Where is the warrior?
Her fierceness a fading memory
Her hoarse roar the sound of past glory
Her doubts clouding once clear vision
Where is the warrior? She asks with a sigh.
When inside she hears a familiar drumbeat
The beat of a heart that wants more
So, while her roar may be softer now
Her battles evolved with age
She looks in the mirror and whispers
I am the warrior
May 6, 2023
May 6, 2023 at 4:10 PM UTC
When is it the right time
To open the closet door
To look in on a journey paused
To risk the truth and find
Boxes taped up with angry haste
Adventures stifled within four walls
When is the right time
To sit with the papers, the moments, the times
To make the decisions
To be brave in the face of pain and find
Cherished moments stuffed haphazardly away
Flashes of beauty smothered by a storm
When is the right time
To laugh, to cry, to hate, to mourn
To acknowledge the truth
To risk the unpredictable path that leads to
A heart ready, open for healing
And a closet - with room for someone else
Aug 9, 2017
Aug 9, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
I watched the sun rise
Bringing light to my past mistakes
Nothing to hide behind
My soul open for onlookers
I taste my shame
And I pray for nightfall
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 4:13 PM UTC
The train pulled into the station
It was the beginning years
The days were not my own
Her, yanking my arm as we boarded
Me, following unsteadily down the row
Hers, the only seat available
Something to be shared
Something to be taken
The sounds of the engine and passengers
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination unknown
The train pulled into the station
It was the young years
The days were meant to be savored
Me, ravenous for freedom
Her, a haunting presence
Something to avoid
Something to push to the future
My seat by the window, roomy with possibilities
Giving me hope for more
My purpose and destination are mine
The train pulled into the station
It was the middle years
The days were lived for others
Me, dragging myself aboard
Her, a presence in a crowded aisle
Something to hide from
Something to question
The window frosted over, hiding the passage of time
My purpose and destination traded away
The train pulls into the station
It is the golden years
The days and story my own to reclaim
Me, climbing aboard, prepared and vigilant
Her, diminished but unforgotten
My seat fully my own
Some stories to be shared
Some spirit to be rekindled
The sunset out the window, guiding the autumn of my life
My purposes and destination lighting the open road ahead
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:17 PM UTC
One day, I looked in the mirror
and saw my parent staring back
Was it the gray hair?
A face more lined and wrinkled?
Or, was it the sadness in my eyes?
The anger in my furrowed brow?
I stared harder.
Had I grown into the hero? The villain?
I blinked and my parent was gone
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 3:14 AM UTC
I didn't see the forecast
The one that predicted my blank slate
I thought it would look different
I thought it would follow a life filled with family, children, memories
I woke up one morning
An empty space in the bed
A calendar free of appointments
An unexpected ache in my soul
A blank slate
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
Sometimes, change is easy
It feels like trying on a new pair of shoes from a favorite department store
If the change feels good and fits, you move forward
You wear change like a badge of honor, a personal achievement
Then, feeling accomplished and joyful, with your chin raised a little higher, you let change enrich your spirit, a necessary transfusion to the soul
Sometimes, change is ugly
It feels like sticking bare feet into a thick mud and wondering why there is resistance
You swing wildly at the fear, as if there was actually someone there
The possibility of change turns you into the victim and the aggressor, fighting tooth and nail to protect the now
Then, spent and weary, when your defenses are low, you let change break through, like water overflowing a dam
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC