,
Flowing, dripping, dropping, water-falling.
Washing the inequity from the streets of
She’s a tidal wave, a force to level out
the wrong done upon her sisters.
The tides are made of her opinion.
You can bathe in her beauty, her fresh, pure springs.
She crashes, white, frothy surf, commanding
the attention of her audience on the beach.
She is holy water. She is nature.
You must drink her for life.
She is water,
Cascading, swirling, drowning in strife.
“Can I get directions to the end?,” she asked.
“To find End, go back to Began,” he replied.
“Take no baggage or holes in your heart. Sometimes you go to End to find where you start.”
She huffed, and she ranted, as the curious man strode away.
For she would not be able to make the end today.
We could banter,
Say all the things.
Whispering in moonlight,
We could tell truths,
Deeper than sea.
Exchanging oxygen for words,
Until we’re free.
We could sing,
Our hearts the drums.
Making morning night,
Darkness always comes.
A year in the swirl of the twirl of a life
A blink and a tear from the center of her eye
It came, and it passed, unpaused by the strife
Ignoring the very question, an existential “Why?”
It spun, and it sputtered, finally rushing ahead
A child, somewhat wild, quietly perplexed
Dreams in rough shape yet decidedly undead
Broken, not battered, mildly vexed
Swiftly absorbing the ending of reality’s play
She’s a year, a lifetime, a decade of plenty
Living a lifetime in moments today
Flashing forward, to tomorrow, twenty-twenty
The story of my decade is a lovely one. I have more lines and more joy. I am confident in my me-ness. I know who my close friends are. They talk to me not about me. My empathy is at an all time high, and so is my good humor. I still have this red dress in my closet and could rock it at a moment’s notice. I also have so much more to write. Living life fully is a writer’s spark.