Somtimes I think the things we see,
are shadows of the things to be;
that what we plan we build,
that every hope that hath been crossed
and every dream we thought was lost,
in heaven shall be fulfilled.
Emily Dickinson

Saturday, June 19, 2010

When in doubt, write.

"Therapist" was the name of the journal I kept in High School. Unlike a person, it never told anyone about the difficult things I was dealing with as an angsty teen. Even now I re-read those journals. Putting ideas on paper is possibly the best way I deal with issues.

So here I am, unable to sleep, busily doing nothing and waiting for the morning. You'd think a pioneering post would be 24 hour madness but we've got more free time on our hands than we can easily handle. There's been a poem in my head for a while and now that I have a bit of motivation I thought I'd put it here.

It's been years and she's seen a thousand sunsets
and a thousand times the sun tickling the dawn.
Cliches like suns rising and falling
could never be more delicious
everytime she wakes and sleeps.
A thousand horizons. Some as big as Sunday pancakes,
some prickly like cactus,
and others filled with cold water.
Waiting on those suns,
has never been more delicious.

No comments:

Post a Comment