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Kim Lang May 2023
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
New poem. I haven’t written in 4 years. Just trying to get back to it.
Kim Lang Aug 2017
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
Kim Lang Mar 2017
I watched the sun rise
Bringing light to my past mistakes
Nothing to hide behind
My soul open for onlookers
I ******* shame
And I pray for nightfall
  Feb 2017 Kim Lang

A single word can fill you
With a thousand feelings
And memories.
Some are warm, happy,
Fuzzy feelings that you enjoy;
Others... not so much.
Yelling, pain, insults;
Dysfunction, blame, guilt.
But "family" is not always
The same thing as *
Sometimes home is a person,
Who makes you feel loved.
They make you feel wanted
And secure in their embrace.
They give you those happy, fuzzy
Feelings and light thoughts
On your dark days.
And you, my friend...
You are home to me.
February 25, 2017.
Inspired by some of friends that have helped me through my hardest times. Thank you Mer and Will. If you ever see this, know that I love you both so much.
Kim Lang Feb 2017
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
This poem is about the tumultuous relationship I had with my mother - even after she passed. I miss her and I don't...
Kim Lang Feb 2017
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
Kim Lang Feb 2017
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
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