I cup my hands
to staunch the flow
but down and out
it surely goes
and never stops.
Put your hands 'neath mine.
and hold them tight.
Stop the honey river
running sweet
between clenched fingers
tight and strong.
My silent scream
to right the wrong
and make it stop.
Please keep it there,
and tasting deep
remember love
we vowed to keep.
Still somehow slipping
through my fingers
like sweet sweet syrup
called "remember".
The pain must stop
as seeping slowly
in the ground.
Where is the place
where first we found
a Love to never stop?
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:50 AM UTC
There are those times we soar like birds …
fashioned with wings, strong and bold upon our backs.
The wind guides us upward
on invisible strings and off we go again
to that upward highway and places unknown.
I see you there now next to me, then
with no warning the path would take me elsewhere ...
for a time. But I never really lose sight in my heart
or even my head
that you are never far away.
We have things to learn and places to go.
And yes, there are still some rainy days when hiding
under the eaves is easier than braving
world’s buffetings
and weary is all we feel.
There are days you fold out your strong wings to cover me
And days when mine might comfort you
and we have but just a moment
to forget that life
isn’t easy. But life is growing.
And though the path might seem to swing so wide at times
we would lose our way, or lose each other …
we won’t. The home we built awaits
and you nor I
will forget our way back to it.
Soar with me. We come back home
in peace.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Consider the cello, violin,
bass, gamba, guitar,
all fashioned
with strings that vibrate
into the air
and carry a harmonious
song to the ear
but only if the player
learns to tune
in harmonics.
Consider the heart, soul,
mind, emotions,
no tangible string
but vibrations nonetheless
and oft times not
harmonious at all
but biting, clamoring
for regard, never
realizing for so long
that tranquility more
easily tunes.
So familiarity
can breed learning to
tune ourselves until
our special one sweeps
in the door, or perhaps
just wondrously there
and we offer up
polyphony, faltering
and tenuous time and
time again.
Then unforeseen, a day
your solitary tone
verges mine
and we begin the weaving
of a new song
emerging harmonious,
complimentary
and vibrations sync,
just our symphony
heard for the first time.
So we nurture, listen
and respond with the
purest inside we have
to lend the chord.
And that
is how harmony is born
over and over again.
The air rings with it,
with sweet pause of silence
just so we know the song
when it's there.
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 11:46 AM UTC