Vines

March 10, 2011 at 8:17 am (Sonnets) (, , , , , , , , , , , )

For love, I gave my heart and lost my head.

One look from him was all that I desired,

But still I ran from him – dry-eyed, I fled.

Fear of the future, of secrets – I risked fire –

Soul burning agony. All for freedom.

But there was no freedom in that dark place –

More pain. More chains. More fear. And now, no him,

No love to save me, and so I must perish.

Perish pining, darkly burning in strife!

Regret consumed me. Overwhelmed my soul.

In wandering thoughts I laid down my life,

I let my wits away, and gave up control.

But my knight arrived and in his hand took mine –

Too late my mind was caught in sorrow’s vine.

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Coffee

September 12, 2010 at 2:17 am (Poetry) (, , , , , , )

Coffee.

That’s what it feels like

Bitter, biting, and wonderful

There is comfort and familiarity

That does not lessen the burn

Warmth and Pain-

Of the most superficial variety

But there are deep currents

Deep and as yet unidentified-

Who knows what flavor will arise?

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Match Girl

August 1, 2010 at 8:50 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Little girl

Playing with fire

Spreading it all around her

All she knows

Is that it keeps her safe

And warm

But when it is gone

She shivers in the cold

Dreaming of the fire

Wishing it would return

Wishing it would spread

Little match girl

Lost in the cold.

***The only thing I wanted from my grandmother when she passed away was a doll.  The little match girl sat in her living room for years, and now she is in my bedroom as a reminder.  I named her Etterene…after my grandmother.

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What Love Is

April 15, 2010 at 9:11 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

You cannot tell me what love is,

I already know.

It is talking and trusting.

It is helping and healing.

It is listening and

Leaping.

Taking a leap of faith.

Love maybe patient and kind,

but it is honest and hard-hitting.

I know what love is.

So let me tell you

What we both already know.

***I did write this with a specific person in mind, but as I read over it again and again I keep thinking that maybe my hand wrote something different than what my mind wanted. Maybe my heart took over for a little while, if that’s even possible.

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Denim Heart

April 14, 2010 at 3:07 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , )

A denim heart

Rough, tough to tear

Protective and reliable

Hard to rip

This denim heart

was not always so

Hard to break

Look closer

See the seams

See the patches

This denim heart

repaired with thread and linen

is not so

Hard to shatter

For though denim it is

on the outside

There is glass underneath

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