Short #poem thread (all mine, some old) for the end of the year:
My counsellor sent me an article that said:
“Remembering is not recovering.”
And impatient as I often am—keen to be on the other side of suffering—
those words gave me pause
and space to breathe.
A glimpse of peace from the chaos that had swallowed me.
For the work we do to heal our hearts
is measured in skills, not time.
These words are in praise of random acts of kindness from long-distance friends,
who you may never get to meet or hold,
but their love is so strong it crosses miles as if they were mere steps,
and leaves a mark of beauty on your soul.
And so it goes, on these unknown days, stretched and straddled between the years,
When the growling wind runs wild, impossible to tame,
and the clouds wear dark coats with heavy hats, their wide brims full of water,
I am thankful for
My home and family, for
True love and strong hearts.
As one ends, one comes anew —
A twisted strand of hope shines through
To weave the dreams of slumbers past,
In tapestries of moments cast
Aside, now gone but fond recalled
In lovers’ kisses, caught in the thrall
Of tenderness. Of broken hearts made whole
By blankets worked to soothe the soul.
Each stitch considered, old memories sewn,
We pierce and pull, through tracks unknown,
Run onwards to the edges, then
We bind our threads and cast again.
I am a descendant of those
who heard a noise in the night
thought “Tiger!” and ran to hide.
Not a descendant of those who
failed to take flight
and ended up in the tiger’s insides.
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