“come home”
love speaks quietly, frantically
sipping from the cup of ignorance, i stray further
i wish to dwell a bit longer; i’m not ready to go yet
the sun dips below the horizon, but the flowers here are luminescent
i am enamored with their innocence, their roots so firmly planted in the past
i remember so vividly, they were so much more beautiful then
before was so beautiful
the wind picks up, and love calls to me
“come home, come home, come home”
but i am so young here, so young and open
i am not ready to close my doors
i want to stay longer, don’t make me go just yet
please, just a few moments more
but love pulled me away
love comes in many forms,
and it drew me into its arms and taught me on that day
that true love is sacrifice, and telling truth
even when truth is agony
love knows that knowledge is pain,
but acknowledging pain is the only gateway to release -
suffering is the path that leads to the flowers once again
“he’s gone”
(there is no metaphor
or number of tears
that could resurrect
his shriveled garden –
lord knows i’ve tried)
the present is not beautiful -
the present is disappointing
the flowers died for me that day
and i became uprooted
straying, asking questions that no one can answer
what if?
what if?
what if?
days, weeks, months pass
and love conquers all,
walking alongside me, guiding me through the suffering
my straying has become a direction
i can feel roots sprouting, giving me life once more
i can live again; he and pain are not synonymous
i can see the flowers growing again, just on the other side of this hill
love speaks quietly, with overflowing joy
“come home again, come home, come home”
but i no longer fear these words, not anymore
i’m almost there – it’s so close, i can taste it
i’m slowly beginning to learn –
after can be beautiful, too