Tag: life

Self Portrait in Colours

Found an old diary –
days when I prayed to the angels
painted myself white, believed
in a God that cared about personal
agendas – painted myself pathetic

Took me back to days of heartbreak,
when I pined after a man, unavailable,
painted myself pink – an altruistic heart
yearning after the unrequitable,
willing to sacrifice, change –
painted myself foolish

Read between the lines about a woman
so desperately co-dependent she’d risk it all,
painted herself yellow, projected sunshine,
believed in fairy tale endings, threw away
dignity, sanity – painted herself delusional

Wondered how she’d ever survive,
knew that life intervened in the end,
painted her broken –
and somehow she found strength,
moved on, made better choices,
learned to love herself,
painted herself indigo.

(Self Portrait in Colours first appeared here Aug/2016. Image my own)

Hindsight

Bubble-wrapped memories –
days when travel was frequent,
wine poured freely,
fitness a given.

Even in those sun-soaked days
we were restless, unsatisfied…
not till health diminished
and money dried up

did we appreciate
the fragility
of those years.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image my own)

The River, My Heart

A landmark in my life, the river follows
ages, and eras: seasons measured by her flow

She acknowledges changes, bears the winter
regally, swells with confidence as Spring rains

Will walk beside me in sunnier times, and
hold my secrets as Autumn catches us in her flames

She holds my heart, my faith, always knows
and at the end of the day, oh how she glows.

(Originally posted on One Woman’s Quest II, March 2019. Image my own)

Family Rifts

Division, the determining factor
in their relationship –
who can understand
the dynamics of blood ties?

Cracked images suggest
a camaraderie, at least
once upon a time, and who
recalls the cause of the rift?

Fixated on the anger
distance a monument
to the breach, till one dies
and the absence is cemented

(Image my own)

The Last Train (Sonnet)

We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye –
memories and regrets filling our days.

“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims
“Why must suffering linger till the end?”
I plea and bargain, call angelic names,
yet the will to survive refuses to bend.

The urgency builds as my time dwindles;
must I leave her in this compromised state?
She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles
dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.

Some destinations are clearly defined –
Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.

(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)