Sacrifice

It was a sacrifice of youth

for youth . . . 

that etched the creases

line by line –

her hair like silver frosted whispers

on the bitter biting wind

of age –

tumble and tangle, lying limp

as weary ringlets dancing

on alabaster cheeks

while white hot tears escape their prison,

tracing threads of hope

in rivers winding down

the fragile, ancient map of

her life.

Another Dream

I had another dream

the on Friday night . . . 

She was trying so hard

to figure out how to 

Fix everything

She asked me if I could help -

of course, I said, just like before

I told you over and over and over again

Take my hand and I will walk with you

I will stay with you

I know you are afraid

And feel all alone

but I promised you I would stay

And yet

You were the one who

Went away

And now I can only

Dream that you still know

that I would have helped

Anything, everything, to 

Fix it . . .

But now it is too late for

This World

I trust God in His mercy

That He has welcomed you into

His arms, so you will forever

be safe and no longer alone

or afraid

But now I only have

Hope

and

Dreams

Wednesday Mornings

 

Will every

Wednesday morning
remind me
You are gone?

. . .  No . . . 

Every WEdnesday morning

I will remember

that I love you

and that 

You loved me . . . 

Even when

The Others

didn't

All but Hope

Standing stripped

of all but

Hope . . . .

Trembling on the edge

of terror,

as ghosts of regret

in their dance of despair,

hover above and

refuse to let go.

Voices of condemnation

rage and roar

from the abyss of judgment.

But still I stand -

stripped of 

all but

Hope.

Water Baby

PUBLISHED ON December 28, 2016Leave a comment

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The Street that was My World

PUBLISHED ON December 27, 2016Leave a comment

In my mind I still can see the Street that was My World.

Looking out from the front porch windows, with the lace curtains gently swaying in the summer breeze.

My little desk, unsteady as it was, held a small light for early morning reading where I often read my Bible and prayed for my family.

Slowly, as the sun would rise so that the morning rays would steal across the the sidewalk on the corner, and the day would begin on the Street that was My World.

Neighbors out walking, or jogging, would sail on by like ships on a golden wave, and sometimes they would even look up and see me in the window.

We might wave, or if they weren’t in too much of a hurry, we might even exchange a “Good morning” greeting, but then they always kept on moving.

While it was still quiet, with the sun just peeking over the top of the hardware store, I heard the church bells chime the hour and then I knew it was time to get busy for the day.

All the things that a mama does, every day, year after year, seem like a mist rising from the spikes of grass, reaching up, up, up to capture the joy of Heaven.

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THE DANCE OF THE ICE PRINCESS

PUBLISHED ON December 27, 2016