May 6, 2013
How fortunate are black bears that retreat
at the first scent and flake of winter’s light
into dark havens far from frigid’s white.
Bellies full, they breathe sustaining heat
and rise and fall into sweet slumbered bliss.
Unscathed from descending deprivation,
unconsciously content in their sedation,
the unknown is quite impossible to miss.
But, what if fortune crooked its fickle head
exchanging bear’s superficial gifts of sleep
for the restless fate the clever vixen keeps?
If virgin eyes witnessed icy glistening beds,
before a myriad of soulful seasoned riches missed, what then?
Would the fortunate ones feel fortunate to ever sleep again?
original 11-2011 (below)
“I’ve been sleeping a thousand years it seems
got to open my eyes to everything
Without a thought, without a voice, without a soul
don’t let me die here
there must be something more
bring me to life
Wake me up inside, wake me up inside
call my name and save me from the dark
bid my blood to run, before I come undone
save me from the nothing I’ve become”
Bring me to life, Evanescence
original 11-16-2011: read more »
March 23, 2013
I’m getting better every day. I mean it
this time. Better – physically, mentally.
Hell, even spiritually. Everything.
The healing was taking so long. So long
that pain was allowed to take its toll on me
and everyone around me. Everything.
Tired eyes began to lose focus, and forget
the healing straining to happen. I sank
into despair, my bed. Everything.
No more. I’m getting better every day.
Healing is healing, and like me, it is deserving
of time, gratefulness. Everything.
I’m ready. Can you see it? The light that waits
beyond the gray? It’s there. So here and now – rejoice
for each new step, day. Everything!
It’s Gonna Get Better, by Genesis read more »
March 21, 2013
Bright light hurts my eyes
with my blinders off.
No more looking back
or spinning ’round in circles.
Focus forward now.
Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again (lyrics):
read more »
February 26, 2013
If only I could travel the world,
like so many of the great poets do,
maybe then I’d have something
worth writing, and reading. But then,
I’ve been to hell and back
a couple different times.
You would think that should count
for something, no? Yes, and
on a good day, I managed
to abandon all sanity, journeyed
all the way to crazy, and escaped
with barely a scratch. Even now,
I can look up on any night, into the eyes
of our constellations, while inhaling
the same black sky that you,
and ancient Greeks, breathe. So please,
don’t be surprised, at least no more than I,
should you look into your soul
and somehow find me there – smiling,
beside some well-traveled poets.
Every Day is a Winding Road, by Sheryl Crow