Our sorrow and fear,
As an ocean in a tear.
Miseries of the world,
As a banner unfurled.
Heartache feels dour,
This bud a sad flower.
Our prospects but dim,
A cup filled to the brim.
Those small kindnesses,
Do make way to find us.
Take hold an open hand,
Denial is but reprimand.
My heart will make room,
And will nothing assume.
My eyes lift upward, aloft,
My feelings tender, soft.
Who am I; I don’t know,
I change each day, grow.
The ground of soul fertile,
The lilac garden its smile.
NATURE, AND PARTICULARLY FLOWERS,IF THEY'RE ALLOWED TO, DOES EXACTLY WHAT THEY WERE INTENDED/CREATED TO DO...THEY REACH, THROUGH THEIR ENORMOUSLY VARIED HUES AND LUSCIOUS AROMAS, TO GIVE US A 'GLIMPSE' OF 'HIS' BEAUTY. INDEED, THE FERTILE/SURRENDERED SOUL CANNOT RESIST THE ILLICIT-ED URGE TO SEE...HIS SMILE. VERY MUCH ENJOYED, MY FRIEND. THANKS FOR SHARING. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...JOYCE * HIS INSPIRATIONS
There's a lot of introspection in this poem. And I remember lilacs. They seem to bloom in spring time at every farmhouse in Wisconsin. I lost track of the lilacs when I left there and haven't seen or smelled there heavy, sweet scent since.
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
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Ron
Love ya!
Jane
John Michael