It’s Fragile

 

 

It’s fragile,

This fabric wov’n on the loom of life.

So much not said, unshared, undone

Adds stress, does strain, builds strife.

We move along behind the veils

That privately we weave

To shield ourselves from falsehoods, truths,

Those others might believe.

We craft elaborate screens and scenes,

Essential to deceive.

But on and in our skin, it’s wrong

We know, and so we grieve.

Assumptions,

Eccentricities,

Duplicities,

Unshed

Will gnaw like moths, voraciously,

Destroy our silken thread.

And if the veils come wafting down

Aloft on judgment’s winds,

We hope the truth stands tall,

Prevails

And then the real us wins.

Progression

She denied when first informed.

When she heard the girl was sick ~ and always would be.

“Not my daughter.”

“She’s brilliant. We prize that.”

~

She raged as illness unfolded.

Living the day-in, the day-out, fearing dreams would never come about.

“This is not our life!”

She had such plans. She cherished them. She clung.

~

She trembled when the crazy bubbled up.

When her fear, fueled by helplessness, boiled on over with it.

She’d always had control.

That’s how she lived.  She controlled.

~

She prayed when hope refused to settle in.

When getting through a day sans crisis was success.

“God can do miracles.”

“We need one. I’ll do whatever it takes.” She begged.

~

She mourned as miracles failed to manifest.

When she knew the girl was sick and always would be.

When she knew her mind was truly ill.

She, they, so prized it.

time

She loved when they spent time together.

When the girl chose to live and she chose to live beside her.

When she knew their plans had changed, but that the change was right and good.

They would move on. They would be well.

~

And now.

They rejoice.

She is ill, but lives, stays, well.

Lives, loves, learns. Well.

And ~ blessed be ~ brilliance, bravery, beauty ~ accompany.

They, too, are here to stay.

Transformation

The exterior seems the same.

On close inspection, not at all.

From deep within, a new visage surfaces and glows.

Metamorphosis.

Old descriptors no longer apply; something new is afoot.

Is it beauty, truly inner

Wisdom…Sagacity?

Is it acceptance

Understanding

Rebellion

Acquiescence

Or simply age

Can it really be that simple?

Age?

Can it really be this good?

little bits of Me

I used to set free, little bits of me

More readily.

Fear stepped in.

I stopped.

Journey in.

Accept.

Practice.

Strength– Flexibility –Balance

I move again.

Released.

Free.

Me.