Tag: pass

if these hands could talk

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If these hands could talk, they wouldn’t stop.
They would tell you stories of the past.
These hands would teach you lessons
of hard work and perseverance. These hands
would just because they could. All the scars,
callasses, bruises, and creases show others
that life is a long, winding road that eventually
ends. I can’t pretend that it has been easy.
But, if it were easy, what would it teach me?
These hands would tell you that it will be
okay. You will move on and see a new day.
If these hands could talk, you would understand
that I have gone to war, but came out alive.
Yes, these hands would tell you that I survived.
In this life, these hands have been wet, burned,
bloodied, hurt, and disregarded. But these hands
would tell you that we are just getting started.
If these hands could talk, they would scream:
“Hold me as I long for touch and acceptance”.
They would talk just to talk just like feet walk.

Under the Hood

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Look under the hood
before you ride.
Discover what drives
you. Cars with dents
and dings still run.
Being an older car
takes you just as far.
Every car is different.
Some cars are new.
Others just make do.
Different builds, colors,
and interiors show
us not one single car
is superior. Stop.
Pop the hood and
get a good look.
If you can tell that
all is well, then go
faster. Drive further.
Change the oil,
buckle up, and hit
the gas. No need to
make it last because
in the end, whether
we were slow or fast,
we crash or get passed.


The Haunting

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Haunted by voices, the only child sees
shadows pass by. When he closes
his eyes, he can still see the demons
haunting him. Noise fills the still air.
Haunted by those who won’t leave,
he stays up all night. One night,
the only child hears his name being called.
Afraid and awake, he walks toward
the voice calling his name. He gets
close enough to see a ballpoint pen
lodged between a blank journal.
The only child picks up the pen, filling
up the blank pages. He writes, “I’m not
real” over and over. The voices stop,
and the shadows disappear. The only
child closes the journal, then the curtains
are thrown open. The shining light
illuminates his transparent face.
The light shines right through.
Surrounded by life, the only child sees
his future then jumps into the past. It felt
so real for him. He almost forgot, he was
a lurking shadow, once alive and well.
The only child visits the blank journal
now and again to encounter memories
once made, remembered, and forgot.

Ruins

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Many years ago, there were cities, statues, cathedrals, pyramids,
and buildings made of bamboo, sand, clay, plaster, cobblestone,
blood, sweat, and tears. Lives were lost at the cost of these
creations. Not one worker knew the magnitude nor the attitude
that followed their construction. Even after their destruction,
they stood the test of time. Time has passed, yet the history lasts.
The Great Pyramid of Giza, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon,
the Statue of Zeus, the Colossus of Rhodes, the Lighthouse
of Alexandria, the Temple of Artemis, and the Mausoleum
of Halicarnassus tell us a story: a tragic story of life and death
and how they finally met. Now, what we have has been ruined
to no one’s fault. What is left is a gift from those before us.
We must appreciate old ruins before they all turn to dust.

Dead of the Night

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The sound of silence – feelings
of loneliness. The sight of darkness.
The seclusion of time. The power
of stillness – lacking movement.
The memory of day. The joys
of spending the night alone.
The ability to think – to envision
the future. The willingness
to reflect. It must be the end
of the day. The sun has died
to no one’s surprise. The moon
has risen with precision.
With a retired sun, lost souls
have the time of their life
during the dead of the night.