It once roared loudly With an abandon that belied the ordinary mouthpiece It once shone with brilliance And heat That even the blind couldn’t doubt It poured torrential waters across thirsty furrows To quench loneliness’s deep thirst
Time has changed its face Its roar is now a purr sounded in quiet corners Its light has deepened To a soft amber that heats as slow fed coals Its waters have slipped deep Locked within rich earth carpeted with green
It is a love that lingers into the beyond dreams Infusing every breath with trust Each morning with assurance Even tears with hope As fingers curl around each other Locked in companionship And gray hairs sprout to sparkle against tired temples It is a love that lives
Hands outstretched Confession on quivering lips “I broke it.” Be it cup or figurine knocked upon the ground By careless elbows Compassion leaks from love itself Dripping into cracks as Helping hands hold the pieces together Waiting
Release is gradual Will it hold? Is it strong? In the cup of gentleness When it’s ready “It’s okay. We fixed it.” A young soul learns forgiveness And trust When asked to place the treasure Back home
There is a beauty like no other when it rains, each drop its own little world until it touches down.
What must it be like to be separate as you fall to be broken apart across pavement? Never ceasing to be what you are, but to have your world change so drastically as you slide down hill, finding a crack and joining the soil. Remaining what you are, but also changing.
What must it be like to touch down upon the sea and join an uncountable multitude of life? Something with sound and molecules invisible and unheard by the human world?
That fall, that union, vital to our existence. Without it? We wither.
Each single drop, so important. But alone, never enough.
Only embracing togetherness of different kinds does water nourish life.
Did we ask to exist? Think on it… A sentient thought that Could whisper to a woman’s whom “I’m ready.” Or… Perhaps, As the scene was written The ghosts within the mind of God Asked for life, And he let them free. Maybe, We itched with in his ear. Or twined inside his being. Pulling, Begging, To be. But perhaps not. Perhaps we were but silence, Pregnant with potential. A question ready to be asked. A lesson waiting for the right Scholars interpretation And that was He. Maybe…
They are a comfort. They tell us someone took the time to fix us up. Sometimes, they come with a kiss.
Bandaid, we wish they could fix everything, don’t we? We run around slapping them on every scrap and bruise like a three-year-old. But in reality, they are not always enough. They can hide the real problem.
Don’t let a bandaid fix keep you from healing. But also, hold dear every kiss they come with.