Sanctuaries burn,
Lost are histories, memories,
Artifacts turned to ash,
Only stories are those locked in physical memory,
Lost are homes for souls in search of space,
In search of sacred ground,
Sanctuaries burn,
The world over,
And tears fall,
Tears fall,
That cannot out the flames.
Category: Poetry
Color Theory
Precious child,
You see my color,
But not your alabaster own,
This is the world you were born into,
Me, and the brown plastic babies in the playroom
Are the only introduction you will get to this,
Your little mouth agape
As you ask me in wonder
–A stranger really–
“Why are some people brown?”
And I’ve had a lifetime to prepare,
Tenderly, “Because we all have different skin colors.”
My skin is not an anomaly to you,
But a canvas to be admired,
You will grow and input will develop,
But may you always find beautiful too in
shades that may not be your own
Honey Bee
Your words are nectar
To this bee; inspiration!
–Poetic honey
Fear and Control
It’s the little things,
That go outside my control,
That I fear the most
Phoenix as Whole
The phoenix;
the fire, and ash,
All parts essential to
the new, the old, the now;
the whole me.
Wholeness in Bloom
In bits and pieces,
I am finding myself
in whole,
I was not lost,
I was, I am
in process,
Now peaking out new,
Vibrant crocus
pushing up through cold snow,
Whole me is a flower
in the process of budding
through full bloom,
I will guard this treasure,
And not let it’s appearance be shamed,
My self in bloom is beauty
in rare, raw form
fragile,
and yet miraculous in strength
bending independently toward the light,
knowingly drinking the mana of life waters,
feeding for knowledge,
preparing for
the continual, eternal
blossoming toward wholeness
She of Letters 