say what needs to be said

 

the chimes sing
in the wind, your voice
lends itself to this
selfish world and
I hear you even
when I wish I
could not

I can only offer
you a heart open enough
to want to let
you in, a soul free
enough to share
itself with you, and
a mind that longs to
learn everything about
the mysteries of you.

I am saying what needs
to be said . . .
I am telling you
what I must
in order to be
who I can to you.

What will you say?

Oh, but at the sea . . .

ColorfulSeahorse
Art by Eva Sandoval via Mixkit.co

the brave seahorse raids
the raging waters, fearlessness
in his gaze
I lurk about, waiting for
a glimpse of wonder . . .
a chance to witness
the essence of magic.

he wades through,
cautious and in-the-know,
I sit back
with my hands pressed
close to me
longing for the moment
to land an eye
on this incredible creature.

the ten-year-old trapped within
lunges itself forward
we find a few minutes
of excitement, pull them close,
and will ourselves on for
the evening.

we know the beauty
nature possesses,
does the seahorse
know?

Corona, Corona

Musical Selection: Cheryl “Pepsii” Riley|Thanks for My Child

Corona, Corona

Knowing Unknown

I know not the pain a mother feels,
the concern or worry
releasing her child
into a world that
plagues, disrupts, bends, & changes
without c a u s e
the torture it must lay
on her heart, the constant
ripping of it breaking
from her body,
shattering to the ground
left in pieces.

she stands at the window
eyes watching the cars
counting them as they pass . . .
which one will carry
death to her door?
a phone call after
every shift — the sound of
a familiar voice, letting
her know the day is done.

there is no sleep, she presses
her hands against the wall,
feels the pulse of
the room on the other side
and wishes her child
was within reach,
far away from the
d a m a g e s
of the wicked.
she pulls back
pain instead.

I know not, mother —
how you suffer,
how you kneel on
bruised knees, prayerful
for a positive outcome.
the vessels from your womb,
servicing in places many
miles away from you,
wear their wounds proudly.
yet, you still harbor
fear, unable to dissect
the discomfort or turmoil
and remove them from
your soul.

I know not . . .
I cannot know.


Originally published via Medium.