Poem: Life Reflected
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Posted:Jan 31, 2015 10:30 pm
Last Updated:Apr 23, 2024 7:6 am
2166 Views
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She looks back at me intently from the other side,
Familiar somehow, though her identity hides.
Recognition reflects back from her deep, dark brown eyes,
Tho the truth of the “who” remains a surprise.
She is obviously older than blurry memory reveals.
A pretty face that lived life... that still loves, laughs, and feels.
Her look is now softened, Life mapped on her face,
Remnants of emotions add a strong sense of grace.
Her brow furrows in thought,
Lines between her eyes deep.
They were put there by life,
What experience will reap.
Lines fan out, too, from eyes that sparkle and shine,
And I'm certain they will crinkle in amusement... just like mine.
They add character and depth... which is what the world sees.
These lines earned by one who loves to laugh, play, and tease.
Her small nose upturns at the end just a bit,
And I bet that her glasses tend to slide there to sit.
Deep lines etched out to frame a lovely-shaped mouth,
Punctuation for a laugh biding its' time to get out.
Her lips are a bit thin, but look inviting and warm,
Soft and smooth, glistening red, a truly kissable form.
They curl easily into a crooked smile that's so bright,
That her whole face shines with that warmth and that light!
Her skin is still smooth,
Good genes I assume,
Though slacking in spots,
A woman's portent of doom.
I take all this in a piece at a time.
Then suddenly we lean closer, her actions mime mine.
Our fingers reach slowly as if wanting to touch,
But meet glass, smooth and cool, and the impact too much.
I watch as her eyes widen, then fill and spill tears.
We've reached the conclusion and will now face our fears,
She is the ME that lives and loves... even grieves,
This face now the tapestry 5 decades weaves.
Before reality slammed in and identity became clear,
I saw before a woman who done her best year by year.
So why now that her grace and beauty are my own,
Does a sob rip from deep down... a grief-filled resonant tone?
I am the one who laughs and loves, who still lives.
Time to learn to embrace the change a life lived fully gives.
Gratitude must be shown for having made it this long,
I will learn to love this face to which I belong.
(easier said than done!)
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Poem: The Dance of the Walking Wounded
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Posted:Jan 31, 2015 10:28 pm
Last Updated:Apr 23, 2024 7:6 am
2121 Views
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They are the Walking Wounded,
Those who've lived their Life
On the journey, open to Love
And the joys of Man and Wife.
Those open hearts are now battered and bruised,
By the wars waged when Love dies.
Hearts cradled close, protected now,
From the pain of new good-byes.
So on they move, in time they heal.
Bruises fade and pain will ease.
But the mind holds fast to memory
Which will cause each heart to freeze.
But then one day she'll see him there,
And he'll gaze upon her face.
A thaw begins within those hearts
And warmth then fills cold's place.
Now starts the Dance of the Walking Wounded,
Slow and cautiously they step,
For though the pull they'll feel is strong,
Both will remember times they've wept.
But skin heats and flushes as fire's pumped,
Through each worn and wounded soul,
And the pain more just an echo now,
As new Love makes hearts whole.
The Walking Wounded should stand tall,
Of each scar they should be proud.
For each and every one of them,
Says they've Lived and Loved out loud.
So learn the steps and dance The Dance,
And do not live in fear,
For when Love grows between the two,
Again the music you will hear.
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