Time

The clock ticks

Even as we sleep

Time can’t be kept

It can’t hear us weep

We are all doing time

Life…

It’s more than a sentence

More like serving paragraphs

Inside chapters

To a world we’ll

Eventually leave behind

Sometimes I wonder

Will I be worth history?

And then I remember

When I almost was…

Except I would have left

No page to turn

Wouldn’t even have made

Much of an ash if it burned

Then all the tomorrows

I couldn’t afford, but still borrowed…

When it’s really my time

I hope I’ll have paid it all back

Because the gold I was bestowed

Each morning

 and the smiles throughout the day

somehow

 made the midnight struggles

slip away

and they still do

and there goes the part where I try not to cry

I’m still here with time

And an open suitcase

Full of reasons to be unpacked.

The clock can keep ticking

the moments can leave

I think I'll stay

Clarity

This post is for this week's GBE2 topic: Clarity

A drop of love

And just like that

My heart has vision

Soul to soul contact

I accepted like charity

now the world is wide open

And I see it all with clarity

All these years I looked

But it wasn’t until my eyes closed tired

That seeing felt so new

And I was glad

 when they opened up to you

My rage

 has become distant

Since I’ve moved closer to love

Your hand scribbled poetry on my page

suddenly my heart no longer

 knows how to act its age

I’m looking at the sky

Like it has never been so blue

I’m seeing a cloud

Like a pillow that comforts two

I was searching for hope

when I tripped over you

and it has never

 felt so good to fall

When heaven doesn’t answer

I’ll sit quiet and wait for your call

~Trish

Lost and Found

It's not a repost if I never posted it here and most of you haven't read it yet, right? RIGHT? Anyway, I have had a super unproductive week and remembered that I had a poem that matched this week's GBE2 topic. So this may or may not be cheating but I will do my best to post something new next time. 




Lost and Found
---------------------

Some poets like to 
Speak of things
Like bright dancing flames
Flowers in bloom
Sometimes I can be one of the some

It’s easy to play with pleasant words
And embrace your blessings
When life surrounds you
And treats you like your cool enough to join in
But then there are hours…

When the darkness is at its darkest
where neither cool nor uncool exists
and it wouldn't matter even if either did
those hours that I find it hard to search for such metaphors
When I’m closed up inside four walls in my room…
When the darkness is at its darkest

too weary to do anything about it
Each thought 
On that next deep breath
Just trying to focus
On that next deep breath…
Then wondering if it will come
Or if I even want it to
And I hate that about myself
So I lay in my bed
Hoping to wake up to a dream
Of open space and air

Then I think of all the lost thoughts
The unwritten poetry
That were there for a fleeting moment
in my mind
swirling around so colorful
waiting to be transformed 
to black and white
those impatient words
refusing to wait until morning
resting on my chest when I try to sleep
nudging my heart
until giving up and deserting me
or rather until I abandon them
for a bit of overrated momentary repose

Well tonight
that old feeling is back again
Like a long gone
but not forgotten friend
And there is no strength to push it away
So I guess it’s write or die

So tonight 
I choose to grab those thoughts
in the midst of their flight
before they’re out of reach
and this soul is too...


~Trish