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Posts Tagged ‘death’

Would you lose me

In translation

Like I would lose you

In holding to my own

Faith or belief

Hope or spoken dream

Future, unaided by light

Or would you follow?

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misty cliff

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sweeping gaze

to heights

to depths

Dreading haze

this might

these steps

 

Carving light

into sketches

into drought

Soldered height

Now fetching

Now without

 

Gracious sweep

in purpose

in breath

Hoping leap

 

to rescue

from death

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For the Sake of a Word

Waiting, watching, without warning

Flame of olden barrows forming

Smoke ascending, routing sorrow

Times oft’ trembling to tomorrow

Wisps reviled wilt nearby

‘Neath the moon where mortals lie

Sundry, sweet, like souls unknown

In deserts dim where death is stone

And both arise, to live, to speak

For sake of a Word who won the weak

 

Poem a Day #20, September 6, 2015

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Serendipitous flame

Never twice the same

Source of glory

Draught of shame

Effervescent grace

For once to see your face

Knowing only

Time could not erase

Importunate, sweet song

To waking dreams belong

A mirrored sense

Of death gone wrong

Oh Dove of night

A breath’s respite

Beneath the ground

Now rise in flight

Poem A Day #4 – August 21

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In the English class I’m taking, after reading and discussing “The Crucible” for our essays, we watched the movie. I remember when the movie came out. I didn’t watch it then.

When I watched it in class, of course I knew what to expect as the story line and dialogue was almost identical to the play by Arthur Miller.

But the end was a little different, and I’d have to say I enjoyed the ending of the movie more than the book. It showed how the perspectives of the townspeople had changed, if only slightly. And it showed three characters who remained fearless to the end.

And that’s when I wrote this short poem (yes, in the middle of class):

What happens when you know
You go
Not to death
But life

Then death is not
A thing
To fear

No shadow
No valley
No tunnel
Endless, dark

But hope waits
At the end
And light
This is why

When you know
You go
Not to death
But life

There is no fear
But clear
And open eyes

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double rainbow in cloudsEvery cloud is silver lined,

Or so the stories say,

But how and why, I sadly pined,

My best friend passed away,

Does the cloud reach out a hand,

To dry a tear-stained face?

Turn the hourglass so the sand

Returns from its pain-filled place?

No, said a voice within my heart,

It cannot do these things,

But it shows that though raindrops start,

There’s one who sees all things,

Perhaps the storm will pass your way,

Quench your joy in chilling wrath,

But when again the sunbeams play,

You’ll find more illumined your morning’s path,

For as your tears awaken your soul,

And cleanse your heart from errant ways,

As the heartbreak makes you whole,

A treasure on your path now lays,

And as you walk the way that’s shown,

You’ll find the storm left in its wake,

A treasure that you sought to own,

But from another could not take,

Treasures of love that come only through pain,

Treasure of joy only sorrow can bring,

Treasure of peace through the wind and the rain,

Treasure of flight, like a bird on the wing,

Delight in the treasures laid on your path,

For only therein may your heart awake,

It is in love and not through wrath,

That nobler form your trail take,

And when your heart seeks for the joy,

Evoking serenity through pain,

When deepest dreams you will employ,

Realized only after the storm and rain,

Hidden truth your thoughts expose,

And lift them as diamonds from a cave,

As thorns would hide a lovely rose,

Yet a lover’s hand would risk to save,

Thus see the yonder morning’s glow,

As radiant light outshines the storm,

Lift your eyes to colored bow,

Take in the iridescent form,

Let your gait hold steady now,

As the morning’s path you tread,

Not seeking shallow joys somehow,

But treasure you’ll find instead.

(Written in 1999, dedicated to Trina)

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It was mid-July when I heard some great news: the family I had traveled with to India and had been staying with were planning to move to Lonavla. They invited me to come along and I jumped at the chance. They had found a bungalow outside of town, and we planned to move in early August.

Besides this family, another young couple with a newborn baby planned to move with us. They were good friends of mine and I was happy about this turn of events.

We traveled back and forth between Mumbai and Lonavla over the next couple of weeks—cleaning, packing and moving. We arrived just in time for monsoon, the rainy season. I loved the magical feeling of rain falling all around, green fields and hills in every direction. The walks and hikes we took were great fun and full of discovery. We often made it home just in time to watch the afternoon downpour from the safety of our cozy home; we didn’t always make it back in time, though, and ended up looking as if “the bridge fell in.”

After a couple of weeks, Jonathan and his family asked if I would be willing to return to Mumbai for a couple of weeks to help with a couple of projects. Of course I agreed. The couple of weeks passed quickly, involved in projects and programs for the underprivileged.

Mid-August found everyone back in Mumbai to celebrate India’s Independence Day together. We had been invited to a friend’s house for dinner. “I could get used to this,” I remember saying to a friend over the dinner, which was arguably the tastiest food I ever had; it ended with fresh mangoes and vanilla ice cream—still a favorite of mine.

The family was returning to Lonavla the evening of August 18—my seventeenth birthday. I had originally planned to return with them, but a friend asked if I could stay on in Mumbai for one more week, to plan her mom’s birthday. So I stayed an extra week…it passed very slowly. The highlight of that time was a birthday card and letter from my best friend. She hadn’t forgotten my birthday, and I was so happy to hear from her.

It was at the end of the week that I got the phone call, which came from Lonavla, letting me know that my best friend had passed away. (Read the full story, “We Shared a Heart”)

Two days after that, I was still reeling from the shock when the young couple returned to Mumbai, on their way to the airport. Their newborn baby wasn’t granted a visa, so they had to return to the States.

I wished I could go back to Lonavla right then, but there had been a misunderstanding and those I had been staying with in Lonavla were under the impression that I had wanted to stay in Mumbai for good. They wouldn’t be able to pick me up for another two weeks.

It’s not easy to describe how I felt during those couple of weeks. My best friend had died; any other close friends or family were thousands of miles away. I felt every comfort had been removed and the familiar ground pulled from beneath my feet.

Had I done something wrong? Did I make a big mistake somewhere along the line to bring me to where I was now standing (and felt like falling)? Why was everything crumbling apart around me? I had nothing to hold on to, and I never felt so alone. I wanted to call my mom—to whom I could always talk and find some form of comfort—but she was away from home at the time and I didn’t have a phone number to reach her.

I had only one place to turn. It’s strange—almost funny if it weren’t so pitiful—how, when everything is going fine, we find it difficult to draw close to the only one who is always with us. Yet it was at this time that I grew to a deeper understanding of God’s grace and the depth of His love, a comfort that could only be felt through deep sorrow and a peace that could only be understood through great turmoil of spirit.

I realized that no matter how alone I might feel, how far from friends and family I was, how distant from the comforts in which I always found solace—I still wasn’t alone. Beyond feeling, I knew that there was a purpose. Perhaps it would take time to find it. Perhaps there would come more sorrow and difficulty. Perhaps the path of life would be just that—a path—with rocks and boulders and hills, rocky and cold mountains, lonely and sunless valleys.

I knew I was meant to walk the path and I knew where the path led. One day the path will eventually lead to a home where no tears will again dim the eye, where pain will finally be drowned out in abiding joy. Yet I knew that as long as I traveled this road, I would not be home, because there were still many things to experience, learn and understand upon this path. Sometimes I would feel I walked the road alone, and sometimes I would have those beside me with whom I finally felt at home. The journey beckoned, and I was only just beginning.

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