This life has moved swiftly My hair has greyed My skin has paled i’m a little rounder plumper Objects may appear closer than what they are i hardly wear make-up now i tire easily and I have aches and pains i picked up
Along the way A train came and i travelled the years
My story changed as i turned the page and in the middle of the plot the characters too changed
i found myself in the middle of a poem
and then i stopped reading not wanting to know how the story unfolded Now i am here Hardly recognising the person i see reflected in the window the strangeness of a dream lingers familiar yet unknown
A few cracks and bruises
no one could have seen it coming
Watching the world go by in a
darkened tunnel
But there is light, there is always light as long as you’re willing to dig through the rubble i see it now as this joyride slows everything comes back into perspective
Ego will make you forget your gift. It will make you doubt if you even have one. It will make you chase and covert for someone else’s portion. Ego will make you place self-importance on yourself that doesn’t exist and get upset when no one else sees it. Ego will make you lose your identity because you’ll be so busy trying to be someone you’re not. It will depress you because you’ll end up unhappy in your skin. Ego will make you chase after praise and adoration while you forget to praise and adore the One who made you. Ego will feed you false confidence while serving you a buffet of insecurity.
Ego will make you want to quit the fight and then kick you once you’re down. Ego will tell you that you’re not good enough while you’re doing what you’ve been called for.
It will harden your heart and build walls around you with bricks named; “I don’t need help” “I can do it on my own” “I don’t need anyone else”
Ego will leave you lonely and isolated, with your nose turned up toward those who try to break down those very walls.
The ego is not your friend. It’s the lie we tell ourselves when we look in the mirror and say, “That’s just who I am”
I used to be embarrassed and annoyed to stand by the bus stop and wait for the bus to arrive. But now I realize what a gift it is, I am closer to the earth, closer to people.
I can smell the putrid smell of urine and smoke. I can feel the thunder of the vehicles as they speed by. I can look people in their eyes as I make way for them to pass around me. I can see the doves pecking at some invisible piece of food left, probably by the vendor that sits at the same place every day, selling the same stale snacks and single cigarettes. I can feel the wind in my eyes and the small leaves from the tree above me, fall onto my head, like rain.
My senses are awake and I too am aware.
I see the sweet elderly couple marching past me, dressed in their Sunday best,
even though it’s a Wednesday afternoon.
I hear the non-stop blaring of the taxis as they race past me, trying to fill up their seats so they can fill up their bellies.
There’s a homeless man on a bicycle, risking traffic to cross the street, not at all confident in the two wheel transportation, which is probably the only thing he owns.
I see the people by the traffic lights, handing out pamphlets for a car wash or your next real estate that you simply must have. Their bucket hats drawn down low as the sun hits down on their backs.
The half torn pamphlets on the street poles tell a different story, messages of finding a lost lover and maybe possibly becoming a better lover yourself.
It makes me wonder how many people have dialed that number.
I see them, the people in their cars, sitting with their thoughts, probably daydreaming of a different place and time and it is here where they allow me to bring their stories to life.
Colourful, interesting, sometimes happy and sometimes sad. Neither here nor there.
What a privilege it is to see people as they are from where I stand.
I see my bus finally arrive, a little relieved and a little sad because now I have to stop telling their stories and go make my own.
I used to be embarrassed to wait for the bus stop but now I realize, sometimes, that’s exactly where I am supposed to be.
Her eyes shine like diamonds, even when filled with tears. Her smile rivals the sun, even when upside down. Her voice blends in with the birds in the morning, even when it cracks. Her walk turns everyone’s heads, even when her energy is low. Her handsprovide the softest of touches, even when they are trembling. Her aura is full of love and positivity, even when surrounded by hate. Her personality is always bubbly, even when the room has gone flat. Her love is similar to the comfort of the softest pillow, even when sharp and deadly. Her mind is as powerful as a computer, even when it breaks down. Her soul speaks louder than her words, even when it is hidden. Her heart is caring and loving, even when it is broken. Her heart is sensitive and vulnerable, even when it is locked behind barriers.
She is beautiful, even when she doesn’t truly see it. .
Have you ever had someone look at you Like you were the sun? Beautiful and fiery. Passionate and addictive. Our love was fast and hard. Explosive and tender. It erased who we thought we were and made us new. It made us one. It connected us, vessel to vessel. I am reaching out, and I fit perfectly. I think of him, and I no longer feel alone. We are one. I am a part of him, and he is a part of me. Not only through physical intimacy, but our souls, our minds and our hearts embedded onto the blueprint of the other. Although a comfortable pace and routine remain now, the fire still burns. I feel it. I know he does, too. I don’t need him to live and breathe. He breathes life into my spirit. He does not define me. My heart’s love for him is defined by who he is. Knowing he is living and breathing on this planet, even apart, makes me feel safe. It makes me feel that all is right in this world. He is the moon to my stars. The sky to my sun. Magnificent apart But Exceptionally wonderful together.
Do you realize that time never stops? It’s always moving. Sometimes it flutters by like a butterfly And other times it strolls past, in no rush With all at ease. But it is always moving forward. Changing. Even when we don’t. Especially when we don’t. Time keeps moving. It truly waits for no one It doesn’t check or looks back To see if you’re following or keeping up It doesn’t shout back and tells you to hurry up. Time is it’s own master
And you can either be it’s slave Or it’s partner
It feels no pity for you It doesn’t share in your joy when you make it It doesn’t get angry when you ask it to wait or slow down Time is determined It is disciplined It is silent in its dominance It knows nothing of excuses or procrastination It changes days and seasons It moves with purpose and answers to no one Time has no attachments It does not love It does not own It does not desire And in that lies it’s power.
Everything beautiful is what I desire Walking on the beach, shoes in hand A sunset or sunrise peeking over the horizon Rainy days in a warm library I smell old and lovely books before I even turn their pages Long walks with no destination but everywhere to explore Fields of wildflowers, long stretches of open land And the purest of air I can breath I desire to get away from the hustle and bustle The concrete jungle, if you will I want to create snow angels and see thousands of stars Shine back at me as I lay on fresh-cut grass The life I desire is simple Close but somehow still out of reach It is everything beautiful Mountainous views that seem as if they reach right up to heaven It is almost like it is God’s footstool Everything Beautiful Everything that brings peace, serenity, love and joy That is what my heart desires.
I still love sad poetry. I love to know that hearts are still able to heal after suffering. It brings me comfort to know that loneliness doesn’t last. I smile when I think Spring comes after Winter, and the sun still rises in the morning. I still love sad poetry. It brings me hope when days are long and nights are cold. I still believe in new beginnings when I read stanzas of tears on a page, and I see broken hearts in the smiles of strangers. I still love sad poetry. I still write sad poetry. It makes me feel, and it makes me think, and it helps me remember the days when I wasn’t sad.
Broken, beaten, and bruised, Alienated, ashamed, and forgotten, I found myself on my knees, No beauty, no prettiness, Crushed by fear too heavy to bear.
Then you reached out your hand, Your garment, my lifeline, Thirsty, you quenched me with living waters, Bruised, you touched me, and I was healed.
Hopeless and heartbroken, You opened the floodgates, Washing me clean, Because of you, Jesus, I am saved.
You are the centre of my joy, My life, my anchor, my compass, Your presence is holy, I cry out to you in the heavenly language, I praise you with all that I am, I give you all that I have.
In my troubled season, When it seems I’m surrounded, Jesus, you make a way, God’s promises prevail, and He sets me free.
The world may enslave me, But Jesus Christ is my Saviour!
I never imagined going down 13 thousand feet into the ocean, cold and dark all around, trapped in a small space with only four other souls. Claustrophobia and anxiety heightened. Yet here I am, I walked right through the gate of the ocean. Slowly running out of air, knowing each breath, I take is bringing me to my last. Not knowing what day it is, not knowing what is happening in the world above. Should I keep fighting? Should I preserve my energy? Should I pray for a quick death? Is someone coming? Are they close? There is total blackness. Just total blackness. Life, death, and air are swimming around me; only one is within reach. The faces of the others staring back at me; who will go first? Who will be the one to consume the very last bit of oxygen? Billions of dollars made and spent over a lifetime, only to die alone at the bottom of the ocean. I think about this on the surface, making me realize that life must be better navigated. What will they find when they finally reach us? Our decomposed vessels? An empty submarine? Or nothing at all. Our story is forever anchored to history’s most extraordinary and tragic sunken ship.
