Words rolling around your head,
Left unwritten,
Left unsaid.
Pen to paper,
“Look! There’s the title!
Write, write, write,
Keep writing….Stop,
Now breath!”
“Post, publish, share.”
An original, newborn poem,
“How sweet!”
Words rolling around your head,
Left unwritten,
Left unsaid.
Pen to paper,
“Look! There’s the title!
Write, write, write,
Keep writing….Stop,
Now breath!”
“Post, publish, share.”
An original, newborn poem,
“How sweet!”
Tripping over my own tongue,
As hurtful words spill forth…
Caught tenderly,
In the soft pocket,
Of your forgiveness.
The conscious spiritual,
Healing path,
Can be described in 2 words,
Pure magic.
It’s really God’s grace,
Leading us, in time,
To heaven’s gate; a metaphor for,
That spontaneous and natural,
Defining moment,
When we drop our luggage or baggage,
At the door,
Allowing only love to enter.
Our heart, now as wide as the universe itself,
Becomes our heaven.
A certain degree of,
agony and pain,
may prompt someone to rise up,
quite quickly;
like a broken spring,
in their favorite easy chair.
Stirred from slumber,
Just enough to call out,
God’s name,
And God, knowing them by name,
Lift’s them up, and says,
“Hey, I missed you,
So glad you’re here.
It matters not where,
You’ve been.”
Shattered by a crushing blow to heart,
body, or spirit,
The ego left for nearly dead.
A lucky few surrender and cry out to God,
Thereby allowing the miracle of grace,
To sweep swiftly through their broken places,
Reigniting their soul’s flame,
Calming and drawing them into,
A dark inner wilderness,
Replete with emotional dragons, demons, and ghosts,
The likes of which few would care to know, or dare to go.
Yet turning back now,
Is to play pretend.
The trusted companion, grace,
Alights young soul travelers,
With joy, love, gratitude, peace and forgiveness,
Giving them strength to go the mile,
Clearing and navigating,
The once hidden path of God’s Will.
Leading them down, out and all the way through,
To the (other), spiritually lighter side.
Young spirits freed,
Don their new wings.
Summer sits,
Fall waits,
Winter knows,
But Spring creates!
If you say you have no secrets,
Then those secrets are secrets,
You are keeping very well,
From yourself.
It is
Your life pursuit,
To light your candle and to,
Keep that ember burning,
In the face of,
All inner and outer resistance,
Not to allow that candle,
To be snuffed out.
This candle is your soul, it feels wonderful,
When it’s lit. You will find a way.
There will come a day when your,
Light will burn, bright and clear
and strong.
You will be the guardian,
The keeper of this light. It is your duty.
No one else may care,
But that doesn’t matter,
They don’t need to, it’s not their job.
You will learn this.
Others may or may not notice,
Your burning ember.
This doesn’t matter either.
Your warmth still touches them,
And warms your own heart,
Through all troubling times,
Both personal and collective.
Love Gilda
God enters into the depth of my human heart,
Laying bare the hidden fruit,
Of my good intentions,
Endless effort,
And raw, oft pained love,
Which lives there,
And He is well pleased.
In contrast,
The world simply stands outside the door,
Tallying my “results.”
I’m moved forward by desire,
But guilt holds me back.
Then love moves me forward,
And fear pulls me back.
Then hope steers me forward,
Yet doubt yanks me back.
Renewed confidence drives me forward once again,
But my limitations set me back.
Then as I begin to build my strength back up,
Shame slams me from behind,
And drags me down,
In a,”You don’t deserve success!” kinda dead lock.
Falling hard,
I’m out for the count,
Having only failed myself,
For choosing to stop trying.
Thankfully forgiveness picks me up,
Restores my faith,
And gets me back in the game.