Tags
becoming, breath, connection, destiny, dreams, faith, forgiveness, grace, gravel roads, life, living, love, memory, old maps, passion, postmark, reason, relationship, restless, resurrection, soul signature, spirit, strength, travel, truth, understanding, wandering
for years
I thought to leaving
some rush into the night
would heal my heart –
and bear me to the light
a silver moth
of aging lace
surrendered to the flame
circles ’round me
gathering
the same
as was before
some other me –
some witness I can’t speak
of love I know
would beckon me –
beyond the realm of sleep
as stones were laid
beside me there –
as purple paper worn
now and then –
are light
before the morn
with wonder to the reasons
why I keep
what I can’t find
when all I’ve known
is leaving you
behind
peacocks march
a broken porch –
smoke rings chill the dark
lines are drawn –
and still I run across
the moment
of permission –
the corner where I stood
wishing you
and swearing you no good
but for me
a truth unspoken
gives pause most every time
I find the gate left open
while making up
my mind
. . .
tornadoday 
The gate is always open…, the choice is always ours. I chose once but can no more and now I stand inside an open door. xo
Paul
….just as long as it’s not locked from the inside……
Never ! 🙂
I really enjoyed this piece. Thank you for sharing it.
Thank you, Jay. Your kindness warms my word. ~ Love ever, Bobbie
Your heart always shares the deepest of emotions in all that your write! It is easy to love the moments that are shared with the spirit that finds life on paper by your mighty pen! Thoughts are touched by their magic as they embrace in a sweet dance together…always delightful to feel their enlightening rhythms!
I refer to these as ‘rambles’………moments when i just made sure I had lots of paper, sufficient ink……….and nothing to keep me from going. Thank you, Wendell. ~ Always love, Bobbie
It more than how it make me feel, it’s the images that are painted in my mind reading this, maybe the photo give a place to start, like falling into a dream, but the words and the images give life to the poem, and the reader starts asking the same questions, and is left with the same wonder. good poetry – no, great poetry fills our mind, like watercolors fill our eyes with wonder at how each brush stroke created this whole vision … Wonderful !
….or what mixture of tears and blood make the sweetest sunset……….
Thank you for your kindness, Peter. ~ Love ever, Bobbie