Tag: poetry

in the way

jmacthedream2 Comments

As life goes on, things can get in the way.
There are roadblocks, people, problems
that slow us down. We can even get in our own
way. It is hard to say how it happens. It just
does. Sometimes, we can get stuck in the mud.
Sometimes, we choose hate over love. Stuff
can pile up, and life can become a pain.
Once we regain strength, all we have to do
is maintain. To fight through is to gain insight.
The odds may be against us, but we must
trust the process. We must do our best
when things get in the way. These strong
feelings of doubt will not stay. We must
not run away. We must solve the case
before our optimism becomes misplaced.
When life gets in the way, don’t give up
or give in. You will get over it. Look at
your life as a knife that will cut through
a dark night. Find light and hold on tight.

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.

Pulling Petals

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Days pass by, and the petals

fly. In a glorious garden, life

slows down; I can now zero

in on sounds that have yet

to be heard. I look around.

I see vibrant colors and shapes.

Without thought, birds and bees

survey the land. Abundant motion

surrounds a restless soul. I see

trees dance above a strong ground.

Coexisting with each other, all forms

of life carry on with no concern.

Not asking to be born, I learn to ask

how to live a life without keeping

track of all that I lack. I ask flowers

what it feels like to be pulled, planted,

cut, watered, and given away. I pluck

a flower in the midst of April showers,

and I begin pulling petals. One by one,

under the justified sun, I start pulling

petals. “She loves me. She loves me not”.

Asking questions that go unanswered.

After another question, the flower

was naked, missing its petals. Because

of my questioning, the flower’s beauty

is missing. I destroyed something due

to me not believing. I knew that my

doubt washed all the beauty out.

I lay the flower stem on the dirt,

and I realize my questions did

nothing but cause pain and hurt.

One of These Days

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One of these days, when the sun

comes down as the children

play, I will have nothing to say.

I will just sit there and smile

knowing that life was worth while.

One of these days, life will have

showed me all that I needed to

see. I will have learned lessons

that are taught by time. Experiences

of mine will seem divine. Old

thoughts and feelings become

less appealing. One of these days,

I will love to the point of happiness.

I will give gratitude and hate less.

One of these days, I will feel alive

before I look death in the eyes.

One of these days, my dreams will

come true before my nightmares do.

Hotdog in the Rain

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As I sit on this bench, I can’t
help to notice my hotdog is
getting wet. Rain falls relentlessly
from the sky. Each drop dances
in solitude, enduring a new
opportunity to spread faith
and love in new life. Dark clouds
loom from above. I can’t help
to do nothing but sacrifice
the inner voice that destroys
all grace. At peace, I look up
and I don’t see catastrophe.
I see a forgiving sky wanting
to be remembered, crying to be
cherished. As I continue to sit,
I don’t stress a bit. Wet hotdog
and all, my worries remain small.
Lightning strikes the trashcan
next to me. Flabbergasted, diverse
feelings course through my body,
reaching my soul: my fulcrum.
I sit on this bench; I remain calm
Trust me, that’s no taradiddle.
I may be stuck in the middle,
but this poignant pain helps
me see rain as draining pain.
The dark skies help me realize
that life will shine its bright light
during the darkest of nights.
I don’t forget that my dog is wet.
It could be worse; I could be dead.