Her hands of seventy years
Teach without saying a word
All those baby’s heads cradled
All of her recipes stirred
Delighting in gardens she’s planted
Her hands bring deliverance
Pure fluidity like a young child
Textured by experience
All the stitches embroidered
All the cake flour sifted
So intricate, seasoned, lovely those
Hands creatively gifted
Precisely she chooses vegetables
So tenderly and knowing
Arranging flowers from her garden
All those seeds she’s still sowing
With hands of seventy years
Assured intention without guessing
That teach me without speaking
Is why I can’t forget the lesson
  7d Melissa S
Eric W
You are present as a passing breeze,
carrying the scent of lavender,
caressing my waiting hands
with a gentle brush.
But like the wind,
you are felt by
you surround,
and you wistfully drift away
before I can breathe you in.
आप एक पुरानी हवा के रूप में उपस्थित हैं,
लैवेंडर की खुशबू ले जाने,
मेरे इंतजार के हाथों को छूने
कोमल ब्रश के साथ
लेकिन हवा की तरह,
आप द्वारा महसूस कर रहे हैं
आप चारों ओर,
और आप जानबूझकर दूर बहाव करते हैं
इससे पहले कि मैं आपको सांस ले सकता हूं
  Mar 14 Melissa S
CA Guilfoyle
In the evening comes the dim light, the swooping away of day,
the blue, gray clouds, the turbulent air of wild birds
small specs, black and disappearing.
After awhile only quiet,
and then a certain silence settles in
it moves like fog, alongside the moon
it comes cold, blanketing the soul
a depth of space unknown
a well of darkness, undiscovered
the losing of this day, this light
and in the long, lingering hours
dwelling in the dark caved places
touching the soul and flooding the heart
the crashing waves will come
to break one wildly apart.
Melissa S Mar 13
I listened to my inner voice....
When I was filled with fear, when I learned at a young age that real monsters do exist and they are not like the ones in any story book I ever read. The monsters stole away any normal childhood that I could of or should of had.  Pain muted my words from flowing and poisoned my thoughts into growing... this is why I trusted no one.  
At the time I had no other choice... when I was
really the only friend I could totally depend on and count on
I listened to my inner voice...

I listened to my heart...
When all I could hear was a pounding in my ears, when all around me was like a crazy chaotic whirlwind screeching like a barred owl that would then break apart into tiny pieces and sink into a cold abyss forgotten by the sea.  I couldn’t forget the grief as it was real and still inside me. There was a brokenness about me my
heart was fragile and it balanced on the tip of my own desperation
but still I listened to my heart...
I listened to the words...
Slowly but surely I was able to come out from that darkened sea and was finally able to try and heal me. Words became my saving grace. I learned to not have muted lips and could give myself a fighting chance. I was able to tear down some of those protective walls to try again to live only in this moment without the armor and the hesitation. Writing became my new love... together we became an inseparable piece of one existence...
I felt so much better after I listened to the words ....
  Mar 9 Melissa S
Woman, you take my breath away
Not in what radiates off your precious skin
But what lies deep inside of you
Head held high
Not letting one moment
Of life slip on by
Strength more than a conviction
Capturing every ounce
Of my begging heart
Mother to many, daughter to all
Let me be your comfort
The harbor in your shore
Lead me
Feed me
Be the answer to my prayers
Guide me
Walk beside me
In the waning of our years
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