Ashes of Hope

 

Wounded, and yet

she walks

Invisible

among the Ashes of Hope

that once was her

Life, her

Love, her . . .

Everything.

Where they . . .

What was it?

Where they

Existed

Survived

Pretended

(Or whatever they did there)

But never

Loved

or

Cared

or

Touched.

But now she

Rises

A Phoenix

Out of THOSE

Ashes of Hope

into a new

House of Hope

so 

Even with a broken wing

Broken heart

Wounded soul

She can finally rest

in safety

Peace

and 

True Love and family -

Never looking back

at those 

Other

Ashes of Hope.

I said what I said

 I said what I said . . . today.

But once upon a time

it was always wrong 

to speak the

Truth

to expose the reality

of

what

was

really 

going 

on

in

our

home

(actually just a house, but never a true home)

So I was always wrong

for speaking 

any and every

Opinion

Idea

Thought

Question

or

(God forbid!)

any words that might

reveal the truth

-

"If you had just said it on Monday instead of Tuesday,"

or

"You should have said it in the kitchen instead of the living room,"

or

Well, maybe, if you had said it in the morning instead of the afternoon,"

it was always

WRONG

and I knew that I would 

surely pay 

for speaking

and my words would

Vanish like the steam from the

bubbling tea kettle on the kitchen stove.

But

Today

I said what I said

and

I meant what I said

and now 

the ONES who love me

respect my words.

Grief (Like Snowflakes)

 

Grief (like snowflakes)

follows me through the darkness.

Sometimes it arrives as

a mist or a fog,

hovering around and smothering me

in layers of sadness -

like snowflakes drifting down

and down and down

until every sound is muffled

and the frozen air

cuts through as if

a surgeon's knife 

in delicate hands

eviscerates my soul - 

sharp as a razor

one can barely feel the

cut

until

it 

bleeds.

Other days . . . 

grief, (like snowflakes)

rages through the air

with roaring winds

as if ripping the very

skin from my bones.

The fire of frost

burns inside my throat

as the scalding tears

race down and down and down

until I can barely breath

but then I know

at least

I am still

alive.

Always Wandering

 

In my dreams 

I'm always wandering

Searching for . . . .

I'm never really sure . . . 

Sometimes I'm searching for

Mistie

My babies

Home

Myself

and for some reason

I can never find

Home

no matter how many

obstacles

broken bridges

fallen trees

mountains

or 

dense forests -

and then when I awake

I am Home.

Split Infinitive

 You must never forget

how important it is

to some

Very Smart People

NEVER

to split an

Infinitive -

Because, if you ever

decide to split an

Infinitive

Some Roman or Greek

god or goddess

will be displeased with you

if you forget

to NEVER

split (oops!)

an 

Infinitive.

House of Leaves

 

When I was just a little girl

we lived in a rather simple

cottage in the woods

near a small lake

in Michigan.

There was a lot of

dirt, mud, and weeds . . . 

and lots of

bugs, snakes, and spiders . . . 

but in the autumn

there were leaves -

lots and lots of

beautiful golden, red, orange, and brown 

leaves. 

My favorite time of year,

when I could grab the old rickety rake

and make beautiful piles of leaves

all laid out in little "walls" for my

House of Leaves.

There was always a kitchen, living room, and bedroom

(never-mind the bathroom as I was already outside!)

and then once the "walls" and "doors" were made

I could put all kinds of things in my little

House of Leaves!

An old broken board set upon two tree stumps

that just happened to be abandoned

in the woods behind my house -

the perfect kitchen counter!

And then another (partially rotted) stump

for a chair (or sometimes two)

A corner with more leaves piled up neatly

to make a bed

Another corner became a "couch" with

carefully constructed leaves, old boards, and blankets

and there I played for hours on end

in my little

House of Leaves.

Shattered

 

It came to me

the other day . . . 

like looking into a 

broken mirror -

my soul is 

shattered -

but you can still see

the image of who

I really am

Silenced

 

In the midst of a room full of

Very Important People

(mostly men, of course)

all talking about

Very Important Things

(of which I apparently know nothing)

I think I hear my voice -

but I can't be sure -

Perhaps I just imagine that I

For Once

Have something to say

to these

Very Important People

That is worthy of

Someone

Anyone

listening to me.

Never Enough

 

Never, never, never . . . 

No matter how high

the mountain I climb

or

how rough and raging

the river I cross

it will never

ever

be

enough

Surgical Strike

Surgical Strike

PUBLISHED ON January 10, 2017

You strike in an instant, when nobody sees –

except me, so with trembling smile

I keep walking and talking

as if I am still human –

but you make sure, that I will never be –

human again