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 May 2018 Jesse stillwater
River
While I was sleeping
I dreamed of you-- heartache
Of trains going nowhere-- aimlessness
Of my sister-- safety
While I was sleeping
The birds awoke
And sung their lively tune
But when I wake up
I'm never truly awake
I'm always tired, half-awake
Daydreaming of better days.
As I wake in my sheets,
Aggravated anxiety.
Blue light peeks, reminding me of my impropriety
Of the night before.
Like the melted ice throne in the last layer of fire,
My thoughts agonize.
I became the prosecutor when I was the prosecuted liar.
These ordinary overcast mornings
Are my favorite to step in to.
The city smells ripe,
And I think of it with you.
But I will go to trace my patterns
Worn into my body.
Another weekday in which I tread.
Reading messages unread,
Apprehending what’s next.
Life doesn’t need explanation,
Only bread.
But I will stop to worry those worries
Worn into my body
And only hope there may come a palm to press into my spine
With a touch so fine to entwine
A belonging, a needing, into my mind.
It’s always hardest to wake up alone and remember.
You lived your life without fear
Nothing in this world could
Break your will to stay alive
Those shadows from the past
Have disappeared into the night .
Your nightmares took to flight
Now you sleep with pleasant  dreams.
Your enemy marched with heavy boots
Through the town and narrow streets
Their journey came to no avail
They missed you in your plight
To reach out for those greater heights
Their ghostly presence failed for sure
And went out like a flickering light .
Their guns of war lost their use
Their planes no longer in the sky
You are safe now sleeping full of hope
Shadows of the past now out of sight
Do not be afraid of those who **** the body but cannot **** the soul
Mathew 10:28.
As autumn weaves its spell and colours change,
long days of summer fade into the past
and spring's soft green is but a memory.
The leaves, so lately fallen from the trees,
shrivelled and brown, now lie upon the earth.
The morning chill brings hint of frosts to come
while pale sun weakly shines, and sets too soon.
As weeks go by and days grow shorter yet
winter moves on. Then slowly fails the light,
and soon enough will come the longest night.
I wrote this (or at least posted it to another site) in October 2014, and thought it had been lost, but it had been saved to a memory stick, and I've just found it again.  I remember that when I first posted it I had no inkling that there was another meaning to it, and only recently, as I age more, do I understand what it was really about.
There was so much we never did together,
places to go and other lands to try,
so much we could have learned about each other,
so many things to say before goodbye.

Nobody ever knew how much I suffered,
but, using all the strength that I could find,
I always coped. My strategies were successful,
the ache of separation left behind

So many times the same has happened to me,
and every time the anguish will restart,
just as intense. Although it's so familiar,
regret comes like a band around my heart.

Falling in love, each time's a new experience;
the same thing goes for learning how to part.
A big thank-you to Mary Elizabeth for her very welcome contribution, which has turned this into a proper sonnet. If you haven’t seen the first version, it's a few posts back in my stream, but this is better.
my soul was trapped
inside
her soul

her pain was part of me

I clutched it
like a tiny bird

I couldn't set it free

~~

when I let myself
become
all that I could be

she breathed a sigh
the bird took flight

now she's a part of me
When my mother died - she was too young to die and though I had left the nest and had young children of my own, I was still too young to be an "orphan" (my dad had died 3 years before). My depression became worse - I hadn't yet "broken completely" so I didn't even realize it, I guess, so hadn't reached out for help. When I did crash and had to seek help, and found out I was bipolar, I realized I wasn't to "blame" for how I was; that I was more than the frenetic,  dark, worthless  person I considered myself; and most of all that there was help. Things started to change. It is a long road, better managed now. In looking back, I'm convinced that my mother was a very depressed person but never had sought help. .
I'm trying to capture that in this simple poem. I hope I have.
One day I turned around
I looked away
For a second
To reach for Mother’s hand

I heard a sound
And turned back ‘round
In a flash
Life; transformed

There I saw
Where stood before
Our family tree

Mother as roots;
I as the stem
And now; fruits

In a second
My youth forgotten
And maternal thoughts
My mind did fill

How so fast
Did this day come?
Once the stem
Now the roots
So quickly
Life transformed.
A simple poem describing how quickly life changes and our roles can go from that of a child (the fruit) to that of a parent (the roots).
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