…passed this way
-Lin Cava
©2013-January-23

Ah, my dear one…
Will we never learn?
Does time and trial
teach us no lessons?

Or, are we immune,
ever blinded by proximity –
too close to gather the truth
to spin a skein of knowledge
strong as silk
and just as soft?

Time decides for us
when we are late to act.
For nature cannot wait,
and must move on.

And time has come and gone –
for what was once an open door;
was once opportune for the moment,
has softly closed and locked in place.

And the hands of time
have latched all but the memory
of what might have been…
The windows are barred;
frosty with the cold left behind.

Through the silence
of a world hushed
by the snow of indifference,
a heart soundlessly freezes
and breaks.

Yes, I Was There
The lightest of touches,
Splashing into my dream,
water, rushing in its courses
call me to wake.

Birdsong,
sounds above the breeze;
the soft down hair upon my arms
feel the movement, as the leaves.
Warmth of sun upon my face
the scent of such a verdant place
though one scent more,
not in the words,
but there between the lines.
A tinge of musk, a warmth
just over my shoulder,
I sense your eyes, upon my hair
and fingertips,
yes, I was there.  
The call was clear,
the place was true and strong
and underneath the surface
I felt the love of place, belong.

Lin Cava©

For someone unforgettable.

Always

I try not to know – hateful of myself
for the delusion
Straight up, bite the spoon, take the pain
and then – the sadness…

I grieve without right.
Each time I deny the connection
call it false; wishful thinking
that thread tied into my heart tugs
and I feel it once again…

How can one who has no soul
no belief of such a thing
ever acknowledge a soul mate?
But I do – I cannot deny it.

And he; something ails him.
I am certain, and he is guarded.

Never can I run to his side,
look into his eyes -
I peer into his heart,
and find him, curiously,
buried within my own.

My touch is there
my hand extended
but he faces away
Is he trying to close a door
where none exists?
A doorway, I will ever keep open
should he have thought
or heart to seek,
I shall be here
waiting for him to find me
once again,
and Always.

Lin Cava
14-September-2013

For Loss

Why do you grieve?
I feel a sadness,
it pulls so strong
as an angler's hook
buried deep within the heart.

Why do you grieve
my friend?

Where have you been
and is it pain alone
that keeps its company in you?

I need not ask,
for I feel it too.
In grief and heartbreak
the tether remains
as in love - a connection

Write, my dear friend;
for in your words,
your truth, your heart
your sense so clear
your self, cautiously shared.

And I?
I shall feel,
once again
hope to know
to touch the magic
in your words.

Your words
have never been
of singular dimension
and yet
it is ever a pleasing surprise
to find you there
where I often hide
amongst the words
and between the lines.

And suffer no more
for loss...

-Lin
CC-28-December-2013

Whisper

In the dusk; the fading light
my consciousness floats
free to sleep, to roam, to dream.

Daytime’s resonance, artificial and brash, drifts away.
In its weakening wake,
within the soft quiet of evening, Nature speaks again.

Gently, she hums; she whispers;
shushes the leaves in the trees,
buzzes; at first a quiet drone -
cicada in the night - swelling,
a cacophony builds to crescendo,
to diminish as cools the night.

Nocturnal creatures rouse.
Night flowers with each new awakening.
Every one with their own instrument,
play their part in her Evensong;
deliver unseen complexity to the music.

Night deepens, and the Mother
puts down her baton, purses her lips
and breathes out her scent -
to float for the zephyr to take –
a bearer of her gentled nature
to those who dream within her tune.

The sparkle of the stars
bear cold and quiet witness
to the wonder of Her pristine night,
and the bearer of the keys of life:
This Earth - for which She is guardian.

Mother drifts into my dreams,
leaving me with bittersweet.
She touches my heart in whispers with her message,
and harkens me to carry it forward.

Dawn brings magenta skies.
Before the tinny, manmade sounds
carry me to daytime, I hear Her once more.
Reminding me of the song in my heart.
She bodes me remember where I will find it,
and to listen.

For it can only be found in her Whisper.

-Lin Cava
        
CC 25-October-2014

Loss…

These are the shadow days,
the dimmed-light hours
where voices and visions
abide in the bowers -
their memories revived
as mere faded apparitions -
I weep softly for dear friends
asleep among the flowers.

-Lin Cava

14th December 2014

***
Copyright © 12-2014

Too much...

It always seemed so rare - to me -
the Shakespearean slings and arrows
we all are said, to suffer -
could take such daunting blows.

But they can, and they do.

We all deal differently
some with armor,
some with dark sadness,
blood red anger,
deep consuming depression,

and often, Denial.

Ah. Denial. A close personal friend.
He breathes to ones lips
a kiss of relief; obscuring truth;
a sly tongue slipped in, irreverently
with the lie.

Denial. A seed of peace upon the heart;
and yet, black death awaits the bloom
its blossom sweet -
dismissing of the Truth.

Denial will never save one.

He will obscure reality,
diffuse the pain
and lead one down the path
where discovery awaits - too late.

Denial and Truth - Mortal enemies

I learned too late;
Did not heed Truth's solemn gaze
His words, unspoken, but there;
"Be aware. Don't dismiss. Danger lurks."

Truth - the quiet one -
whose thunder sounds in one's soul
when comes discovery...

Truth works within.

We do not listen to that tiny
whisper - as soft as a spring breeze.
I wish I had listened,
suspicious of Denial's kiss.

Alas, too late.
Too little time -
and much - too much,
to prepare for.

Lin Cava
2016.4.09
CC

Invited


Does a soft breeze touch your face,
whisper in your ear
connect you to another place
Yes, you were invited, dear.

It has been so long,
yet thoughts of you linger still
the feeling so strong
actions and propriety must bend to its will.

And yet, you are a shadow
a darkness in the mist.
Listen for a tune hummed low -
grasping of sand in an impassioned fist.

Come near, once more -
Upon the sand in breezes fair
let your heart explore
my fingers, again, brush through your hair

Sometimes, memory is so strong
but it isn't much
when a heart will long
for only your touch.

I search not to be the only,
Nor promises of love, unrequited -
but to connect - a heart not lonely,
Yes, my dear one - you are invited.

24-October-2015



cc LinCava

Legacy

It never seems to happen,
that walk along the beach
I always wanted to take with you.

I have to tell you these things -
because one day I won't be here,
and you won't know.

Now I'm sure that there are ways,
other than a final passing from this earth,
where I may not be here.
Maybe in body, but not in mind.

I worry about that.  
Every person with dementia,
every one with Alzheimer's - they all have heard it,
even though they won't remember
that they should not worry - It's normal,
just normal, it's the way we age
only to have to leave this place
before the body fails, a shadow left behind
not at all representing what once we were.

I don't know what's worse for a person to go through -
failure of the body
or failure of the mind.

We are comprised of everything and everyone we know.
Every raindrop, every laugh, every tear;
the anguish and the joy.
When that goes away, so do we.
An angry, failing shell remains to sap
those we love before it passes and is finally done.

When the body fails, it's hard to reconcile that active mind,
that spark of life that makes us who we are -
is robbed from the rest of us - we who remain.

One minute, there - alive and active,
and the next, the body fails,
and the promise of a future, with it.

Everybody dies.
Bald truth.

Carry something of me forward
that my fleeting moments upon this earth
left something behind in those I love.
Forgive me of my failings,
so I may make peace for them.
Celebrate some little thing I leave to you,
in your own way.

Once, not so very long ago,
I gave your hand a double squeeze.
Your child's hand, so small,
then a woman's hand,
Our own little ritual,
now carried forward
to the sons of my daughter.

I am not my body - it will fail.
I am not my mind - it will pass.
I am only what I leave behind.

And this is all the legacy I hold,
for my daughters and my son;
for the sons of my daughters,
and perhaps the babes
of my grandsons.

-Mah

LMC 5/6/2015 cc