Those lucid memories of early youth;
of hot summer mornings and sultry afternoons,
with hands, red with raspberries and currants,
and sweet gooseberries, round with ripeness.

Upon the forest green I lay, eyes turned to the sky,
beneath the cool of the house birch.
Concord delicacies picked fresh from our garden
stain with their violet blood, are devoured in haste.

Magic days of Koolaide, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,
and long walks through the amber September fields,
flash before me; forgotten photographs in my mind,
sweet memories brought to life by your taste.

Your thistles sprouted long ago, at our birth;
seeds from corrupt distant lands,
found root inside our soil flourishing, unchecked,
we grew blind to the depth of your scourge.

Small and unnoticed, in a corner of our land,
still, we turned and let you grow,
refusing to address your prickly stalk,
blindly thinking you would die.

But seeds of your thorns have grown throughout,
floating on the winds of hate, spreading its toxins,,
crowding out the wonder that could be ours,
spoiling its soil with your roots that run deep.

Now our land, filled with thorns, with deadly poison grow,
infested, a bountiful harvest of anger and hate.
We follow the rest in sorrow and shame,
in a land where wicked blooms grow.

Each autumn, my heart aches for  you,
and drifts back to so long ago,
with smells and sounds of fall’s awakening.
What seems like just a few short weeks,
a lifetime swiftly passed me by.

You left us on that Tuesday morn,
as rain seeped from the wet outside,
and caused our eyes overflow,
raining down on tear stained cheeks,
that drenched us in bittersweet release.

We huddled round your dying chair,
while softly holding silenced hands,
as if to hold fast to your soul,
embosomed to its earthly bonds,
hearts longing that you stay,

Our broken hearts could not endure,
but knowing that your time was nigh,
we placed a kiss upon your cheek
and with a blessing sent you off,
to be at peace from cancer’s grip.

And as you drew that one last breath,
you mouthed those words bereft of sound,
and with that final breath bestowed,
on us a gift, your dying words of
“I love you”.

I’ve buried you upon the moon,
along with all my secret desires.
I’ve hidden you away from view,
protecting my tender heart.

The secret lies we tell ourselves,
so we never have to face the truth;
the lives we lock behind our doors
and desperation of our youth.

I’ve banished you to that life of grey,
bereft of me to dwell on you,
and shades me from judgmental eyes.
releasing me to live in peace.

I pour you out on paper with my pen,
like sour milk past its due date,
discarding the pain you’ve left me,
with your brutal goodbye,
as you turned me away into the black night.

I spill out my rage for your coldness;
for hiding her inside and letting me think
that I was the only one.
I rage on for making me love you,
and for not seeing the telltale signs until too late.

I stand by my basin at last,
and with a single stroke of a match, you’re ablaze
with the white hot anger I’ve held.
Your memory crumbles along with the ashes,
as they swirl out of sight, down the toilet of my past.

Humanity, but vessels rich with radiant energy,
created for a noble purpose.
are made of stardust and birthed from beyond;
part of the kingdom of creation.

Hold tight to that nobility;
that spirit of mutual creation;
to the beauty within and our royal calling,
even in the light of today’s world.

Be proud and look to the stars,
from whence we came;
humbly remembering that we are but atoms
forged of the earth by the heavens.

Inspired by a Serbian proverb.

We raise our cries in unison at the rain
as it pelts heavily on our lives,
drowning our tomorrows
with its dreariness and gloom.

Clenching our fists to the clouds,
we lift the voice of frustration,
as we wait for this perfect storm to abate
and give us solace.

As we huddle amidst the shelters
of our convictions,
we hold our breath and wipe
the wet of anger from our eyes.