Word Jewels – A Poem

Even now,

I have difficulty finding the words,

the right syllables,

to tell you how much I love you.

After all these years,

I find myself at a loss to tell you what you mean to me.

It still feels like a month has passed rather than six years.

Taking my words,

the sounds that my mouth can shape,

I release them.

They float in the air in front of me,

like bright jewels that contain sunlight.

I let out a soft breath,

and watch as they make their way over to you.

They land gently in the palm of your hand.

As they pop open,

they release the words into the air,

the sound of my voice sings out loud and clear,

each jewel holding a word:

husband,

friend,

lover,

soulmate.

No,

that’s still not enough.

I release more words,

more shining jewels,

and send them softly over to you.

When these land in the palm of your hand,

they release phrases:

You are a cool breeze when I am warm.

You are a warm fire when I am cold.

You are the rain when I am thirsty.

You are the sun when I can see only shadows.

You are the stars that help me find my way when I am lost.

There,

these ones are better.

They come closer to describing my feelings for you,

the emotions that you stir in me.

They aren’t perfect and though the words come close,

almost capturing the depth of my love for you,

these words will have to do for now for they are all that I have.

I can only give you my heart,

containing all the words I have,

and hope they are enough.

The Cavern Within – A Poem

I try to find myself

by going inward.

I make my way

past the barrier of skin

that holds a roadmap

made from scars and cuts,

each a reminder

of the road that I’ve been on.

I make my way within

and I can see objects

that litter the floor inside of me:

books and crystals,

each of them shining in the half light,

a tarot card that floats in front of me

so that I am unable to see

what it reveals.

There is the sound of music

coming from the cavern

and I’m unable to place the tune.

I move further into myself

towards a whispering sound

and come upon a sea of words.

The words are from the stories  

I have yet to tell.

Interspersed amongst the words

are splashes of colour,

brilliant reds and dark blues,

vibrant purples, each colour a jewel

in the constant flow of words.

I reach down into the water

and run my fingers

through the words and the colours,

they feel electric on my skin.

I see a boat on the rivers edge

and I climb carefully into it.

Letting the boat take me where it will,

As it travels through the water,

the words making a soft whispering sound,

the light in the cavern grows brighter.

I look around myself

and I can see pictures moving

within the flow of water,

people that shaped me,

memories that I’ve held on to,

ones that have given me scars

and others that have taken them away.

I run my fingers through the waters

holding the thoughts I no longer need

and watch them disappear.

I’ve already learned the lessons

that they were trying to teach me.

The boat moves deeper within me

and I can see a light in the centre of a small cavern.

The boat stops in front of it and I get out.

In front of me is a ball of light

so warm and so warm

that I can feel the heat of it

from where I stand.

I approach it and the light zooms towards me,

and sinks below my skin in one quick movement.

It is the light that I’ve forgotten,

a part of me that has remained hidden

for far too long.

As I get back into the boat and head back

the way that I came,

I hold my hands up to my chest

where the light sits within me.

I move back towards the barrier of my skin

and I wonder if I will be able to feel the warmth

when I am back on the other side

and how much brighter

I will be.

Just One Moment – A Poem

“It’s just one moment becoming another.”

I clutch these words to my chest,

in hopes that they will

take away the sadness.

It has been my constant companion,

not a friend but not an enemy either,

over the past few months.

It resides in me,

a mantle worn on the inside

of my skin.

I can feel it growing bigger

with each passing day,

growing its fingers within mine

as if they are appendages of a tree.

Soon, I worry that it will

control my mouth and speak

only words of despair and lost hope,

or riddles that make no sense.

“It’s just one moment becoming another.”

I work at welcoming in the light,

the one thing that the sadness can’t abide.

I try to burrow down within myself,

much like the mantle of sadness has done,

and I locate the light.

I pick it up softly and blow off the cobwebs,

talking to it softly and whispering

words of encouragement.

I tell the light that it is beautiful

while I clutch the words to myself.

I can feel the despair

begin to fill all of me,

I’m so full to the brim.

I do the only thing I can think of

and hold the light

to my heart.

I repeat the words to myself over and over:

“It’s just one moment becoming another…”

Gradually my light begins to grow brighter

and I can hear music

over the sounds of water.

I open my heart

release the sadness.

It leaves my body in droplets that pour from my skin

and when they fall from me,

they are but small pieces of crystal

shaped like tears.

They remind me

that there can be beauty in pain

if I learn to let it go.

They are a reminder

that emotions are like the waves.

I can’t hold on to them.

They are but moments in time.

I look towards the future

and what the next moment will bring.

A Box of Time – A Poem

It was time.

I took a box

and got my novel

ready to send it off

to my publisher.

The bankers box

seemed too big at first,

a void of space too large

for a simple manuscript.

However, I knew that the space

would fill quickly.

I gathered everything up:

every cup of tea I had drunk,

all the candles I had lit,

every conversation that I’d had

about the plot and the characters

with my patient husband

looking like a scattering

of post it notes

shaped like speech bubbles.

There were several hourglasses for

all the time I had spent

trying to find my way

through the terrain of the story.

The box contained its share of shadows, too.

Every moment of self-doubt

and self-hate

that had filled me

during the writing of the book

went into the box as well,

looking like a thick oily mass.

I could hear it squelching wetly

at the bottom of the box.

It was trying to rise up

and coat everything else

that I had put into the box.

To counteract the black mass of nothing,

I slipped in some magic:

The dreams I’d had

while dancing with the words,

dreams that would follow me

into the daylight hours

until I was able to

capture them on paper

went into the box,

the dreams shaped like small clouds.

One of the last things

that I put into the box

is a sprinkle of dust

that sparkles like the moon.

I saved the light

that was made

from the spark of the idea

the novel became.

I sprinkle the dust over everything,

this dust that became the idea

that became the book

and it sparkles as it settles in

amongst the post it notes,

the hourglasses,

the candles and the cups of tea.

On top of all of this,

I place the manuscript

wrapped in a protective envelope.

I give it one final pat,

a small gesture of farewell,

and as I place the box lid on top,

I remember everything that went into the story,

all that the story took from me

and all the pieces of myself

that I picked up along the way.

Gasoline Rainbow – A Poem

Sadness is difficult.

It creeps up on me

so that by the time

I find it living within me,

it is a surprise

to find it there.

I glare at it,

trying to give it the look,

but it is impervious.

I yell at it,

throw things at it,

tell sadness that it is not wanted,

but still it stays.  

Soon, it fills my head,

beginning with a rain

that drips down

throughout my body,

until I am heavy

with sadness and unshed tears.

I look at myself in the mirror

and there is a wetness to my eyes.

Sadness talks to me in a sly voice

that shines like gasoline

when it has dripped into water,

so pretty but so lethal.

It whispers in my head

and it says things like

“You know that no one loves you” or

“It’s impossible to change the world, why do you try?” or

“It would be easier just to end it.”

This is not my first dance with sadness.

I look at it,

I take sadness in,

shining like a rainbow

but I know that the sheen is fake.

I know that if I dip my fingers

into the puddle that contains the rainbow

it will disappear

and leave only the smell of something

that burns my nostrils.

Instead,

I look for my own light

that hides beneath the sheen.

I can see it dancing behind the rain.

Reaching into the gasoline rainbow,

sadness looks overjoyed,

but that look changes

when it sees what I’ve grabbed hold of.

Pulled out of the wet sadness,

I hold my light,

a mere grain of sand in my palm.

However, it is not the size of the light

but the brightness it shines with.

I clutch that grain of light

and I know that,

with time,

it will be a sea of light

that will welcome me home.

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