SuziCate's Musings

Posts tagged ‘cycle’

Perceptions

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I do not know the weight of mud,

the way they say it sucks you down

and throws upon you what you’ve outgrown;

but I do know the weight of blood,

how it ties you to life, to love,

and to people you’ve never known.

 

I know too well the lapse of days,

the way minutes disappear into years

and the shrinking time leads my fears;

but I do not know if spirit stays

when bound to this plan, to this love

of listening to what the heart hears.

 

I do not know the flight of bird,

the arc of wing or speed of air

or if he flies without a care;

but I do know the might of word,

whether it was kind and fair

or when spoken pain was spared.

 

I do not know the stretch of trees,

if their long arms dare to hug the sun

while underground roots continually run;

but I do know the catch of please,

how you are obligated to do or be done

as if you were ever really anyone.

 

And yet I know the cost of wind,

what is lost when  breath lets go

and that which was will cease to know;

and better, I know the frost of sin

when all bitterness returns to snow.

In the cold, life and love still grow.

Blowing In The Wind

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Can time be measured?

Fleeting moments held in hearts

tell stories of love.

When we capture life

in photos and memory,

do we feel the breath,

essence of being

as we bloom in the sun and

blow high with the wind?

****My father is terminally ill, and I will be away from this blog for an undetermined length of time.

Linear

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The end of the line

or the beginning of time?

Do you call this peace?

****I will be absent from this blog for two weeks taking care of personal business.

The Now

You smile and go

about your day

while no one knows.

Fear puffs you

into a parachute that never lands

because love sends you searching

for answers you can’t understand.

Such a fine line between life and death,

yet here you are…trusting.

Tears reside below your eyes

and dance across your soul.

Pain sits on your stomach,

hard and lumpy,

like a bowl of oatmeal

turned cold.

Heavy and wasted,

you measure yourself out again.

 

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