SuziCate's Musings

Posts tagged ‘pome’

The Gap

We live in the crack between water and the light, rising from the dark.

We live in the crack
between water and the light,
rising from the dark.

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Seeker

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You wander through life

not as if you are lost but

as if you are free.

A Trace

Montebello wildflowers 072

 

Whiskers in the wind,

A slight tickle on the skin,

A lasting memory

It Still Leads Home

Gray slabs of soapstone

line the pathway leading home

to the days gone by

Worn, whittled away

walked a million times over

keeping secrets safe

Sunken in the ground

cold stones absorb warm sunshine

as past comes to life

In Memory Of Camille

They went to work, visited folks,

tended their farms, and ventured out to play.

They cooked, cleaned, and shopped.

It was nothing extraordinary, just another day.

Until the Heavens broke beneath a veil of darkness,

and the pounding rains came beating down.

Twenty-five inches in just five hours time,

life as they knew it was no where to be found.

Lives that were not stolen in the night

were shattered like shards of broken glass.

Mountains tumbled, and fields became rivers,

devastating a once lush green land mass.

Screams muffled by the river’s roar,

survivors clung to life on roof and trees.

Searching through death and ruin, rescuers

hoped to find life and listened for pleas.

People gathered, prayed, and labored

as sorrowful hearts echoed the torn land.

They buried, salvaged, cleared, and rebuilt.

And the strangers they came, offered a hand.

So much happened in so little time ,

what a difference a day can make-

And when our souls are tested,

it’s amazing how much we can take.

When we have God and community,

upon which to lay our burdens down,

we have a place to plant our roots

that is sturdier and trustier than ground.

Scars upon the mountains, hearts, and souls,

but amongst thorns, flowers still grow.

Through love and courage, the people prevail,

and Nelson is still the home I know.

Sunday Scribblings prompt is “What a difference a day can make”.

****This is written about Hurricane Camille that devasted the county I lived in when I was six years old. This tells the story in my other blog. The photograph above the poem is my husband’s grandfather’s home that was destroyed in the flood.

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