"Storm: Sunlight Between Clouds" I've not seen enough of this world yet. I've climbed the stairwells from where one hears bells like chimes in the fall. I've walked down halls Where whispers echo louder than footsteps but I've often fancied fresh air. Flags billow in the wind like wet hair; Following the cadence of her storm clouds. The sky screams loud in exuberance Just to mark emerging weather. A mother just received a love letter.
I've seen parting gifts In the form of best wishes, Gut wrenching goodbyes that swiftly follow last kisses And tears that drown the deliberate. Yet her raindrops have a jovial taste. Amid the hardships she's faced Is a shining sign of grace. So flushed her face within it all. Through the squalls and torrential Lies something so instrumental. A mother's touch so gentle.
Fragile in her grasp, his hand slowly clasps her finger. Her power surely lingers in his grip. Lips curve to form a smile. Her in disbelief. His so pure and sweet. Befuddled nearly but clearly content, Her contempt for the past fled The moment she kissed his forehead. It surely takes more than a glimpse to hold fast to one's future. He embraces her warmth As if he already knew her.
Familiar their connection. So fervent her protection That she would allow him time With the bells and wind chimes. He's moved gracefully within her mind For what I'd consider a lifetime And yet nothing quite compares With him being there.
I've not seen enough of this world yet. I've been initiative and bystander. I've flung mud and fought slander With every inkling of candor but if there is more to say, I will surely rue the day That any slight or display Of disrespect should come their way.
I've so much to see. I know it's not my place To know what is for me; But one day hopefully, I too will know the feeling. I hope to know that joy. I hope to share that smile Between parent and child. †
No room for the nervous When you're underrated on purpose. Purpose by societal definition? Overkill of cheap thrills Induced by purveyors of pills. Happy candy for the sad we. Sadly basking in the glee Of the Technicolor shapes they see. Their splendor but a brief celebration. Conquest for not much more than the score. Would divide tribes To be conquered by factions. Swift in pursuit of bitter fruit Yielding side effects and delayed action. They tend to the bars; Spreading the black tar Just to chase the dragon. Residue and fingertip scars. Fell far from grace. Mirrors hold too much to embrace. No yearning for a silhouette to trace. Attention drawn to an aging face And they are barely middle-aged. Would inhale a can of mace If it meant another taste. Briskly sporadic in pace. Heart racing faster Than the cadence of their tone. They would rather be alone; Left to fade into that zone. Mind and body faded. Intricate like hair braided But they will conceal the roots. No one reveals the truth. Rarely around to request it. Adopted as the norm Until it remotely harms But it was always a swarm. Support replaced by slander. Taught to mind our manners But we treat junkies like crap. Addicts get the scraps But can't eat them at our table. So willing and able To invoke the need for labels When we share their categories. Unfamiliar stories. Tales so damn specific Yet we don't see the connection. Our ignorance is our protection. We wield this heavy shield fortified with the implied: That which we would let ride Long as it isn't inside. God forbid. Raising a gifted kid With such lofty expectations And the potential to change the nation. They dare to change their destination. No longer drawn towards your bevy. How long before the heart is heavy At the sight late night Of a daughter under the influence Or a son more thief than nuisance? How much remains in house? Arguments with your spouse. Had to hide your purse because your child sees your prescription As peace offering from the nurse. High school drop out shut off; Cut off from acceptance. Negligence never presumed as a factor Viable enough to make perfect sense. Since the earliest inception, Contact viewed as a connection But it lacked impact and passion. Listening became a latent action. We scoff at the criminal and often judge the prostitute but our children need their fix; So this is where it constitutes. Few things are black and white. Debate well into the night Over which race got it right. Similarities will surely be disclosed. We hate the owners of our stores But not more than doing chores. We sit drinking on the porch Raising bottles like a torch to every neighbor passing by. We sit and wonder why In place of beginning to think how. Are we so different now? Don't lend retort to the rhetorical. The difference between he, she and we Is that although he collects the fees While she is often on her knees, We are who they've longed to please. The derelict appear diseased But we harbor the infection. No differential diagnosis.