trust

Seeing Without Scars

~ Emma ~ 1 Comment

She knows what she needs to do.
This task, this ask, this duty is owed to her.
She knows what she needs to do.
So, why is it every time it happens her mind goes a blur?

Captive to thoughts, ideas, fantasy.
The little twang of regret every single time.
The position of her heart, now needing a canopy.
The frailty of emotion resting on a dime.

Over and over the cycle continues, no one at fault.
The spike in chemicals reminiscent of lost hope.
The downshift and comedown, like opening and closing the vault.
She thinks of this as a supposed easy thing to do but, nope.

Why oh why does she fly in a sky full of unruly feathers and scattered dirt?
When really, her soul is calling her to the sea, alone and bottomless. Free.
The decision each moment, to be what is known, causes hurt.
She is stronger and faster and will no longer agree.

She knows what she needs to do, but it is taking a toll.
Shouldn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t, it is not for her anymore.
Letting go, a triumph of will, mind strength, resisting the pull.
This year of fire and of stallion, causing massive movement and heated chore.

The race to find peace among chaos and intensity and false lore.
One more taste of the divine to set her free at last.
The momentum strong, but consistency is a bore.
She wants it all or nothing at all, and settles for a moment, in the comfort of the past.

Staying right here, right now, seeing without scars.
There are people waiting for her, she is not deaf.
The silent gift of seeing, knowing, keeps her outside on Mars.
She cares deeply, wants you to know, but she’s different now, take a breath.

What appears insignificant to some, strikes her like a thorn.
She is wiser than what you imagine, even then some, and more.
Stop the chase, the controlled wall, just let it all go and be torn.
She isn’t like the rest, she holds gratitude and grace and loves to restore.

She knows the battle well, it continues day after day.
But today is different, this day is saying, “say what you say, it will all be ok.”
Trust in a higher power, the guidance and the proper way.
She listens to her angels; she will nurture and explode, she is on her way.

Wolves and Wine

~ Emma ~ Leave a comment

You took off like a bullet.
Do bullets actually take…off?
I put on a sweater because it’s cold now.
Your absence brings an age of…ice.

Icy shivers down my spine.
I’m going to add to my sweater, some wine.
I don’t drink, is this ok? I look at your face, but I’m blind.
It’s a good thing we never signed.

I’m inside a warm and cozy cave.
I’ve got tools and I know how to save.
It’s just us now. You’re my fav.
The fire I’ve got inside, keeps me brave.

I’m ok huddled here, I’ll be ok.
I can hear the wolves outside, I hope they stay.
It’s peaceful in here, I’ve made a good spot to lay.
The night is long but today…is the day.

The cave walls have a smooth look.
No jagged or rough edges, nowhere for a hook.
I feel safe. The flames burning, crackling, I remember what you took.
Be careful out there, don’t get shook.

I sit here by the fire, in my sweater in this cave.
I watch their movement outside, the wolves pace back and forth.
I’m not afraid. I think they are my protection, not here for an election.
Thank you dear wolf pack, for having my back.

How did I get here? Huddled, alone, protected by wolves?
I can see the sky outside a bit. It’s bare.
What a feeling this is. Uncertain and unsettled, but in good care.
Fire is comfort for my soul and my mind. I close my eyes.

The heat pressing my face, it got brighter even without sight.
I pray that you are alive and safe.
I hope you come back one day. But until you do. I’ll wait.
Here inside this cave, behind the wolves. In my sweater.
With my wine. With my tribe.  

Write the Night

~ Emma ~ Leave a comment

I like to write in the night,
When there is no more light.
The quiet zombies, their grip not so tight.
I wonder if I screamed, would I cause a fright?

Just because it is past one o’clock,
Means nothing to a writer who just can’t stop.
Maybe I’ll meet Santa when he makes his drop.
How funny would that be, I’d ask him to hang out, “let’s talk.”

Alas it is spring, so no Santa sightings for me.
I don’t even have a chimney, a house, or cookies or milk, hmm let’s see.
I know, if I saw Santa, if he came to me, I’d write him a story about the sea.
I’d show him how I can make words turn into aromatic delicious tea.  

I want to right this day, write this night away.
Let’s think up more ways, you know that I know, how to really play.
The water was warm and comforting and now here I stay.
Locked in this position not quite yet ready, to end the slay.

I do not fear the clock ticking further and further to dawn.
The pleasure I receive my fingers moving like this, impossible to yawn.
What’s that sound? I hear footsteps outside of a delicate, soft fawn.
I’m in the forest of my mind, deep in the woods, definitely not on someone’s front lawn.

The pockets and squares of yellow in the sky.
It’s hard to keep my focus on just one thing, I’m not going to lie.
Writing in the night carries secrets you cannot find, even with eye spy.
The tunes keeping me grounded, I sort of feel like I could fly.

Did you know that there is a message waiting for you?
It’s hanging, waiting, holding, watching, its colour is blue.
You don’t believe me? Watch what happens in a day or two.
I won’t spoil the surprise, the letters will spell themselves in a strange skew.

Trust it. I’m writing in the night this poem because it is what I do.
Just for you.
And by you, I mean me too.
How beautiful and broken the world we live. Let us sing and sleep and stay true.