Island Soul

Swept away in a sea of people,

“Island unto myself” deserted, 

Neglected, abandoned…

Forgotten land of lost,

And buried treasures.

 

Sailing off instead with the big ships,

In the high seas…

Terrified of missing the Fantasy Liner of other’s,

Dreams and desires.

Scared of being left behind,

In the dismal cold.

Tossed about in a sea of insecurity,

Waters threatening to overtake,

The hollow shell of me.

 

Exhausted, beaten up, tired of the fight,

Finally surrendered

To God’s higher will…

Washed up on the shore of my

True Island Soul,

There in the warm sunlight of grace, 

Where inner peace reigns,

And hope’s eternal springs flow,

Reuniting with God’s love is

 

Coming home to my

Beautiful Island Soul.

Not a place, just Inner Space

Of my own…to stretch out and breath,

At One, never lost, whether come or go.

 

-Gilda Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

Ponder This…?

If roses were thornless,

Would love also be pain-free?

Would cows without udders,

Have low self-esteem? 

A ship without a rudder,

Be a lost soul at sea?

What of a butterfly,

With Teflon wings?

I ponder…

Without fragility,

It’s beauty could we see?

If cotton candy,

Were not so sticky,

Would that really,

Be much fun?

…As much fun as,

Spare ribs that,

Aren’t messy!

Here’s some more,

Un-fun to conjure,

Try a sandless beach,

No graininess to rub,

Between the toes,

On your feet!

And what of a human,

Egoless?

… Perhaps free?

 

Gilda Patricia

 

 

Beach Ritual

Toes caressed in soft, white,

Sinking sand.

Sunscreen lathered on with care.

Chair set down, 

In breezy place.

Soft breeze,

Subduing blaring heat,

On cracked skin.

Ears set to hear ocean’s,

Crashing love song.

Deep breath in,

Deep breath out,

Heavy lids close,

With healing rest.

RITUAL COMPLETE

Serene, soul satisfying,

Moment’s peace.

 

-Gilda Patricia

 

 

Fool’s Gold

Would you only,

Know a sunrise,

If it’s golden tones,

Were real nuggets,

Of gold?

Or a rainbow,

If it’s green hues,

Were cold, hard,

Dollar bills?

 

And if a thousand,

Sand dollars,

Were strewn,

Across the beach,

Glistening in the sun,

Like silver;

Would they need to be,

Susan B. Anthony,

To catch your eye?

 

The worth,

Of the stars,

The sky,

And the sea,

Is unknown,

To one,

Who’s heart is a sieve;

Merely panning the horizon,

For some “choice”commodity.

 

Surmising the only thing,

Of value (in the world),

Is that which,

Can be bought and sold,

 Sieves out,

All the beauty,

Wonder and awe, 

From my brain,

Replacing it instead…

 

With frozen little chunks of empty lies,

A life of real worth, devoid.

 

-Gilda Patricia