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Mar 2015 · 741
Rebecca LaForgey Mar 2015
Were I not so frightened of the
uncertainty of death,
I would go and find it gladly;
I'd never miss a breath.
I say responsibilities
still hold me here as well;
but does my family need me?
I truly cannot tell.
I feel I am but a burden
to family and friends.
I find no joy in this, my life..
So what if it should end?
I'm so tired of going without;
sick of pain and trouble;
tired of seeing money dwindle
while debts and needs double.
The world around me has gone mad.
Its greed and strife stun me.....
I've come to see death as escape
from these cares that haunt me.
But death, for now, must wait for me,
as suicide's abhorred.
It's just another luxury
that I cannot afford.
And I'm still here.
Mar 2015 · 339
Rebecca LaForgey Mar 2015
He stands alone, a stern sailor,
implacable and grim;
the cold sea of his loneliness
stretches leagues before him.
He gazes across blue waters
to the far horizon,
resolute captain of his soul,
lord with no emblazon.
Shining out from the solemn eyes:
the brave heart of a knight,
the memories of a mystic,
nightmares dark and dreams bright.
He is one of saintly ideals;
the discerning presence
of his entire generation
rest upon his conscience.
He stands as though he's an island,
the stones of his own will
protecting him from love's fierce gales,
whose wan ghosts haunt him still.
He says his heart is still wounded,
bound by reinforced steel,
never-again-to-be broken,
scarred yet, and slow to heal.
How I know all this to be true !
For I have met, first hand,
the granite of his convictions,
the staunchness of his stand.
He is the fortress against which
I have beaten myself;
the thorns of desire onto which
my heart has thrown itself.
I presumed that I knew his mind;
I thought I shared his pain.
I believed that I could heal him,
help him to love again.
But I've not the forces to breach
the stout stone around him,
nor have I the powers to heal
the wounds that torment him.
Too blind in my love to heed him,
I leapt into the fray;
I chose to ignore his warnings,
and tears today.
For the Scottish ******* know who you are.
Mar 2015 · 403
'In My Garden'
Rebecca LaForgey Mar 2015
Household chores left undone,
food spoiled in the fridge;
dust covers our old TV,
and webs the spiders stitched.

And yet the flowers that I planted
I care for tenderly,
just the way I cared for you:
'Twas never work for me.

The house feels starkly empty
without you there to share.
I cannot rest within its walls
knowing you're not there.

But outdoors in my garden,
I work on, happily,
knowing you're in Heaven
and smiling down at me.
For Paul

— The End —