Outside my window, you howl through the pines,
like a dog moaning deep in the night.
Through the cracks in my window, you speak to me,
with a whistle of Arctic wind, squealing with delight.

White envelopes the landscape, blanketing all,
blinding those who venture into this wilderness.
Falling snowflakes encircle lumps of cars,
buried beneath this winter wonderland of ice.

The frosty wind slaps my face, with a stinging pain,
and like a robber creeping beneath my clothing,
you steal the warmth from inside.
Bracing against the wind, I head into the blizzard’s bite.

Do you really know about the me I’ve hid inside?
I’m not the girl who I once was, I’ve grown at last to rise,
above the world where I once stood, alone, all by myself,
masked in my own protection, setting “me” up on the shelf.

Do you know that I can whistle, just like other boys,
and climbed to distant mountain tops, to hike past all the noise.
No one knows the me who fought throughout the early years,
a woman now, who raged through life and fought to hide my fears.

Who really knows the me inside? No one, I still believe,
I’m much more than that little girl, who fought hard to be me.
I took that road least taken, ‘fore I heard a quiet call,
to be a woman understood, by one most important of all.

With loving hearts that cradle me,
and soothe my aching mind,
you’ve given me the strength I need,
to leave the past behind.

These wings I’ve grown are far beyond,
what I could ‘er foresee,
allowing me to soar beyond,
my past, both strong and free.

These broken wings are healing still,
and few can keep me down,
for deep within this soaring soul,
are journeys where I’m bound.

On this, a day of infamy,
where most recall wherein they stood,
when breaking news destroyed our world,
and left us shaken to our soul.

We held our breath and watched in fear,
while battling to hold back tears.
For none believed the images
we saw that afternoon.

Now three years past, we still can see,
the remnants of that awful day,
and feel it ripple through our land,
while still we bind our bleeding wound.

Hold fast to our integrity and cling,
to what our founders built,
fight on for what we know is right,
and honor those with thoughtful vote.

“Cry the moon”, I heard her say,
to me this blighted, desolate day,
when time is short and life is old,
when hearts and feelings all run cold.

“Cry the moon”, I heard him say,
our world still stands in disarray.
Who’ll carry you ‘till morning light
and keep you safe throughout the night?

“Cry the moon”, the nations cried,
as thousands more laid down to die,
amidst the bombs and choking tears,
of hate that lasts throughout the years.

“Cry the moon”, the children cried,
and raised their palms to heaven wide,
they pled with God in skies above
to fill our world instead with love.

“Cry the moon”, the heavens played,
a hopeful hymn for those afraid.
When nightly news reports the cries,
and moonshine sweeps across the skies.

“Cry the moon”, the whole world cried,
despite the many who have died.
For we are still one family,
of multicolored ancestry.

So cry the world so all may hear
the plea to make hate disappear,
and make this Earth a better place
where all its people will be safe.

In winter when monsters grow;
when cold and desolation rule,
muddied snow and gray skies
feed the shadows in my mind.

Crawling out of the darkness,
goblins weigh on my heart,
like the parasite they are,
******* the joy from life.

In winter, when monsters grow,
when frost imprisons me,
choking the light from the world,
and feeding the misery within.

Depression, the monster of winter,
crawls into the confines of my being,
and fills me with sadness,
in this cold northern climate.

So honest is a puppy’s love,
kisses so tender and sweet,
a love that has no agenda,
except to be loved.

You burst with excitement,
when I come to call,
greeting me with your dance,
and springing into my arms.

As you curl up on my lap,
you sigh and look up briefly,
before snuggling in,
to dream your puppy dreams.