re-reminders ~

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thought i once
the path was gone
every fence torn down
could barely see
the meadow
for the trees
nights i took for granted
stars that used
to shine
shooting re-reminders
of a wish
i made
one time
another life
we fit together
gave of breath to know
the ways that we would come
with moments yet
to hold
years to grant
gathered as a promise
once we made
would find us here
remembering
the wish we left
to fate

. . .

wrapped in hallelujahs ~

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threads
have come unraveled
stitches wearing thin
i can almost
see the color
of my light
tempted i for taking
another chance
to understand
love i knew
would keep me
through the night
wrapped in
hallelujahs –
the hero
of your dreams
let morning come
to steal me –
i won’t care
as long as this
reminder
wears the face
i love
when threads are lost
and every sheet
is bare

. . .

fated me ~

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forgive the past
to rattle
pages loosed by time
words i dare not worry
lest i grieve
the path i took
to find you –
love we came to be
one night i saw
you there
beyond the trees
when morning
you awakened
to understand my ways
how many tears
this longing to appease –
for this
the hand
that holds my heart
the lips that warm
my name
a summer dream
surrendered you
to me

. . .

a little life ~

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How often are those moments that clear the way for everything that comes after? The moments when if you had misunderstood, you no longer do.

I don’t know that those moments are good, and at the time, they likely don’t feel ‘good’ since they can often come as a clear indication of how things are, what matters and whether you matter to someone else. They come with directions for what to do with what remains.

This morning, I was forwarded an obituary (Obituary for a Quiet Life – The Bitter Southerner) and it was a read that reached deep into my soul, such that I wanted to share it.  And there, the turning point. In attempting to read it, I received a barrage of questions about the cost of obituaries, etc., until I gave up on the possibility of finishing the read.

My point was never with the cost of the obituary, but it quickly became something else. It became a crystal-clear indicator that the person I was reading to had no interest in listening; and further, of greater significance, no interest in the fact that it mattered to me.

It is the moment when you realize what you’ve been dancing all around something for several years; the moment when you realize that the life you are living isn’t the life you want to die with.

It’s the moment when you realize that all the physical appearances of a good life are irrelevant to what is stored with the heart, what is carried within the soul. If missing, it will never be the regret you take to your grave.

It makes you want to move the bed, break all the dishes, and throw away ten years of accumulated greeting cards, nail polish and half used bottles of lotion.

Nothing matters. Everything matters. You can get there from here, now that you fully realize (if you hadn’t already) that here isn’t the place where you want to finish your story.

https://bittersoutherner.com/feature/2023/obituary-for-a-quiet-life?fbclid=IwAR2B0dEViX2O0A-IE8BFIVc2ntwgOeBa32K180yYN1sZzc0-3pgeZhCD3SE

 

i didn’t know ~

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whatever this
ache was meant
to steal away my joy
i will not stay
i will not lend
my heart
to break (for less)
than love that bears
the scars i wear
love that knows me well
i will not fall
(not far)
i will not let you
hurt me now
whatever this
were not for love
came to be
my truth
love i thought i knew
(i didn’t know)
when measured from a moment
bridges fell
(bridges burned)
before i knew how much
of love
remained (of me)
to learn

. . .

stars to lean upon ~

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from this
another waits
the story to begin
carried up in shadows
velvet blue
candlelight
and evergreen
somewhere i hear singing
a fluttering
of breast
beneath the truth
a branch
no one could reason
stars to lean upon
i knew you once
did you ever
know my name
who will be remembered
when nothing left
is sure –
when everything so different
feels the same

. . .

like this ~

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as the last
constellation
brushed into light
planets not yet given
to name
as weeds tangled over
the barbs of our past
I want you
to love me
that way

as a three quarter moon
oceans obey
souls coming back
for a kiss
as the memory of sparrows
sailing to home –
I need you
to love me
like this

like a wild
tameless river
split through the pines –
canyons carved
to the sea
pebbles and seashells
left to our wake
with reckless abandon –
love me

. . .

rhyme to waste ~

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whatever words
you hold of mine
suffering to bear
confessions of a saint
– deepest praise

recompense
for shadows –
dancing on the wall
whispers of surrender
falling now

verse to bind
rhyme to waste –
the place
where love begins
witness to a sigh –
breath becoming
skin

whatever words
you keep of mine –
whatever fate is come
stretched to span
eternity –
saved for us
the one

. . .