~Castle in the Sky~
In the summer of my days,
I sit alone on a chaise in the bedroom.
Books as cue,
And my chest heavy from my burdens.
How will this all end?
The inevitable question.
Deemed to be alone forever?
I dare not to consider this.
Suppose, is to assume I’ve lost heart.
For not is my will to strive for passion.
He’s somewhere I have not looked.
I agreed to be found
But stuck in a labyrinth to test my fate.
At the door he awaits to seize me
And share me with no other.
I am aware of the existence of love.
The love that is already all around me;
Yet it does not come easy.
The sun strikes the afternoon position.
I lie upon my chaise and fall into slumber
Like a potion has been ingested.
My lover calls to me,
In my castle in the sky.
I try to run to him,
The fog is too thick
I cannot be seen.
I move to the sweet sound of his voice.
There is a gate in the mists.
I cannot gain access.
I try and fall.
Though I persist.
I yearn to be with him.
I must find him
He ought to reveal his identity.
I see a vague figure,
Far beyond the gate.
I cry out to him
Pleading to let me in.
My heart pounds so hard
It leaves ringing in my ears.
My veins pulsate with adrenaline
My stomach hatching butterflies.
He starts toward me
“Yes!” I think,
Soon he’ll be revealed to me.
As he ascends from the entrance hall,
I begin to be pulled back.
Quickly blinded and yanked away.
“No!” I scream,
But he doesn’t seem to hear me.
I try to grab onto the gate,
My hands slipping,
I cannot take hold.
He is becoming farther and further away.
And then my eyes open.
It is then,
I realize it was just a dream.
He is lost to me
Out of breath I seize the glass.
I take a sip
Then smash it against the fireplace.
With my head in my hands
I look up;
Panting and yearning
To be free.
Woman and the Fork
There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live. So as she was getting her things ‘in order,’ she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes.
She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.
Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.
‘There’s one more thing,’ she said excitedly..
‘What’s that?’ came the Pastor’s reply?
‘This is very important,’ the young woman continued. ‘I want to be buried with a fork in my Right hand.’
The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.
That surprises you, doesn’t it?’ the young woman asked.
‘Well, to be honest, I’m puzzled by the request,’ said the Pastor.
The young woman explained. ‘My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, ‘Keep your fork.’ It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming…like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance!’
So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder ‘What’s with the fork?’ Then I want you to tell them: ‘Keep your fork ..the best is yet to come.’
The Pastor’s eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.
At the funeral people were walking by the young woman’s casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, ‘What’s with the fork?’ And over and over he smiled.
During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.
He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you, ever so gently, that the best is yet to come. Friends are a very rare jewel, indeed.They make you smile and encourage you to succeed. Cherish the time you have, and the memories you share. Being friends with someone is not an opportunity, but a sweet responsibility.
The dew that rests
upon the grass at dawn
Gives way to a day
brim with enthusiasm
As the sun gleams
A new breath for them.
The trees sigh
while providing cover.
A Weeping Willow
Calling on a song.
The birds sing
Melodiously for it.
Revelation and relief come.
Happy to fly
And flying is happiness.
For the birds have answers.
The sand is boiling
Finding relief with the surf.
All kinds of creatures
Use it as concrete.
Without cognitive awareness.
The water is joyous.
It has it’s ebb and flow.
There is order there.
~ Losing Innocence ~
Why do we risk it all for love?
No matter how exquisite,
Passionate, wonderful it is,
Whether we part for differences or in death,
No matter how much we try to hold on,
Change ourselves or our other,
Govern and protect the relationship,
Thus, why do we do it?
We do it for the moments that will reside with us,
For the craze and lust.
The obsession, infatuation, excitement.
For the zeal, enthusiasm, passion.
We do it for us;
To penetrate over into,
Me and You,
We wanted it all.
None of the pain,
Just the good stuff.
Well, we had it.
The good, the lovely.
What a surprise!
We lost ourselves,
The rhythm and balance
How did we not see it coming?
Stumbling on to a new realm.
One in which we operate alone.
The composition wrecked.
We smashed into that brick wall.
Afraid to leave,
I knew you wanted out.
Maybe a break?
You opposed it.
We could not come back from it.
I could feel the coming loss.
But not in the way I expected.
To get us back.
The excitement could mend us.
It did for 72 hours.
Then the ultimate force of depature
In a small elegant English hotel,
You died in my arms
On a Saturday morning in London.
Thirty five hundred miles away from home.
The initial shock blasted my mind and body.
The detonation of torment pierced my soul.
Unadulterated suffering terrorised.
I lost my equilibrium and steadiness.
Embarking in an unknown world,
Where the dwellers seethe with agony.
A spot was saved for me there,
Where fumes suffocate.
A Hell on Earth
Where Innocence is Lost.