Along For The Ride

Dimpled hair and stained face staring into a streaked mirror.

Tilts felt hat from one angel to another,

til even her reflection says

To the pot, we add different flavors.

Some mild, helping to balance the bolder spice.

Little miss not meant to be ,

An angel watching over a family that wanted a chance to show you the love you could have passed on .

I shall never understand how easily God can change joy to sadness with one simple phrase,

Walking by the child,

Eyes down, afraid to be seen by the unseen

Wings drawn by the cracks and the bricks

Concrete angel watches as we scurry by

The thought came to me,as to why we fold our hands when we pray.

Some say it’s a form of submission to God’s will, keeping him at a distance, like an elderly relative.

But they forget the part that hands play in our lives. Creating beauty in gardens. The flowers scents helping rise up from the depression of dark days. Guiding the spirit of the children within us along the woodland path,

With our hands,we find God within ourselves.

My fingers have become as branches on an old tree.

Trying to entice. Trying to entice thoughts and feelings well fingers refuse to bend to my will.

They say we have to go forward when walking through hell

They don’t say if it is a street road, or curves

Assuming the path is straight as when we entered

I say there are dips and pools. I forgotten ideas and values

Life is full of waiting,

Watching old movies, stories you are familiar with

Reading in vain hopes of wisdom.

All right, I sometimes watch the captions on You tube,

The persons who is doing this might start with Saturday Morning cartoons or learning to read lips. They must not give them the scripts,

Was the little things like confusing the name Beth with meth . If going by the captions statements were unfinished ,names were mixed up or changed to anything that came into their minds.

There are articles that say how bad it is for people to learn reading .

My hands are wrinkled with age.

Fingers curve with arthritis.

Still I reach out.

Hoping to connect with another, with anyone.

Come my other half,

Reach to this weathered totem,

I am made of broken butterfly wings,

Lying against fall leaves,remains of summer fading in the sun

Children run by, not noticing as I try to flap out of their way .

With each step

Time mimics the pain as my cane and I

Tap the way onto my designed path.

The cane is named George ( should I not name something that has been with me for twenty years!)

Night slips through my mind.

Watching as day comes through my grey curtains in slivers of the approaching day,

Demons laugh as another sleepless night drains dreams, hopes of rest.

They say my mind is too active, given new pills. Yet. I watch new days creep upon my prone form

He has a face that says friend,

Something I need today,

Even my family forgets me

My mother wanted me out of the house,

I made her friend laugh and she became jealous,

So?

Now I am not allowed to be alone with her,

The family decided, not asking me.

So this wkend i am going to get a dog because they told me no.

Their is the shadow of wings behind me

They say your old enough to know what you want.