I have risen above thinking your heart
worthy of my thoughts - your outdated image of me can never contain truth because you call stagnation comfort. I have risen above sharing darkness with you; the sun moves with a predictability and tenderness you cannot muster, during day or night. I have risen above accepting your hands as worthy of being called safe; I have learned how it should feel - when hands touch with love. Green leaves trembling in the wind, flashing pink, yellow, and thorns, smiling at how resilient we had become. Roots entwined with the fate of those rocks, our lumps of enduring granite. We knew we belonged there. Flashing pink, yellow, and thorns, smiling with sea spraying and sun sparkling in our eyes, on our shells, and green leaves trembling in the wind. We all were roses. a poem about home after seven years away, I find the Tasselled Pines still provide shelter, conversations too; the wit present in each chat embodies a love not chilled by time. home, where it all began, where Hope is forever being Restored. although a row of Dirigo Maples divides one land from another, tenacity lives in the wind, freely dwelling, mending, just as the ocean waves carry resilience to each inhabitant. hearts along these shores continue to be Wells of Hope, mirroring nature. though some rocks in the bay will crumble when erosion tests their endurance, the ocean always builds anew; she still writes poetry. a poem about having expectancy not expectations. we are waves tumbling into shore, living at different tempos, arriving in our own time. when we reach the sand may we be grateful of the opportunity that awaits; may we dance in tide pools, embrace each shell. may we not succumb to bitterness that the salt spray is our constant companion, but find in one another reason to celebrate. arrival points become departure points until we arrive again, each in our own time. |