Sweet 16 . . . How It Hurts

How can it be that you’ve grown so quickly?
Ah! It was only yesterday that I carried you
Along the pathway through the city park
And secured you against that dog’s bark;
Has it been so long since I taught you
To play hide and seek, to ride a bike?
Was it not only a few weeks ago
I showed how to climb the tree?
Now I look and see beauty in a young lady,
And I’m stung and tongue-tied and defied
By time that’s passed by so quickly,
Deftly stealing away my little girl . . .
How can it be that you’re now so grown up?
Only yesterday I was shown a baby,
But today I see an outstanding lady!
Nobody told me such loveliness in my child,
So meek and mild, could hurt so very deep
Where I will forever keep you in my heart;
And can I say, ‘happy birthday?’ Yes . . .
And many more as you tear my heart away
And say, too, ‘I love you . . . and always will!’

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Yesteryear

Yesteryear is somewhere I hold not dear,
And shed not one tear that I can only peer
Into my past – to cast but a quick glance –
And it does not last . . .
Oh, yes, there’re fond memories, I’m sure
But they do not serve to cure my dejection
And so my rejection of too much reflection
Comes with ease with ne’er ghostly figure
To tease, and no shade to rise up to please,
Nothing to freeze my soul in bygone years;
And tell me, what could be more charming,
If not alarming, for an avid pupil of history?
Ah! an invigorating story I love, so savory!
But really there’s not one bone of interest
To pick from my own,
Sown in the mundane . . .
So yesteryear is not dear but rather drear;
But, then, I hear it is medicine for the soul
To reflect, to recollect, and so it might be,
So, you see, I do reminisce in quietness;
No, I do not hate the past, so I meditate,
Yet this does not last very long;
After all, I belong here and now . . .
Yesteryear may be as near as one thought,
But reliving those days cannot be bought
With the world’s gold, not even one’s soul,
And why try? To want to live in yesteryear
Comes from fear of bowing here and now,
Turning ‘golden days’ into towers of power
Under which one cowers . . .
And this came to mind as I was pondering
Yesteryear

What Pain So Deep?

What pain runs so deep
That you keep it locked
Away from the daylight
And hid thru the night?

What keeps you so silent?
Was it something violent?
Are you still crying inside,
And dying to tell someone?

Why do you shake your fist at God?
Why do you quake inside a church?
Is there no one in whom to confide?
Will this pain forever reside in you?

You say you felt abandoned by the Almighty,
And this has maddened and saddened you. . .
Are you fearful no one will understand you?
That people will brand you if you open up?

What is this eating you up inside?
What horror do you have to hide?
What is burning your very soul,
Churning and binding your mind?

Come out! Come out! No longer keep the monster caged!
Open up! Open up! Lest you live your lovely life enraged!
Peel away layers of fear, trust someone and begin to heal!
Though you have been shaken, you’ve not been forsaken!
Open and come out where it is secure and find your cure!

Oh! What pain so deep
That you keep it locked
Away from the daylight
And hid thru the night?
Indeed, what pain . . .
Pain driving you insane?

I See You Trapped Inside

Hello, hello, I see you in there, yes, through the window
Hugging your pillow; won’t you come out to play today?
Ah, there is your special toy you can share with the boys
Outside playing in the park – swinging and swaying,
Running and jumping – no one standing like a stump;
Yes, I see the look in your eyes and the size of wonder
Hidden under layers of silence; you only need guidance;
Come outside, out into the fine sunshine; cross the line
And free yourself to be yourself . . . oh, but I can see now
You can’t find the door, is that it? Within the four walls
There must be some way out into the bright day, eh?
Or is this why you stand at the window looking out
And about the beautiful world? Is it, perhaps, because
There is no portal through which to release yourself
Into the immortal-mortal world of life – life of sights
And sounds, touch and smell, sky and sea and trees,
And church bells and honey bees – so you stand grand
And beautiful at your window looking in awed wonder
From inside your tiny house that no one can plunder?
. . .
Ah, yes, hello! I am here and I see you in there; I see,
But how might I come inside to bring you outside
Of your four rather banal walls to enjoy the very wide
And tall world all around you? But are you bound?
Are you bound? Not forever, I say; the day will come
When the sound of freedom rings loud and you will
Proudly play with the others and never again have
To stay confined in your hovel, to grovel in your heart
For a part of a world you can only see and barely hear;
And that day will be a grand day of liberty . . .
When you are finally free!
Yes, I see you thru the window hugging your pillow;
I see you . . . I see you . . . and I know you see me, too!

Note: Dedicated to all of the wonderful individuals persons who, for whatever reason (medical, psychological, spiritual … all of the above), are “trapped” inside themselves, unable to “come out” into the wider life of the world around them. One such family member — dear and beautiful child — is in such a state … but I do not believe forever! There is real hope for her and for all such individuals!

Dread Fate of One Beautiful Rose

Ah! I’m so sorry, my rose, that your gardener knows so little
But tingles with self-ambition from head to toes, though you
Grow best in the garden where you are, with so much sunshine,
Rain and stars, in such lush, sweet garden where lovers meet
And admire your beauty as you abide your duty in lovely glow
To show all passersby just how one flower can flourish despite
Slack care and lack of cultivation by the gardener, who is hard
Pressed to truly impress anyone; you have been rooted in good
Soil with other healthy shrubs and trees and flowers, and from
This you’ve drawn strength and power without allowing yourself
To sour from neglect, misuse and abuse; yes, and you grew into
An awesome rose in all, tall in magnificence without pretense,
But now … ah! but now how the gardener is ripping you up by
Your very roots while sipping on poisoned wine, perfectly fine
With the decision to replant you with scant attention to your
Health and well-being, seeing there is more to gain in another
Garden despite what pain it causes you and how askew the plan
As if laid out by a madman, but can anyone ban the transfer?
Kinsman, clergy or wise man? Oh, but each one tries in vain
As the gardener only continues to lie, claiming the uprooting
Is best and will ultimately invest you with even more charm
And beauty, though we all know it will only harm … only harm;
And I’m so sorry; it breaks my heart, tears it apart! I’m sorry
If I could I would leave you just where you are
And plant the gardener in scant soil instead!