You never really know how strong you are until you're alone,
crying and forced to pick yourself up off the floor.
That is when you can truly see how big your emotional muscles are
and I promise
they are bigger than you ever thought possible.

My emotions were once monsoon rains now a dry summer day. I look in the mirror and notice that I've grown, my appearance has changed. The person from a year ago will never stare back at me with crying eyes and obvious hurt, I am now a woman who is more at ease and alert. No longer feel that I am lost but evidently found, you feel enthused after burying your troubles in cold hard ground.

We'll spend some time apart.
I'll cleanse my broken heart.

~~
Alone, wandering within a dream,
Moving Perpendicular of Counter Clock
Rolling with the Round Stones, Knocking,
Echoing restlessly one after another
Not a romantic tune at all
Feelings are falling randomly
while lovely aromas in the air,
Lights dimming all the ugly duration
while some Faces of Friends hanging
with the Smiles of Sunshine,
Goes slowly between the dreams and shadows
And the sorrows those borrowed
From the chimes of the river,
Over the Silver water while moonlight
Shimmering in a very full moon night.
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

My thanks to the store clerk working the midnight shift
God bless the dishwashers at local restaurants laboring for minuscule pay
To the forklift operators moving freight for hours on end ,
to cleaning crews preparing offices for another day
For the plumber protecting health in the wee hours of
the morn
For sanitation workers hard at work well before dawn

many of his posts tilted
like trees tired of the wind; wires sagged,  
red rusted, but still jabbed the errant cow  
when duty called    

three quarters a century
he rode the same trail; of late,
he had gone afoot, the saddle too heavy
for him to heft  

walking, he reconnoitered  
the tracks with more care--hooves of his myriad steers,  
a few equine signs of the farrier’s labor    
still  there, fast fading    

his boot prints were  
more numerous now, and sometimes
tamped down by the few beasts left
in his herd    

across the line lay his dead
neighbor’s pastures, peppered with mesquite,
pocked by fire ant holes;  no livestock grazed, but the giant turbines whined, white whipsaws slashing not timber, but blue sky    

driven by the relentless winds,
they called to him, in chanted chorus, issuing a premonition:  
one day soon, your fence will fall, and the path you trod
will bear no new tracks for other souls to read