Love Lost

Can you tell me where my days went,
Bright with summer sun,
Can you tell me where my heart rests,
Now that its buried in the ground.

My wandering soul has been left all alone,
With nothing to grasp but despair,
My eyes can no longer see beauty,
For my joy has gone away from here.

Dear how can you say that you loved me,
When all that you did was depart,
With this void that was once where you rested,
Now a memory deep in the heart.

Some nights all alone I can feel you,
A wandering ghost in the hall,
When I cry out to you do you hear me,
Or leave me to drown in your call.

So I think of the days that are remaining,
While my coffee grows cold in my hands,
Its warmth as fleeting as a moment,
And life I can no longer stand.

Walls

I have seen few come and go.  But those that have were close and sacred.  I will never accept saying goodbye, for it is something in this life that doesn't seem fair.  To love someone with everything you are, to have them be your entire world, only to be ripped away to early by something that doesn't happen to people you know.  I have wept on my pillow only to wake the next morning with swollen eyes and a pounding head.  I have cursed at God and denied his existence in the moments of anger and rage.  I have cried for forgiveness for not saying what I should have said when I had the chance. I have painfully regretted every harsh word that ever left my mouth.  I have held myself up, barely teetering on the edge of awareness of what my mind knew but my heart could not accept.  If accepted, my heart would surely shatter, never to be whole again.

I recall a bathroom, and stall doors, kicking at them until I felt they would fall off their hinges, and I would walk away better.  That does not happen.  You kick, you scream, you cry, you hurt, you deny.
I will never be able to accept this.  I want to be "enlightened".  To know that every creature passes from this state of consciousness to the next.  I am aware of this, but put it out of my mind so that I can function day to day, not worried about who will leave me next.

My heart has healed, but the scars are there.  I have built up a wall that functions to keep people at a safe distance.  Healthy?  No.  But we all do it.  That first gut wrenching pain never leaves us, we only learn to live with it and tone down its sound.

For everything turn turn turn.  Aren't those the words?  I will heal, but today is the day to grieve.

Thief

Blindly
Carelessly
freely
passionately

Love me
Care for me
Call on me
Linger with me

Roughly
tumultuously
Greedily
Hungrily

Take from me
Use me
Seek me
Chase me

Dont talk of things that do not make a difference
Talk of things that will set me on fire
Dont tempt me with sweet nothings
whisper to me all the fire that I awaken in the depths of your soul

Steal me away into the night
never to be heard from again

Place your hands around my neck
and squeeze until you have drown me in you
Never to be seen again by eyes that search
Only to be yours in the recesses of your soul

A Gift From Heaven

                                                       

The plinking of the rain reminded her of the day she lost her little girl.  It had also been a rainy day.  So 

cliché, she thought, raining on the worst day of my life.  She knew it had been coming for some time. 

Chloe had been diagnosed with leukemia when she was only four years old.   The diagnosis came on the heels of the two-month anniversary of the death of Sharon’s mother.  The news literally brought her to her knees.  Sharon had only one other child, Matthew.  She did not know how she would ever tell him that his little sister was so sick. 

Chloe was unaware of how serious that doctor’s visit was.  She was only four of course.   To her it was just another check up.  Leukemia meant nothing to her and she quietly played with her snuggle bunny in the corner.  Moving his legs this way and that, to a song she was singing.  Laughing occasionally as he bent over to touch his toes and shakes his butt with her music. 

She was a sweet girl.

Sharon listened intently to the rain.  She had gone back to Chloe’s room for the third time that day.   Some days she went in often, usually just lying on her bed and clutching the girls faded patchwork bunny that still had the mustard stain from that day at the restaurant.  Chloe never went anywhere without her snuggle bunny, and Sharon could still smell her on it. 

She pulled the bunny from her chest and noticed a single strand of brown hair, which had become woven in to the bunnies’ ear.  Slowly she pulled the strand of hair, being careful not to break it. As it came free she began to think how odd it was that she was holding a piece of her daughter, when the rest of her was buried in the ground. 

She recalled the day she was getting Chloe ready for her Mothers funeral.  The girl had asked where her Grandmother was.  Heaven, Sharon had said without hesitation.  She told Chloe that Grandma was probably relaxing somewhere by a river with her husband who had died when Sharon was 8.  That Grandpa Joe was waiting for her to come home to him and she was now out of the pain that caused her so much misery in life. 

Now that Sharon had lost her child she wasn’t so sure that God even existed.  She had been a devout Catholic her entire life.  But how could this God she had grown up loving and thinking loved her, could let her baby be taken away before her time was done.  It wasn’t fair and she had cursed God lying in her bed sobbing more times than she could count.  If he existed she hated him now in her grief.  More than likely, she thought, he didn’t.  He had been a tale to keep people peaceful in their last hours. 

She thought back to the hospital room in those days of her time with Chloe.  She had tried so hard to save her tears for when the girl was sleeping.  How could she do it?  How could she survive without her?  How could she survive having her heart and soul ripped from her?  The little girl that she remembered clutching to her breast after 9 hours of labor, searching for her breast.  The warm cheek on her chest, the tiny fingers she held in her hand, and above all those big brown eyes that could pierce right through you when she stopped to give you her attention. 

She wouldn’t do it.  She wouldn’t let her die.  She was a desperate mother and miracles happened every day, She remembered hearing so many stories of children responding to treatment and fully recovering.  Her daughter was strong she could do it.  Sharon imagined telling the story of her miraculous recovery on her wedding day 20 years from now.  “ I just knew Chloe was fighter from the moment she was born” she would say and tears would fall from everyone at the event.  She would look to her baby girl “you beat it”.  But three days later Sharon would be clutching the hospital sheets, screaming at the doctors that it was their fault, if only they had done more.  When she finally had the strength to rise to her feet and walk out of the room, she looked one more time at her beautiful girl.  Sleeping, she thought, she’s only sleeping.  She will wake up and wonder why we are all crying.  It didn’t happen.  She walked back to her bed.  She held the girls chubby little fingers that she had watched so many times color her pictures, mold her flowers out of play dough, and best of all when they would end up on her cheeks while giving her a kiss.  Now they would be cold forever.   She kissed her forehead, cheek,  and finally lips.  Leaving her behind for the last time. 

The rest of her day was a blur.  She couldn’t remember where she had gone after and she couldn’t remember who she had seen or what condolences they had offered. 

She got out of Chloe’s bed and started looking around at the girl’s things.  All neatly put away, waiting for her to get better and come home from the hospital.  It never happened, she thought. 

Sharon had started the process of healing after months of sleeping all day, wondering how to put one foot in front of the other.  As she circled Chloe’s chest of toys she noticed the ballet slippers she had bought her as a gift for Christmas one year.  Chloe had decided that she was going to be a ballerina.  She would twirl and jump and try to walk on her toes.  The girl loved the slippers.  Sharon caught her, after she had outgrown them, putting tiny fake gems in the toes.  Chloe had decided that she would use it as a treasure holder now that she couldn’t wear them anymore. 

Sharon looked in the toe of the right shoe, and saw a red plastic ruby.  She picked it up and held it to the light, remembering all the little treasures she had found over that last year.  She looked in the toe of the left shoe and saw a piece of paper that had been neatly folded.  “NO” she thought.  She had looked in these shoes more than two dozen times and always pulled out the same red and green gems.  Where was the green one?  She took out the paper and there it was, still in the toe. 

Slowly she unfolded the paper she had found.  How funny, Sharon had thought, pink construction paper. Pink had always been Chloe’s favorite color.  She always had followed every stereotype for a little girl.  Pink, ballet, ponies, dolls.  Not sure what to expect, or even how the paper had gotten in the shoe she turned it over and smoothed out the creases. 

Sharon had the breath knocked out of her.  It was a drawing from Chloe.  But it was not one she had ever seen, and she wondered how it got in the toe of the ballet slipper.  On the pink folded paper was a picture of her with her grandmother and grandfather having a picnic by a river.  Under the picture it had the word Happy written in purple crayon.  Sharon fell onto her hands and knees and wept for the little girl she lost.  She wept for the mother and father she lost.  But she also wept for the joy she felt knowing that they were all taking care of each other and would greet her when she went home.

Hello!

I have decided I want to get back into writing. So here is my new blog to help me tell my stories, fictional and non.