Thinking of You

I’m listening to the rain pounding on my roof,

hot cup of coffee in my hand, curled up comfortably on the couch.

I should be thinking peaceful thoughts, but instead I’m missing you.

You would be 45 this summer, seems like a lifetime ago.

You’d be inspiring me with confidence for my exam, my work.

You always knew how to keep me calm, grounded, strong.

You made my work, my career fun, less like a job.

You taught me so much about life, people, happiness.

You smiled everyday, laughed even harder, joked with the best.

Your heart was bigger than the solar system.

Your mind was an entire computer network.

Not a day passes that I still don’t think of you, wish you could be here.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for my life, my gifts;

but I wonder why I was allowed to stay and you were taken from us.

Who am I in this world? You were a father, a husband, a friend.

Who was I at that age, even now in comparison?

I’ve been thinking even more of you lately as I study once again.

I can see your smiling face encouraging me all the way.

With you as my guide, I have confidence that I can do this.

Terrified though I may be of the investment I’m making,

if you whisper in my ear the answers will come.

I’d like to think some of your knowledge transferred to me.

You were after all the guru of your time.

I’d like to think I learned from your wisdom,

and that one day some of that wisdom might be mine.

I miss you my dear, dear friend.

Hoping you are looking down on all of us, with a smile.

Wishing I can one day understand.

Hoping life there after is a true paradise,

for you deserve nothing less.

God bless my dear friend….

Loneliness

I feel a pain from deep inside I haven’t heard from in a while,

this familiar pinging in my brain, nagging at me like a child.

I thought I finally stitched myself completely back together,

that all illusions had been shattered and bad times weathered.

Was I so wrong to drop my guard; has it snuck its way back in?

Has loneliness made its home inside me once again?

My heart was resting comfortably, while I let my head drive.

Who gave my heart permission to step once again outside?

I need to lock her up again, and hide away this nasty key;

for I can’t afford to be distracted by hopes and dreams that may never be.

I get through life, one day at a time, never doubting in today,

because there is no going back to fix all that has brought me to this day.

I cannot seem to close this door, never really tight for good.

Some part of me yearns for more, for love, just like she thinks she should.

So I struggle once again with loneliness from deep down in my soul,

For I can’t win a battle with myself, if the demon takes control.

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Happiness seems so fleeting sometimes,

like my whole world can crumble in an instant.

A word, a breath, a thought or lack thereof can change it all.

Sometimes I get a sinking feeling in my stomach,

like a calm before a storm, warning me of what’s to come.

Still pieces of me cling to hope that this time will be different,

but if I have learned anything from the past it is

that I seem to fall for the same mistakes, same people just different faces.

The only way to protect myself from the dust tumbling around me,

is to react different from before.

So although it may pain me in the moment,

I’m taking one step forward into the unknown,

approaching a new path in hopes of a new result.

In the end at least I will know, this time I did it differently.

 

Grandma

I miss you every day that goes by,

but here it is Mother’s Day and I think of you more.

I draw on you for strength and courage,

as you exemplified these qualities.

You were a hero to everyone who knew and loved you.

I think of you with everything I do, from cooking, cleaning, to writing.

I think of you when I’m angry, and how you’d swear in Italian.

I think of you when I’m sad, and how you’d always pick us back up again.

I think of you when life is good, because I wish you were here to see it.

I laugh at old stories, jokes, things you used to do or say.

I go into a store to buy cookies, knowing they won’t compare to yours.

I sing with dad around the campfire, and I can hear you singing too.

But most of all, I feel you in my presence, every time we’ve needed you.

You are the angel that watches over us, guides us everyday.

I believe that with you beside me, I will never go astray.

 

 

Studying

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My eyes burn from overuse,

swollen and bloodshot.

My head throbs with tension,

pain seizes through me.

My fingers are red from clutching furiously at my pen,

calluses forming with each stroke.

My notes seem blurry, unreadable.

The thought of stopping for the night flashes in my mind.

Something drives me to keep going.

The clock chimes denoting the end of another hour.

My eyes are now tearing intensely,

as if begging me to take a break.

Finally, I close the book with great passion.

Suddenly, overcome by relief,

my eyes no longer weep.

Until tomorrow, I say,

rest my weary eyes,

we will start again.

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the path of my pen

My thoughts bleed onto the page with my emotion,

as if the pen would heal my soul.

I write anxiously, furiously looking for answers.

When I finally bring the pen up for air,

words, thoughts are scatterred everywhere.

Is there a point, a message?

sometimes, not always.

A stream of consciousness can lead to a revelation,

or to nothing at all.

I read through the dribble on the paper.

Unhappy in its indecisiveness, I tear it up.

Pieces fly everywhere and for a moment I question whether to try again.

But as my heart beats faster, my eyes start to tear, my lips quiver,

I realize I need something, anything to heal my pain.

So I pick up the pen once again, I take a deep breath,

and let the bleeding begin.

With every stroke I look for a band-aid,

some sign that the medicine is working.

Sometimes, it’s like a migraine that just won’t go away.

Other days, the pen is truly the victor of my battles.

Which day will today be remains to be seen.

I close my eyes, pray for a moment; for peace, for solitude, for guidance.

Pen do not fail me now,

and so I bleed again……

Letting go

This is an old one, but has occasionally come back to haunt me.  Hope you like it:

I was never very good at letting go,

of people, things, moments in time.

I look too hard for meaning in every aspect of life,

as if even the tiniest thing is of the utmost importance.

Of course, this is also why I feel so deeply;

why to this day I can remember intricate details of past events.

It helps me remember the people I’ve lost,

people who have taught me, touched me, shaped my life.

This is often good, but not always.

Sometimes we go through events in life that change us,

but in looking back as painful as the moment or period in time was,

without it we would not be who we are today.

Still I try to find direction in when to let go.

Remembrance is good, but clinging to something is extreme.

In life we must find a balance between the two.

I haven’t felt this way in so long; as if I’ve come alive again.

I finally feel excitement in a day, happiness, have things to look forward to.

I contribute some, if not all of this, to a special person I’ve come to know.

My heart skips a beat thinking of them, my stomach flutters like a child.

My mind is burdened trying to focus instead of day dream of them.

As so often seems to happen in my life, it can only be in my dreams.

So I’m left to wonder, is it better to let go of this person?

Staying still in time, not letting go, allows me a sense of happiness I haven’t felt in quite awhile,

But that happiness is like fine china just waiting to burst into a thousand pieces.

In my head, I know it’s not even real, but it helps me through a bad day.

Is it so bad to have something that makes you smile, as long as you know where the line is?

There’s a voice in my head, telling me to walk away, give them up.

Am I strong enough? Is it even about strength?

Why is it I am drawn to things, to places, to people that cannot be?

Maybe I really don’t want what I think I want.

Maybe I don’t even know what I want.

Somehow I think it’s more that I’m afraid of actually finding what I want.

Yet in that fear, I’m losing time.

I’m wasting time.

With this logic, walking away should be so simple.

Yet I return to my original thought, about letting go.

Even though I know I need to, I should,

I am not sure that I can.