"solidly" poems
I'm here
in the dark
slowly melting away
into the couch
My unblinking gaze
is fixed solidly
on the flashing lights
that explode and dance
just behind the screen.
The glowing images
occupy my mind
so that I may
drift away
back to
you.
Aug 15, 2011
Aug 15, 2011 at 11:52 PM UTC
Suicide is not an option.
There are times in your life, when time is not on your side,
But please do not rush to your death,
I have no wish to see you die.
I intend to lay here, by your side
And awaken you with a kiss, in the morning light.
For suicide is not an option, I shall let you choose,
Suicide is not an option, I shall let you take.
I wouldn’t want to grieve the loss of such beauty,
So please don’t go away.
For you are everything this poor boy needs,
To sleep at ease each night.
You give me my reason to struggle on, try as life might,
To take me out, I’m going to stand solidly at your side,
For your love gives me strength
And holding your hand gives me such pride.
You are my reason for continuing to live,
No matter what this life may throw at me.
I wish I could mean as much to you,
So if you love me, then suicide you cannot think,
Is a viable option you can seriously take.
Please my love, don’t let me awaken to your corpse today.
Please my love I would do anything,
Whatever it takes, to give you a reason to live.
But suicide is not an option, I shall let you choose;
Suicide is not an option, I shall let you take.
I wouldn’t want to grieve the loss of such beauty,
So please don’t go away.
Have you really given up on us?
Have you had enough of me?
Do you mean it when you say I have your love?
Or are you simply saying that to get what you need?
Because I want you to know I love you so,
This is why I can’t let you just go.
So suicide is not an option, I can let you choose,
Suicide is not an option, I can let you take.
I could not grieve the loss of such beauty,
So please don’t leave me today.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
I hate it when people think suffering is wrong. Learn to pick up your **** suffering, and bear it! Try to be a good person so you don't make it worse! I know you have a lot of reasons to be resentful about school, heck, even your existence! We know it's going to involve a lot of pain, and lots of it is going to be unfair! But acting out everything you're complaining about will only make things infinitely worse, try it. That's why we have the saying that hell is a bottomless pit, because some stupid son of a ***** could figure out a way to make it a lot worse. Learn to accept it! This is what the real world looks like, full of suffering. What can you do about it? Try reducing it! Start with yourself! Get your **** together solidly so that people can rely on you! Square up with what's wrong with you, you know it if you'll admit it. You know that there are a few things you can polish up a bit, deal with it and maybe you can start managing your present insufficient condition. Don't be a **** victim. Shine yourself up a bit so your eyes will be a little bit more open, shine it some more and maybe you might be able to bring your family together instead of having to be that spiteful, neurotic room mate that you're doomed to spend the whole semester with. Be humble about your deficiencies. Figure out how you can make peace with your siblings. You'll get there somehow, and when your life starts functioning you'll find out, "Well, that kind of relieved a little bit of suffering," at least that reduced the opportunities for spiteful revenge. When you little by little start to get your **** together, you'll get acquainted with it because you're doing something difficult. You're wiser, so maybe you could point out a tentative finger out there beyond your family and try to change some little thing without wrecking it. We students are so conditioned to think that we can just fix anything, even something as complex as our society. Well, try to fix a military helicopter and see how far you get with it. You can't just whack it with a wrench and be like "Oh look, it's better!" NO! Life is complicated and to fix things are hard! We overcome suffering by being a better person, that's how you do it! It's hard because it takes responsibility. If you want a meaningful life everything you do matters! Unless you don't want meaning and not take responsibility, because who the **** cares? You can wander through life doing whatever your want! Gratifying your short term impulses for who knows how short it's going to be. Ask yourself if you want to get stuck in meaninglessness, but no responsibility. You'd quickly realize how the majority of your being are pursuing meaningless things. Because the fact is, pursuing meaningful things means taking on suffering. You have to put yourself together in the face of that, and that's hard! When you really get to the bottom of things, you'll realize that you need to make the choice to put yourself together. Transcend your suffering and see if you can be some kind of hero. Be that person who'll make the suffering in the world less. That's the way forward.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:37 PM UTC
Dishes clang loud against the sink
Metal spoons bang white ceramic
Anger defies lifelong contract
Sacred and sealed with tears and tact
Adhesive is this stone of hurt
Lumped solidly within her throat
No easy atonement comes forth
Nor minor distraction does soothe
Her rant gathers no audience
No recall of what stoked this fire
Dec 22, 2014
Dec 22, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
It is November
And all the leaves face my way
Overlapping tussocks of grass
Like long forgotten hills
Dwelling in the overhang of fall
It is November
Orange ribbons hand in tatters
Patched up yellow cloaks are draped
And whisking in the wind
Then drifting to the earth
And becoming winters pillow
It is November
And there stands a lonely tower
Base adorned with red bushes
Flags no longer flying
Crouched and crippled by the frost
It is November
My feet bear down on acorns
A thousand fold
All left and forgotten
Even to the squirrels
Just a layer ‘neath my feet
It is November
The solitary pines stand solid
Near the ivy covered wall
Their boughs raise and hail the heavens
And their needles fall
As the autumn wind dances a mournful dance
It is November
Bare branches rake the cloudy skies
And scratch out their heartfelt pleas
Against cold glass windows
Seeking what they have lost and will not find
It is November
An old gate stands ajar
Beckoning to no one
Standing solidly open
Despite the cruel fall wind
It is November
Trees make colored circles
A fading gold on fading green
A fireworks display
Now falling to the ground
It is November
Cold air fills my body
Cruel wind tosses my hair
I seek a shelter from autumn
My door is open
Now I am home
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:44 PM UTC
The best I have felt in the past 74 days are the days I didn't at all. The ones where I allowed the arctic freeze to clench my veins. My Days took a leap year. Leaving us solidly broken. A times table of rejected latitudes.
We stood at the edge of the world. And By we I mean I.. And I was not standing I was crouched. Feeling out the curve of the earth. Acknowledging that we are all too similar.
We have both been walked on too many times now. Our trenches are deep and less than 5 percent of them have actually been discovered. These mountain tops of ours are hard to reach, but it can be done.
Both of us, holding enough water to give life to those around us. Enough solid for others to feel supported. Air to split atoms and remind others, that maybe this life is worth living. And gravity that keeps us both grounded.
We are one in the same. Spinning madly in empty space too big for us to understand. Feeling small in the presence of giants. Victim to our surrounds. And heated at the core.
Alone. Surrounded by nothing and everything at the same time. I spin. Becoming dizzy. Pondering the impact of actions on my crust. Waiting for someone to treat me better.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:15 PM UTC
we're aboard the bus
me and Gus
me and Gus
we're aboard the bus
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
we're going to West Avenue
to throw a few punches
in the gym with Stu
Stu is a great puncher
his punches are accurate
his left hook
knocks other dudes
really flat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
Stu has them dudes
well ironed out on the mat
us guys on the rough side of town
have to know how to solidly punch
to knock those gang members down
those gang members
are tough and mean
they are the toughest and meanest
gang members
on the rough side of town
Gus and I
are going to take
those gang members on
take them on
take them on
they aren't going to give
Gus and I
no knock out gong
no knock out gong
Gus and I
will have a retinue of punches
to plant on their noses
they'll be redder
than a bunch of roses
Gus and I
get aboard the bus
to go Stu's gym
we're learning
punching skills
off him
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
My being aches for the rhythmic caress of your chest pressing solidly against mine in that most intimate of dances.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
To my dear son, Boaz in distant Idaho,
Saturday nite, the whole of New Zealand waited in apprehension for the All Blacks rugy team to play the resurgent Wallabys @ Fortress Eden Park.
The previous week at Suncorp Stadium in Sydney, in driving rain, the All Blacks muddled through a painfull draw with the Wallabys, 12 points each with no tries.
The Wallabys had fancied their chances and had wanted an emphatic win on home soil.
Both teams took that score as a loss and the gauntlet was thrown for the second match…..
A brilliant evening, clear and fine , 50,000 people crushed in to Eden Park and you could feel the apprehension, the rest of the country sat in front of their TV willing the team on.
The Haka was given a brutal rendition, you could feel the determination, the passion emanating….the Ozzies glared their defiance back…it was all on!
10 minutes into a titanic struggle with the score three all Captain Ritchie McCaw had a brain fade and was yellow carded off for ten minutes by the French referee.
The crowd roared…then murmured their worry like you’ve never heard before.
The Ozzies mustered a huge scrum which the All Blacks countered with one man down…. The counter ****** pushed the Australian scrum back 15 ft.
Every man in New Zealand was on his feet roaring, you could feel the spirit of nationalism soaring….the moment was a watershed.
The All Blacks counterattacked showing a brilliance in attack and defence we have not seen for years… and from that moment on the game was won.
Final score 51:20 The Bledisloe Cup was ours.
As the match finished the TV camera panned across the solidly black clad crowd…. I have never, ever in my life, seen so many, simultaneous, sets of white teeth grinning!
The trip home to Australia would have been… a very subdued affair.
Thought I should share this marvellous moment with you Boaz.
Luv Dad.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 4:28 PM UTC
In the air, floating just next to the window
solidly constructed
as sure as the golden highway
stretching from Frisco across the Bay
looking square
as the acres of boxcars
north on the interstate
on the south side of Chicago,
it's all atoms...
This morning my son postulated to me a so-far unrealized condition
relating to matter transmitters and, probably, hyperspace. "What
would happen, " he asked, "if some guy transported himself inside a big rock?"
Indeed.
Putting on my ears, I considered the situation. Would the hypothetical solid mass of rock give way, shudder just enough to allow the insertion of a soft, squishy human being? Or would the spaces in their respective atoms--rock's and human's--intermesh neatly with each other? Molecular integration? But such a challenge to the atomic bonds holding the things together might result in a nasty atomic accident. Would that leave a human-shaped void inside the solid rock, a mold exact down to the finest details of skin texture and even eyelashes? Imagine the crystal-filled waters seeping down to find such a hole--Behold!! Geode Man.
Holding my silver pen extended
like a rapier before me,
I dissect the wispy chunks
of smoke. The balance of air
that gave them form
is destroyed. They are
no more.
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Revisited Merak harbor one late evening
a shape of sea fairy and colorful torches
were seen from afar , chattering calls in 4 languages. 4 squalls in once was a plage
their dancing flames asked me to come closer
I hurried along the sleepy shipyards
passing massive warehouses fenced by rusty wooden doors
giant padlocks accenting (reminded me of a fancy cocotte loaded with blingbling)
stacks of oversized containers solidly sat speechless. Sleepless.
The light of each torch lifted into the sky. Seen by another eye
1883 eruption of the Krakatau crater. 130 years later the odor of its curators
I ran closer. I fell. I laid there a while , got up and ran again.
I lost my head and missed my right foot along the way. I did not care.
When I arrived the torches were there in front of me
reincarnated into thousands inhabitants who had lost their lives
bodies covered with revolting cesspit oil
For a second they transformed into torches again. One blazing in my hands.
Regretfully, I had lost my head so I did not understand.
The fairy stared . I wasn't scared.
: come, come, …come purifying Sunda strait
dissatisfying the idiots thought it could all be fixed with tax rate
I moved toward embracing fairy arms
(Possibly, this close hugging love was only for beach-sea friends)
So, I united with the torches
A bit of a breach pushed us towards the petroleum . Demolished it all. Cannonball.
Black fog shrieking that same words : Keep up the struggle . Stay strong !
The alien residents might think I was making choices
but the fairy was leading me around
the torches reshaping the ghost-town
Chattering calls in 4 voices. 4 languages.
Yet, for the officials ears , all were still voiceless. Pointless.
(Pulo Merak - Cilegon - Indonesia )
Dec 31, 2013
Dec 31, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
Loneliness is pages splayed across the bed
It is clutching the empty space beside me
Writhing in agony, knowing very well
You're not there
Loneliness is having my blood run cold,
My feet solidly planted to the ground
Every time I hear the unfamiliar ring
Of my (prosaic) name
Loneliness is basking in the sweet but transient
Moments of companionship, when your supple
Lips brush mine (and sparks flit down my back)
Knowing they will soon be relics
Loneliness is donning heavy, splotched clothes
Sodden from last night's tears and broken memories
It is having your mind plagued with yesterday
Loneliness decays your today
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned
Yesterday's Mail; the casualties (typed small)
And (large) Vast ***** from our latest Haul.
Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned,
'For,' said the paper, 'when this war is done
The men's first instinct will be making homes.
Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes,
It being certain war has but begun.
Peace would do wrong to our undying dead, -
The sons we offered might regret they died
If we got nothing lasting in their stead.
We must be solidly indemnified.
Though all be worthy Victory which all bought,
We rulers sitting in this ancient spot
Would wrong our very selves if we forgot
The greatest glory will be theirs who fought,
Who kept this nation in integrity.'
Nation? - The half-limbed readers did not chafe
But smiled at one another curiously
Like secret men who know their secret safe.
(This is the thing they know and never speak,
That England one by one had fled to France,
Not many elsewhere now, save under France.)
Pictures of these broad smiles appear each week,
And people in whose voice real feeling rings
Say: How they smile! They're happy now, poor things.
2k
A LOVERS QUEST
Just like
Romeo and Juliet’s
Two wolf packs
Very much alike
With dignity and pride
But keeping themselves far and wide
But these two lovers met
And never wanted to depart
The lover’s quest
Began in a land so far and wide
One family on one side
And the other family
On the border
Both looking and growling
On opposites side of the line
Calling the pair back to the pack
Where they reside
The lover’s quest
Broke free
From both their families
Running wild and free
Away from the pain and misery
They travelled the lands
Far and wide
Their quest to find their own
Happiness
Through trials
And their own tribulations
The lover’s Quest
The pair found their own den
Happy as can be
Away from all that was
And their own families
This quest
For our Romeo and Juliet
Is at its best
Their nest was built
More solidly than their own before
Happier, gladly
This quest has led them both
With their own wolf cubs
From heavens store
What more could they have ever asked for?
Our Romeo and Juliet
Rest now in heavens clouds
Happy
Carefree
Just how it should be
Below they see their one and only child
With a love so pure and simple
By his side
© Teresa Joseph Franklin
Please note that this is my Pen Name
30th April 2012
All Rights Reserved
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 7:51 AM UTC
Pity the wimpy Democrats
They suffer in defeat.
Year after year they don’t learn
Like Republicans you must cheat.
Stuff all the ballot boxes
And monkey with the machines.
You’ll never get a **** thing done
If you keep the elections clean.
And band together solidly
With your chosen party.
Lie and cheat and dissemble
And act like a pompous smarty.
Never worry about what is right.
Just brazen it through out loud.
It seems jerks do the best
When catering to the crowd.
Buy votes from everywhere
Especially from big industry;
Big Oil, Big Banks and Pharma
Kiss their butts shamelessly.
Make sure all the factions
That are stealing the country blind
Understand you have their backs
And treat all of the poor unkind.
Go on tour and television
And make out you’re the good guy:
Dare the opposition to debate
Then Ignore facts and lie.
Remember the public is stupid
And doesn’t know what goes on.
Run a crew of cheaters on the side,
It’s what elections depend on.
But most importantly, you must be
The most obnoxious candidate.
Start early and spend the bucks.
It’s deadly for you to start too late.
Run the most famous people:
They must be Christian and straight.
No matter how you cheat and lie
Promise America will be Great.
Cover your butts before you start.
Plant a lot of baseless rumors.
Make baseless stories about their past.
Swear voting wrong causes tumors.
Do what it takes, Democrats
The GOP has no compunctions
If they could just get by with it
They’d beat you with truncheons.
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
I think I figured out why I don't like pencils
They have advantages, I admit
I draw a hundred times better with them
And write fifty times neater than with
My usual plethora of pens
The colors and textures of the ink
Only a small part of my reason
I think I don't like pencils because they are
Impermanent
And smudge too easily
Ink only smudges when wet, and soft
Then it bleeds color all over the white expanse
It is set on
Inks and graphite, they don't mix in my head
The graphite is always too grey for me
Too dull when I use it
The inks give me the paint of gods
To shower in bold all that I deign to
And then pencils wear down,
Far too quickly for my hand
I need to scribble fast and hard
The pen stands much more solidly
And for me the pencil is too subtle and gentle
Not nearly enough vivacity
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC
My mind became a castle in the sky
Musing together events I know could never happen
Afloat in the ocean
A body of a much bigger form than my own
That of which I am not accustomed to coping against.
But, I manage
And I lay there, with no worry in the world
Of who I may be
Or who I may not
What I can solidly remember
And the pain I thought I forgot
The crisp severity of the ocean on the outers of my skin
A rivalry counteracting the heat my anger is ceaselessly producing
An effortless breath of cold air
And no endurance needed to fight against the current
My head being totally consumed by waves, in intervals
But enough to refresh my inner cognition.
One deep inhale and I can feel you,
Just before I start to slowly fade under
And when I think this can't get any better,
I finally hear it; the thunder.
It's loud, and I've been waiting, and I am scared
But not worried enough to budge
The storm is growing strong above my physical, still body
And with the moving body below me that I want to love so much.
What I can't grasp fully, though, is the way I will not move
I know I am terrified of the consequences,
I'm already worrying
As I have been, this entire time
Time figures out that it's not my body that refuses to move
It is manipulated by my mind.
I am content.
As long as I stay in this opposing body
It reminds me of all of the things I do not have
Rather than the things I do and can't accept.
I am saddened, that my breaths were not voluntary
They were forced by the love I can not feel.
I know it's there, I know it's real.
Reminded by this ocean,
I am very much alive.
And although, inside, I may be broken and numb.
Sometimes, I can be fine.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 8:17 PM UTC
I am surrounded by so many people,
all of these friends that love me
and i can't help but wonder how did i get here?
How did i find this?
I had no one and i felt like nothing.
I wanted so badly for someone just to touch me.
Place a hand on my shoulder, hug me.
Any kind of human contact.
I was dying with out it.
Sinking into a black hole in the earth.
And here it is.
Here is love.
Here are arms embracing me.
I found a place to call home and it not a house
but in the hearts of people with spirits so beautiful
that they don't even seem real.
Is this real?
Sometimes i think i made it up, made them up.
That really there is no love.
How can it be real?
It doesn't make sense that once i felt so dead and empty,
a ghost floating around the earth.
Just an empty shell with broken bits of a girl inside.
And now to feel so alive and vibrant and here,
and solidly placed with my feet on the ground.
I sometimes don't even recognize the sound
of laughter coming from my own lips
or the unfamiliar feeling of smiling to much.
Is this me? Is this happening?
How can I be that same dead girl
that was so invisible and missing so much?
Yet none of those missing parts seem to matter much anymore.
Maybe it will always surprise me
that people are even capable of loving me
or that I am even capable of loving them in return.
Surprising that i can even open myself up to those arms of people.
Surprising that i'm even still here, alive everyday to feel this.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
Hidden stigmatas fall from your heaven
Solidly landing as a pathway to your righteousness
Running from your broken land
Broken lamp
To provide you with silver thread no more
Centuries of torment squeal under burnt rubber
And mudslides turn to avalanches
Room for the becoming
Pens leak ink over new white blouses
Draped over chairs like makeshift tents
Next to fireplaces to read
Seclusion from enormous intruders like yourself
Dusty pills litter the night table
Subtle reminders of doom once left
Left to chance
Echoing clacks as ***** scatter everywhere
Across the green felt next to the portrait
Covered by the heavy burgundy velvet drape
Whose eyes are blind to your savage beauty
You put the bell in the jar and cried out lonesome
Too many times before
You tried to pick some mushrooms
But it’s harder than you thought.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 4:00 PM UTC
You are the candle that ignites rebellious against the dusk
Defiantly noble as one cursed by pride must
You are the smoke floating in the waves of evening's cold
Less honest than your sentiment is bold
You are the weary diary entries of bleeding wrists
but what is a blank canvas without a risk?
You are a dive bar so neon and ever glowing proud
But what is a gathering without a crowd?
You are a monument solidly marked and stern
But what is lesson when no one learns?
You are a canon brutal in force but ever afraid
But what is a symphony never played?
You are scar scabbing and lifetimes past dead
But what is a confession never said?
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 5:29 PM UTC
Tired of the hate
Tired of the love
Tired of the heat
I'm tired of this.
All these reasons
But I breath still.
When others left
I stayed still.
Wish I moved
Or lived a life,
Loved a little
Despite the strife.
Loved solidly,
Like my back
Harbouring a knife,
My love harbouring violence.
He dwelled and it grew
In the silence,
In the dark
It grew to be
More than a mark.
He shrunk to be less that Him,
I pray to Light,
That he won't dim.
But too late, it's gone,
Hate won over
Love had lost,
He became what he was made.
Society abscent of the cost.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 3:31 AM UTC
Bound in chains by cyclic affairs
Patterns of the past - my chrysalis
Has ceased, complete paralysis
From language's malicious pair-
what if?
The edge of a cliff,
Or solidly on land
I'm unable to distinguish on which I stand
One step will disclose all
But what if I fall?
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
It hangs on the wall, in its place, solid, unremarkable. Outside, the seasons change, the Sun rises and sets, time passes. The cupboard is full now, and has been for many years, a place to put things and close the doors, hiding them away from casual guests and inquiries, one in a row of solid boxes mounted to the wall, doors are straight, hinges oiled, it hangs true where ceilings meet walls, and walls meet floors, and floors absorb the many steps of those within. And I, I spend my days filling the cupboard with past lives and past Life, and no one looks within but me. Its shelves are full now, but rearranged at times, the faces to the back for now, the names placed in the front for easy reaching, times and dates to the side, all within reach and sight for when I need to look and remember, safe behind the oaken doors I’ve closed. A rare day indeed, of late, do I open it, washing away the dust of years, taking notes and inventory, each item in its place, filed in memories and dreams, then closed again. A half empty glass sits on the counter below, the setting sun throwing thin beams of light through the window, the cupboard now in evening shadows, waits… and stays solidly quiet in the darkening room, content with its place and its purpose. Quietly, night falls, birds hush, stars gleam dimly in a darkened sky, and within, ceilings meet walls, walls meet floors, and floors wait for quiet steps and the cupboard still hangs true and straight, a place for a sleepless hand to open its doors and place a dream within. It waits… unremarkable… solid…it waits.
JC 2005
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
I have not changed in years (it seems),
physically I am constant,
six feet and lopping sack of
bone and skin, buck-forty
on my best, wettest day.
These months have flown as
leaves in fall.
November is come and soon
will escape with the wind
as well and I am solidly planted
at a desk in an office with a
floor too hard to deepen the reach
of my roots.
I am like to wither and rot,
left rootless in snow and
ice; ash of autumn, flowerless.
The trees will die—grounded,
yes, and utterly passionless.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:23 PM UTC
Silent Queen
You sit in your majestic tower
Of the tree house, your brown hair gleaming down
Your strength and integrity bound
So deeply within you
Never did I notice,
Apt to the silence of your manner,
How greatly you tried
Your effort denied
Silently.
It’s funny the way one can live
So within their own space
They forget
That interacting is also receiving
When we were young
I was the one to run
To climb the trees
Steal all the Popsicles from the freezer
Soil my hands and stain my shirts with blackberries
To be the teaser
And you would change my shirt, save me from a beating
Accept my ferocity
And wipe the blood from me
You weren’t the one
To fight away the demons
You were the one
To keep them at bay
With silent protests for a better day
When we got old
And wrinkled,
Just a little.
When I hid my face
And you did
Age with grace
I noticed then
How ample you were
How you held yourself
With a profound rooting
To the earth
How grounded
And stable you had been
And the regret washed through me of the times
I secretly was ashamed
Of the way you walked
And how dissonant I thought you were
And so at a party a group of us sat sipping wine
And mocking the time
Across the table I heard you laugh
And never did I notice your voice before
And I could see between the lines
You
As you
And me
As me
Afterwards I laughed
I cried
At my new realization
What a burden I was
To you
So wild
And carefree
But what struck me was
That you held me
Just Like I was still a little girl
And I was making a fool of myself
But Still
You shushed me to sleep
A grown woman
And right before I closed my eyes
a final tear
For good
You whispered
How jealous you were
Of my experimental whirl
Eating life in
Like sauce on my fingertips
And I told you how jealous I had been
Of the way you wore long skirts
And wrapped your arms to your chest
Always knowing what you wanted
No need to want more
To explore
And like two old witches
Or sisters
We laughed
Until the moon was gone
And the sunlight streamed through
Our cauldron
Bubbling to the brim
With the new strength found within
Rejoicing we found
We are each in the air
Yet solidly,
implanted on the ground.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 3:24 PM UTC