The Lone Poet

Scaling the endless,

Breadth of the imagination,

And braving the solitary,

Depth of the human spirit,

With surprising grace and ease.

 

Capturing life’s elusive,

Inner rhythm,

Single heartedly;

 

The Lone Poet.

 

Traversing the inner landscape,

Of the human heart.

Stepping gingerly,

Through pathways and corridors,

Overgrown with richness,

And brimming with life;

 

Such a beautiful sight!

 

The Lone Poet,

Whose lines and verse,

Keep pace with humanity’s,

Brightest days,

And darkest nights,

 

Never really walks alone.

 

-Gilda Patricia

Love’s Double Vision

The missing piece of me,

standing there, outside myself.

How perfect!  He likes me!

 

At first I imagined him intuiting all the shrouded,

hidden, cryptic parts of me.

Maybe he loved me, even then,

knowing there was exponentially,

so much yet unrealized?

 

Seeing past eyes, skin, nails and hair;

a carefully tailored facade, stripped bare,

by love’s expertise.

But what exactly does love see,

romantic love especially?

 

Do a double take, steal another peak,

could we perhaps just be seeing double?

I love you and you love me,

or you love you and I love me.

Wait, no!!  This can’t possibly be true? 

 

I too, standing helplessly before you,

a mere version of the missing piece,

of you.

-Gilda Patricia

 

 

A Small Boy’s Helium Balloon

A perpetual dreamer;

My head nearly always,

“In the clouds.”

 

Up, up, and away I’d fly,

Seeking and soaring,

To some amazing spiritual heights,

 

Once releasing,

Little buried chunks of past lies,

There was nothing to hold me back…

 

Then dirty, messy,

Sometimes ugly and chaotic,

Raw, real and wonderful,

 

“MOTHERHOOD,”

 

Brought me back down to earth,

Tethering me to my humanity,

 

Like a helium balloon,

Held tightly in the fist,

Of a small boy;

 

Keeping me from crashing,

And burning, into the sun.

 

Now heaven walks with me,

As I walk beside,

My sweet and precious son.

 

-Gilda Patricia

Healing Heart

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.

The Gift of Darkness

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.”