You were the star she never looked
You were the path she never took
You were the wind she never touched
You were the story
she never told
But you are
to me
the page
I never tore

life before the pages being written
is potential

Life in mid-sentence
is a form book

Life after publishing
is homage

I sit face to face, the stage set
For stories to fill the space
Free to meander through my head
The voice on the page
Leaves nothing unsaid
Revealing the reflection of a me
That I so dearly want to be
Seeing what was once misread
Refusing to be so badly misled
Sighted on the possibility
Of life in step with a golden thread
The voice on the page
Lifts free and I find myself
In every word he said
Ready for a fresh first person
In my very own new narrative.

Many Winters they have passed,
since you departed from this place,
many years and many tears,
to leave their mark upon my face,
you always had a lovely smile,
a shining bit of grace,

Cooking in the kitchen,
just cooking fear away,
I really wished I'd learned from you,
that you had chose to stay,
we couldn't know the sun,
just wouldn't rise that day,

The pumpkin seeds and love,
you cooked up tasted good,
and you created beauty,
like no other person could,
and you loved every person,
like we all already should,

Don't know how,
I'm just like you now,
I'm sure you think so too,
I share in all our time,
what I believe is true,
the sky is ever changing,
in it's lovely shaded blue,
Cerulean is a favorite,
of her painted sky in view,

So keep an eye on the horizon,
keep a hand to guard the Sun,
rest you in the evening hours,
when a grateful day is done,
even if we die,
our battle clearly won,

So I drink my wine at night,
and I celebrate to live,
I'm thankful for what I have,
and for in what I can give,

A little bit of you,
and the others I have known,
you are all a part of me,
  from the kindness I was shown,
from a tiny budding seed,
what a lovely thing has grown,

For I now have the seekers heart,
a seed from those before,
handed down in kindness rare,
an told in times of yore,

Learning in my life,
to end it all with sage,
so careful take it down,
to write on every page,
to ever have your back,
if war should ever rage,

I will share in what I know,
I give with words and hands,
I will tell the galaxy,
of the universe's plans,

And love will finally find a way.

Cherie Nolan © 2017

I begin to write in a diary
My life in of itself
My day to day series
Of what I think of myself

One day the page is bleak
I write of no light
Of pain it reeks
A day of complete blight

I look at it after I'm done
My sorrow in black
It makes me want to run
And never look back

But then I go to bed
Before I make an emotional cage
The next day I awake
And turn the page

On New Year’s Eve, 2015,
I cheerily wrote you,
From the other side of the world:

“’Tomorrow is –
The first blank page
Of a 365-page book.’
Let’s make it meaningful!”

On New Year’s Eve, 2016,
I wholeheartedly write you,
From the same state:

“Thank you for joining –
The same cast,
In the same reality,
On the same paper;

Thank you for living –
The same words,
On the same page,
In the same chapter;

Thank you for wanting –
The same things,
With the same pace,
In the same manner;

Thank you for sharing –
The same story,
With the same close,
In the same series.”