"love is not a fickle thing"

Love is not a fickle thing

to brush off with time

or the age of ease.

Love is not a weakness,

laughable, nor demeaning.

Love does not explode in immediation,

does not shut off with the lights

or escape away with a fancy.

Love does not twitch

or fade

it is not a kiss

to be wiped off.

Love is not a pillar of salt

to be washed away or forgotten,

shoved aside or gagged.

Love stands for always,

crumbling only when the physical

vessel that protects our vulnerable hearts

begins to decay.

Love is a mountain that falls

only when the waters of forever

have washed away the memories and pain

the heartache and shame.

Love continues to grow

in patterns and forms unrecognizable.

Limbs of souls stronger than our mortal imaginings,

roots of creatures more corrupt

than our most feeble moments.

Love is forever changing

with a bitter taste

or crooked smile.

Into resentment.

Or acceptance.

(I've never been good at revising poetry. I tend to just sit and do, scribbling it out as fast as it will come. Never really thinking to move or fix. All my poetry is rough draft poetry).

kneeling

Sunday, 12:16am

kneeling, face to face
vulnerable and broken together
hearts open and exposed
scars  fresh to see
fingers touching
closing the space between

image via

poem : miracles

Remember when I spoke of miracles here?

I had included those same thoughts in a response to my sweet sister and her letter that had sparked that realization.

She wrote me back this week. With her letter she included a poem she had written, combining her words with mine and producing a precious piece of beauty. She said it needed some work, but I didn't dare touch it:

"I've often overlooked

or

perhaps ignored

what a

miracle is.

Assuming it to be

merely

the stuff of angels,

where I'm sure

a trumpet

sounded

and mayhaps some

heavenly light

was seen.

However,

miracles are quite

different.

Miracles are

loud.

Ones that make

men weep

and demons

hide

for fear.

Miracles are

quiet.

Ones that bring

more later.

Be it a simple prayer.

Miracles are

personal.

I can't say for you

and you can't say for me.

Personal miracles

are naturally 

more sought for

and

more appreciated.

These are loud, quiet,

big, small

and all things

in between.

And

most important.

It's a miracle

I've made it

this far.

It's a miracle

you have

risen from

the ashes of

all things

unexpected.

That cause emotional

storms to

subside."

sun rise

This morning I watched the sun rise
White whispers exploded before my eyes
As the darkness was swept away
And yellow rays did herald a new day
That peace that waits to be born
Grew inside my chest with the coming morn
But oh, what fathoms did it fall
To come just before my heart did call
Those speckles of innocent light
Bringing warmth after the long night


Written at 6:30am right before taking a final