Wildflower

There’s a fine art to 

Being polite and authentic, 

At the same time…

Drawing outside the lines,

Without stepping on anyone’s toes…

Doing “as is expected…”

Stopping at preset lights,

Moving only when someone else says go…

Could very well stunt personal freedom,

And the chance to live and grow.

Would it put a shade over life’s

Intuitive inner glow?

Freely being ourselves could

Stir up dust,

Into otherwise stagnant spaces…

Mixing things up,

Firing off synapses,

Causing seeds to become wildflowers.

Do you prefer plastic roses,

Or the real thing.

 

Gilda Patricia

 

 

 

Born Free

I needed to learn the value,

Of the freedom found,

In rewarding myself,

With my own being-ness…

To light a candle,

Put on my favorite music,

Do something just for me…

Draw,

Journal,

Take a bath,

Write a poem,

Read a good book…

Fill myself up, to overflowing,

With Love Divine,

Because,

I’m worth it.

I just forgot…

I was free since birth.

 

Gilda Patricia

The Fabric of My Existence

In the fabric of my life,

When the string with your name on it,

Was pulled out,

The whole tapestry came undone…

 

There I sat,

Carelessly strewn across the floor,

A knotted up, messy ball, threadbare,

Disheveled, unrecognizable.

 

Until the day came,

When I decided,

To take a chance,

On God’s handiwork…

 

With dexterous love and care,

He refashioned my life brand new,

From the inside out.

Using a sturdier fabric this time…

 

 Lifetime warranty,

Guaranteed to never again unravel,

Without consent,

Or without God’s Will.

 

But in humanness, as life,

Will always find a kink or two,

To be tailored and reshaped,

With God’s love…no payment due.

 

The finishing touch, gladly accepted,

A label affixed,

On the fabric of my existence,

“God’s property…Handle with loving kindness.

 

-Gilda Patricia