The Hypothesis

I had it all but then I lost it.

Over and over.

Moments of clarity washed away fear and doubt.

Then, again, I stumbled in darkness.

My weaknesses only to be revealed and devoured by predators
too scared of their own imperfections.

But I am not a victim here.

I still have drive within me.

I do, I do, I promise myself I do.

Run

Run in the deep dark night.
Run towards the morning,
the new day.
Leave all worries behind,
do not get dragged into the shadows.
Run towards the new you
and don't look back.

coming hoME

The stories I tell myself swallow me.
I forget how to come home.
My heart is dark.
I constrict.

Ease is a friend that waves from afar.
It waits for me to come over and say hi.
Peace blooms from a seed.
I let go rather than control.

The moments come in waves.
They beg for me to unfold and embrace.
Joy sneaks in.
A feeling of lightness lifts me up.

I've been silent and missing.
But it's always there buried below my worries.
Connection follows.
I share my heart with others.

Reaching out warms me.
Love surrounds me like a warm blanket.
It is delicious and overwhelmingly everywhere.
The rest falls away.

The movement of time

Long ago. 
It was taken from you: the hopefulness, the joy. 
You became a warrior too soon. 
Different groups and still no one felt like home. 

Armor. 
To protect you from deep hurt. Deeper rage.

Alone.
Because it was safe and easy.

Lost.
In your expectation of what should be happening and what is the truth. 

Immobilized.
From how to move forward with your head up high. 

Now.
Learning to open your heart to the moment.
to the possibilities.
to the people. 


The time has come

I feel like this poem speaks to what I'm working on lately. Hopefully I won't be 60 before I feel it resonating with where I actually am. I'd welcome some form of my 40s though. Dear heart, I haven't forgotten you. Again and again I return in fits and more giggles these days.

LOVE AFTER LOVE
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
∼Derek Walcott