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Eloisa Feb 23
I again visited my garden of despair
Watered with tears of woes and neglect
And now that the pond of bliss is arid
I once again asked myself
What flowers can thrive on these barrens?
Then I glanced at the blossoms of withered memories
Scattered as wreckage from a landslide
The bushes of harrowing pain I found
Arranged in a line of endless thorny shrubs
Decayed trees bearing the fruit of deceit
Still cast a shadow of contorted lies
I then trod as lightly and slowly as I could
Then plucked a fruit from a rotten tree and got its seeds
And with a chalky smile I hummed a quiet tune
Even in the death of my garden
I saw the promises of healing
As I walked past the rusty trellises and tarnished fences
I welcomed my sanguine memories of perfect and scented blooms
Visions of sun-drenched leaves greeted my anguish with a sliver of silver lining
It doesn’t matter if my garden left me with nothing
What now matters most is here in my hands are seeds of hope
Eloisa Feb 17
You tried to look in the mirror and you gazed at your own eyes
Not just a face you saw but a reflection of the past
You got lost many times, not only once, not just twice
Triumphs laced with mistakes, crowning failures that got surpassed

You stared at the reflection in front of you and saw a space
In it was a mix collection of your joys and your fears
You gazed once more at the woman’s more serene face
Another room was lit with a lot of held back tears

How many years have you forgotten and known yourself
Oh! Fret not for as long as it has taken back to you
For you  have begun to retrace each and every step
So that you could finally mutter to the woman in the mirror
“I love you!”

Congratulations! You now know your beautiful truth
That self-love truly throbs and runs deep in accepting who’s you
That giant tides will be tamed and all storms will be gone
If your soul is your truth, and your heart is your light
Eloisa Feb 17
Don't focus on how many times you felt
and left behind.

Instead, think of how many times you              
stood up,
moved on,
took the courage to let go,
and lived again.
I have no purpose any more.
I’m a painter who’s gone blind
And a singer who’s gone deaf.
There is no call for what I sell.

I still daub colors on a board
To smell the Linseed Oil again
I hear the music in my head
And mouth the words in silence.

There is no surgery or cure,
What’s gone is lost forever.
And I must find a way to live
In silent darkness, if I can.
Retirement will never be for me.  Even a short break is painful.
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