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Home at Last
Under a blanket she cries.
It's as though none have eyes.
For they do not see her need.
Sent to her room with no one near.
The knot holes in the walls cannot hear.
There's cloying loneliness within
And the inner voices raise a din.
In yellow flowers she takes delight
And after the rain in the sunshine bright.
Feeling alone and left behind
Her needs become clear in my mind.
My hand reaches back over time
To gently draw her home at last
To love and to comfort; for the child is mine.
Marjorie

With My Own Hand
To be open
means I invite promise;
Emerging
Means I can release
The sucking vines
With roots in my past;
To enliven
Means I can embrace more than
Destructive modes;
And I can hold myself
With tenacity,
Stay in line with heart power
To receive and embrace
What is hopeful.
Progress comes
with knowing and moving
To release myself into a space
Where I can reach for better connections
To sing my future
In my own voice
Attuned
To my architect
of delight.
I yearn for my release
With hand holds
Strong and tender
Wanting
The best for me
so I can ring the Bell Tower
with joy.
Jill |