Waxing poetic on thoughts, theory & the times
The flowers were dying,
And yet remained beautiful
Even with rust-colored edges,
I grieved to see them go,
As petals fell,
And valued them in their present state,
But knew even this too shall pass;
I cut a sample of each,
Hung up to dry,
And the memory of the intent and this treasure
Is preserved.
I appreciate
The time and attention gifted
To me
And about me;
I have never known
such tender attention before,
of simple presence,
Void of expectation,
To be heard and cheered on
By a friend,
And in part, a fan
Of me in my creative expression,
–My art in body and mind;
So, this is what it feels like,
Attention from the receiving side;
Blushing,
Humbled and grateful,
I aim to balance this
And the bloom of feeling
Stirred by the other
A magnificent being in their own right,
Who I yearn to still know better,
And to reflect
Their gentle affection
of attention
Back
I don’t want to thank you
For something you never wanted to do,
I don’t want to thank for the pain that has been endured by you,
I will thank you for being human,
However that may be,
For being a spirit of compassion, of vulnerability,
I will not thank you for pain you shouldn’t need to feel,
I will thank you for feeling the need to protect me and my,
Even if I don’t agree in our enemy,
I thank you for being Soldier,
my family, my friend.
I will be thankful,
But will also be aware,
This day is a myth
Be thankful always,
For each breath you may still take,
For what others may not
Know your history,
Not propaganda,
The ugly parts too
Shame warrants action,
Warrants accepting the truth,
Warrants giving back
Thanks and commitment,
To making amends,
No matter the guilt
This is our story,
We choose our next roles,
For that I give thanks
This evening I turn 32;
A decade since I cried
With bronchitis
Not knowing what to do,
A decade since I swore I’d failed,
That not knowing what would come next
Is what was making me fail
This evening I turn 32,
So much has passed since I feared
My body was at the end of the line,
That my chance of treatment was only giving me
Borrowed time
This evening I turn 32,
A flip of my favorite number
A number I’m not sure why,
but I’m drawn to,
Everytime
This evening I turn 32,
And look back
at what 32 has brought me,
It’s not perfect
But it’s mine
My heart
Inside
And then there is
The heart that beats
Outside my breast,
And snores
To assure me,
Yes she takes another breath;
And a love that snores much deeper
Than our babe
On the other side
of my body
This evening
I turn
32,
And like at years 3 and 2
Insomnia wakes my dreams
To wonder on ,
And on,
And overthink
My next 2 to 3, to 32 years
She of Letters 