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Golden Threads Between Us

The heart is such a fragile vessel
pulsing pain through arteries,
red like the rose of friendship;
of love. Oh, love
is a sorrowful noun,
the most beautiful predicate

in the middle of our sentence.

You paid the ultimate cost;
shed petals for our transgressions.
Your feelings fell;
dripped from thorns
after all the blossoms
were gone.

The same star filled December skies
and cried , why, why, why
and you answered sweetly
without reservation,

that this was destiny.

The cardinal at my window
drowns out sounds
of my aching, reverberating
through the empty corridors
of past tremblings

proverbial knots
in my stomach
in golden threads
between us,
that bind my muse
to thoughts of you,

and that four letter word
keeps following behind
just close enough
to sink into my spirit
and flow in and back out

like love always does.

~
I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 17.

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Weeping

You sway,
fall over me;

breeze dandelions
under bare feet;
slender limbs caress-
shelter my heart
through storms

that I could have never
weathered alone.

`

`
I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 14

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Flawed

She had ribbons waving
in the silence of prayer,
too much powder,

and secrets pinned
in the ruffles of her petticoat,

but she was humble
in the presence of light
and while the others
were fixated on her flaws,
he counted each fall,
a stepping stone;

each circumstance,
an opportunity
to flower.

~
I am writing a poem a day from November 24th until December 25, 2017 to celebrate the birth of Jesus. .. This is day 12….

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Love Letter #58: Symmetric

To say your name
in the silence of the evening
still brings me to tears;

your fingers, wipe them away,

trace the shape of my lips,
turn corners to a smile;
your gaze, a simile.

We lie, horizontal
counting constellations,
watching fireflies
swirl the scent of our love.

We don’t need words,
but you speak soft syllables,
anyway;
dance them
in the symmetry
of a poem.

I could fill pages
with the petals of our story,
compose a symphony;

notes resembling the melody
of my harp strings
when you twirl my hair
‘round your pinkie,
play pretty with my heart,

frolick in flowers
beneath our bare feet,
in breeze they sway
and tickle tendencies
to run; to silence time

to leave senses simmering
in the seamless chorus

of us.

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Leave(s)

Leave(s)

You never bring me flowers
when green fades to brown,
crumbling under my feet,
remnants of a Summer love,

burnt orange
and sad as September

~

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Love Letter #56: to Fireflies

It was one year to the day he left
in the coolness of March.
I waited
for a star to fall like it had that night.
I needed another sign from God
that he was somewhere warm;
somewhere sweeter

than the wildflowers we walked through
in that same field where I sat,
waiting,

then, came something softer
than a constellation
but, as close as a whisper,
with wings.

My head in my hands,
it all came back;
the song, the lyric
of him;

the smile on the lips of his last words,
echoing like lost syllables in damp air,

but then, this flickering thing,
it multiplied, divided-
like stars,
exploding in the Heavens
and there I was
under a skyful of light

wondering how could I
have ever doubted
you.

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Love Letter #55: Rebirth

Sunlight filters in through blue.
I attempt to step out of my shell
as a lonely cardinal plays taps on
the window sill seeking solace in
sounds of worship reverberating
through panes; pangs of a broken
heart bring chorus to an already
red mourning. New seeds bloom
into broken soil to make room for
flowers to replace common weeds.