Nostalgia

High in the mountains on a rocky shelf,
Contemplating a hollowness unto myself.
Upon this mountain I silently cry,
Yearning for family, from heaven so high.
Reflecting on places and a time gone by,
Observing my surroundings with a questionable eye.
Though Gods majestic beauty embraces my soul,
I feel so alone on this mountain knoll.
Sitting here wishing I was young again,
If only my life’s journey I could re-begin.
Heartfelt images of a life so pleasant,
Remove me now, from the time at present,
Carrying me back to our family camping,
Burdens my heart with a sudden damping.
Was that really me playing hide and seek,
In a darken forest, stumbling over my feet?
Laughing and splashing in a mountain creek,
All day long barely stopping to eat?
Exploring the forest with a pioneer lust,
Decorating myself with red dirt dust.
No cares, no fears, I was full of zeal,
The mountains held me with an alluring appeal.
Silently watching and listening to a squirrel,
Noisily chasing another in a flustering swirl.
Recognizing to myself what it was like,
To run and play with such carefree delight.
Back to our campsite, beaming with pride,
A trophy pine cone held proudly at my side.
Enjoying the campfire, and warmth that it brought,
Surrounded by family and wanting naught.
How young was I and not knowing why,
My world would change in the blink of a eye.

 

~A Poem By My Father~

 

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Another Cliché

A vagabond,
I used to be.
Running empty,
On broken dreams.
Plucking hearts,
Along the way.
Like paper flowers,
Put on display.

Then came you…
One summers day.
A beautiful rose-
A new bouquet.
With guileful colors,
Matching dark and grey.
Changing everything,
To my dismay.

Now autumn falls,
As leaves decay.
And a broken heart,
I now portray.
A hearts wilted rose,
You left in disarray.
And now this vagabond,
Has lost her way.

(Leaving me to replay,
Another broken cliché)

 

 

 

 

The Child Inside My Heart

There’s a heart out there,
That can be heard,
As it wanders up and down,
Darkened lonely streets.

Its cries are bellowed out,
Into an unsettling dark.
A morbid and vain attempt,
-A sirens call-
To lure your love back home,
Once again.

(It craves to be cradled,
Into your lonely forgotten arms.)

It always listens for you.
Upon every heartbeat,
In those shadowy steps…
As each echoing attempt,
Comes back in droves,
Of shattered-
Mourning waves.

(My heart is still that child,
Who can’t seem to comprehend,
That the essence of you,
Is now gone.)

How do you convince something,
Even in the midst of your own disbelief,
That sometimes,
There are things in this world,
That are just going to break?

That sometimes,
They will always haunt you?

It’s as if,
Love were a toy…
To be discarded like some used “thing”,
Then to be placed back onto some empty shelf,
Once all of its joy,
Has been selfishly spent.

(Tell me…
How does one convince this child,
Who now lives so brokenly,
Inside of my heart,
To finally let you go?)

I just don’t know…

 

 

The Fool (A Fool’s Journey)

My journey began,
By seeing with my eyes,
And not with my heart.

For this,
I am a fool.
Even though I am innocent.

And if I continue to be naïve,
Without the guidance of my soul,
(Which softly whispers,
Upon my close minded feet)
There will be no path,
Onto which I can die.

And to never die…
Is to never be reborn.

For the truth lies,
Upon our broken paths,
Which can only start to blossom,
Inside the subconscious heart,
That dwells within,
An unconscious,
And foolish mind.

(Inspired by, “The Fool’s Journey” and Carl Jung.)