Tags
becoming, bliss, breath, destiny, faith, fearless, forgiveness, grace, kentucky, life, love, old maps, reason, relationship, spirit, strength, truth, understanding, wandering, wisdom, woman
fortune
never lasts for long
swirling in my cup
chamomile
and curses each goodbye
leaves
and lockets
someone breathed
into a braid of wishes
lilac blooms
would haunt the snow
with briar
by and by
stories
I can ne’er decide
where the past was ended
chapter twenty two
and still I grieve
ashes hold the only proof
letters e’er were written –
secrets kept in
cedar –
fade but never leave
miracle
of almost when
deeper love becoming
fragile as a web
of spinner’s lace
ribbons never lasted long
tied
untied –
remembered
moments of surrender
burdened not by place
sentiment
of bursting hearts –
souls the night comes raining
lanterns of the eastern sky
heaven follows near
as one before
the garden grew
from mystery and maybes
lights along the headboard
ashes falling here
tornadoday 
I find myself stretched between hope and the ashes, waiting for one of them to blow away……… A truly haunting penning, poet!
Sighs
e
O, Eric. Did not the Phoenix rise from the ashes? Thank you so much. I read your comment and thought back to something I wrote many many (many) years ago, and a line which read ‘I’ve found myself this way before, between the bedroom and the door – and wondered which step would take the longest.’ Thank you for such a sweet reminder of other days (and of the Phoenix). ~ Much love, Bobbie
Every day must end before there can be a tomorrow.
Tomorrows are for dreamers, one and all.
If there were no dreams, there would be no tomorrows.
~xo….always~
Paul
But there would be this – this remembrance of a place – a moment never known before or offered again. And that is where our truth lies – in the space between breaths. Thank you, dearest Paul. ~ Much love, Bobbie
stuns the heart with its beauty……Love, Linda
O, thank you so much, Linda. Oft times, I wonder if maybe I should stop before I stop. 🙂 Love you, Bobbie
Beautiful, Bobbie. And though the pages burn to ashes, the stories remain and have a life of their own. Love, Dee
…..Indeed, dear Dee. For as long as one remembers, the stories live. For not only our own immortality, but for our children and grandchildren, the stories matter for they are the richest threads running through the tapestry of our life (our love). Thank you so much……may the fabric that is your life be filled with color. My love to you always, Bobbie