When I am done, will you have known me?
Seen inside the empty spaces, overseen remembered embraces, known my fear’s personal faces?
When I am done, will you have heard me?
Bright joy over small things, know when my laughter rings, which songs I often quietly sing?
When I am done, will you have seen me?
The ‘me’ I see, the me I aim to be, the me that only others see?
When I am done, will you have felt me?
Shared finger touches on baby skin, trace my face where wrinkles set in, warmth of my body as the days begin?
When I am done, what will I be – to thee, and thee and thee?
Inspiration – the passing of a co-worker today, the loss of a quality person.
Awash in the light of innocence
Feet dangling in the fountain of youth Back when monsters were truly imaginary
Lazing in the grass watching
Cloud animals on parade The perspective of trees varied
Losing one’s heart
Just part of ‘Operation’ Not a game people played in real life.
Dreams were still spun out
Lightly, vividly, the colors Of cotton-candy puffs at the once-a-year fair
Today, I want to stretch silly putty over
A comic relief of the face of one I love Laugh until we cry
Back when monsters were truly imaginary
Feet dangling in the fountain of youth Awash in the light of innocence
Inspiration: A walk under the full moon, thinking back to when things were simple.
Let me leave the earth better than I found it
By wearing the leaves of listening and empathy
Growing, unfurling, receptive in form and fashion
Let me leave others more comforted than I found them
By sharing the leaves of their pain and longings
Collecting, preserving, validated in their proffering
Let me leave my children deeper than I ever was
By planting the leaves of wisdom and grace
Teaching, sharing, enunciated in my living
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The Soliloquy of Sea Glass
Discards we are, emptied of value
Cast aside, forgotten, meaningless
Our varied hues bartered no regard
In being retained, kept or refilled.
Some shattered while some whole
Stripped of purpose, riding hither
And yon upon the global currents
Which we could not control
Our original intent was consumed
Then invalidated by our abrupt release,
That weighted existence forced
A downward path into the dark
If I were a melody in your mind, how would you write me?
In Adagio perhaps, as in the best way to approach.
Would you linger over Staccato, to match your heartbeat in my presence?
And although some may prefer Delicato,
It seems best paired with Appassionato, as two hearts enfold into one.
With tempo written, how would then you elicit my sound?
Gentle finger strokes upon ivory, scaling the highs and lows
Lovingly drawing a bow long and slow across heartstrings, echoing
Would you form the strong embouchure required of the reeds and brass
Or be the pounding, driving force holding together the pace found in the percussion line.