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Dorothy A Oct 26
It is a tool for battle
A symbol of saving grace
Jesus was crucified on it
And I imagine the cross,
Its portion inside the ground
As like the tip of a sword
Its sharp and spiked end
Plunged into the dirt,
Its horizontal part
As the quillon, the crossguard
Of its majestic knife

Who was on that cross
Is a Man that was pierced
His hands and feet
His head with thorns
And, lastly, right into his side
But it is he that, too, can pierce
And penetrate the hardest
Of men and women
With his love
Dorothy A Oct 22
Never lose your sense of wonder
The kid inside the adult
One who never comes
To know it all
But one who stands in awe
Of possibilities
And life to come

Still learning
Still dreaming
Still creating
Dorothy A Oct 22
I'm a Michigan gal
Born and bred
My family has been here
For over one hundred years
Covering one whole century
And parts of two others

I'm a Detroit native
Born there like my parents
And my mom's parents
And her paternal grandparents
But the suburbs
Are where I reside
I have lived no other way

Michigan waved at us
With its mitten-clad hand
It beckoned us in
With a welcoming gesture
Yes, Michigan did
I love where I am from and
I'm proud to call it
My home
Dorothy A Oct 15
I lost my mom in August of 2022, a very short time ago. I lost my father much further back, in January of 2005. In my fifties, I still feel like an orphan. Tongue in cheek, I say this, for I'm obviously not a kid anymore. It's still sad to lose a parent, no matter what age you are or how long of a life your parents lived. Even when you know the time is getting close, it hurts no less. Pain is pain.

I was expecting both of my parents to die, preparing myself for it. They both had dementia and were in mental and physical decline. That said, it was still a shock. To see my father with his blue eyes wide open, and my mother laid out on the floor after CPR was done. My mom attempted to get out of her hospital bed in the group home. Not in a million years would anyone expected her to end up on the floor, after not walking for four years.

They are both gone now.  They are certainly not forgotten. Memories can fade, and time has done its work on those memories where my father is concerned. Pictures are a great source to look upon to keep things more vivid.

I still want to call my mom to tell her something, for a second or so. Her death is still fresh in my mind, and has yet to fully sink in. I grieve, but I still think I haven't felt the full effects of my mom's death yet.

They didn't hear "I love you", from their parents, so my parents didn't say it to me or my brothers. Their home lives were rough, and they brought some of what was done to them into their new family.  I'm glad I was able to initiate it with my mother and keep it going. I wasn't able to keep it going with my dad. It felt awkward, at first, but children need to hear it.

Though there is much more I could relate, I'm sharing just a few words. Writing can be a tool for healing. I am thankful for it.
  Sep 3 Dorothy A
cs wondering
This is not a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is not romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.

This is a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.
I think-

— c.s wondering
Hello friends!

It's been so many years since I last came on here to create poems. I guess something sparked inside of me tonight, and just like that- I'm back.

And I hope everyone has been well x
Dorothy A Aug 27
I see that plane in the sky
Like a big, mechanical bird
It makes its way onward

Where's it going?
Where's it headed for?

In my car
Waiting for the train
To finish crossing the tracks

Where's it going?
Where's it headed for?

That bicyclist
Looks like he's on a mission
Two-wheeled, manpowered movement

Where's he going?
Where's he headed for?

Their destinations are unknown to me
But I'm often a traveler in my imagination
Good ones, mostly, I embark upon

Where am I going?
Where am I headed for

I've seen a fair amount
Of different, actual places
New faces, abundant

I'm still gonna go somewhere
Still heading for yet another destination

Alive, and breathing
Dreaming hasn't stopped
And destinations still beckon
Dorothy A Aug 24
I have to remind myself
To be aware that
Just because I'm
Having a bad day
Perhaps, having a
Rough period of life...
Pain, sadness
Confusion or anger
Whatever the struggle

Not to become
A porcupine
Not to form
Some pointy quills
For self-protection
Or preservation

I don't want
To poke or ****
Anyone who
Unknowingly
Crosses my path
Who doesn't deserve
A sharp jab
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