a poem
a poem from 8-18-09 (after my walk along the canal bank)
The days are dark yet the sun is shining
waiting for a breath of life
three white doves flew up before I reached them
i shaded my eyes and watched them fly
what do I know from their flight?
Oh, how I wish they could have released me from my dark of night.
***
A tiny blue flower in my path
amidst the weeds it blossomed
and then the realization that the blueness in its delicacy
was also a weed
I saw the relflection of yellow in the water
before I looked up to see the sunflower on the canal bank
also a weed, I smiled.
***
There is beauty inside of my heartache
just like the tiny pink petals of a morning glory weed
twisting around a plant
just like the purple flush of weeds overtaking a field
and the yellow sprig of color on the milky weeds
in the flower bed
***
I can see the trees and mountains behind them
I can touch the soft white underside of the green
leaf of an ash tree
I can rub my fingers against the softness of a rose petal
the tiny red flowers on the ground cover catch my eye.
***
I just can't feel the beauty
I sense it
I'm grateful for it
closing my eyes I can try to hold on to it
why won't God let me feel it?
He's in charge of beauty.
The heaviness hurts
even with beauty inside.
The days are dark yet the sun is shining
waiting for a breath of life
three white doves flew up before I reached them
i shaded my eyes and watched them fly
what do I know from their flight?
Oh, how I wish they could have released me from my dark of night.
***
A tiny blue flower in my path
amidst the weeds it blossomed
and then the realization that the blueness in its delicacy
was also a weed
I saw the relflection of yellow in the water
before I looked up to see the sunflower on the canal bank
also a weed, I smiled.
***
There is beauty inside of my heartache
just like the tiny pink petals of a morning glory weed
twisting around a plant
just like the purple flush of weeds overtaking a field
and the yellow sprig of color on the milky weeds
in the flower bed
***
I can see the trees and mountains behind them
I can touch the soft white underside of the green
leaf of an ash tree
I can rub my fingers against the softness of a rose petal
the tiny red flowers on the ground cover catch my eye.
***
I just can't feel the beauty
I sense it
I'm grateful for it
closing my eyes I can try to hold on to it
why won't God let me feel it?
He's in charge of beauty.
The heaviness hurts
even with beauty inside.
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