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Poems and Thoughts

If you are looking for my published article, "The Ten Best Things about Having Cancer", you can view it here.

Gold October

Oh, for the midst of gold October
When bright summer days grow sober.
I think of you, and I remember
All the dreams of that September.

One brief autumn, lost in years,
Bold with laughter, fresh with tears,
My whole heart lost in soft nights
Of wind and rain by distant lights.

Then I must pause, lest I remember
All the scorn of dark December:
When the rains came, fierce and cold,
We learned that two half-hearts don't make a whole.

Alone, I winged my way through winter's storm.
Alone, I rediscovered July's warm.
Still, some dark nights I long for leaves
And all the lies a fool believes.

The seasons come and go in streams,
But my heart won't believe in dreams.
She left them, when the lie was over,
In the midst of gold October.


Longing

Oh, for the freedom of the feeling
Of the wind beneath my wings,
For God's touch, in time's hand, healing
All the sting of broken dreams.

Oh, for the gentle light of morning
When the night has been so long,
For the simple hope that's born in
Every golden strand of dawn!

 

Ramblings

I'm having trouble weaving the pain into the joy
Without ruining the whole tapestry.

Regret covers me, a thick layer of dust from all the years.
Did I ever know how lucky I was?
Did the younger me ever appreciate the lack of pain?
Of course not.

I struggle to reconcile this new, crippled self to the old, vital one.
Every step is a challenge.
Simple tasks are excruciating.
No time for dreaming about the future.
Too much pain.

So high, so hard, the mountain I must climb.
I'm tired - tired of climbing, tired of hobbling, tired of hanging on for dear life.
Just once, I want to walk again.
I want to run until I fall to the ground, exhausted.
I want to swim until my lungs are ready to burst.
My body is weak, but my mind is always racing.
I don't even have the energy to wear out my brain.

And the regrets come, one after another.
Scenes of my life before cancer.
Days of lawn mowers and peanut butter and jelly picnics,
Scraped knees and piano recitals,
Pinched pennies and work deadlines.

It's gone. I know it's gone forever,
but that only makes me want it more.
I try to dream it back, but I can't quite touch it.
It lobs in front of me, a golden ring, and I reach so hard to grab it.

Am I being punished? Didn't I love those days enough?
Didn't I savor them like chocolate,
Treasure them like a cooling summer rain?
Wasn't I thankful enough? Kind enough? Strong enough?

Too much time to think, trapped in this broken-down body.
Not enough to occupy the hours.
Mindless television full of people who can walk with ease.
Books with unrealistically happy endings.
Solitaire on the computer.
Too much happy, sappy nonsense.

I want to wake from this horrible nightmare.
I want to put one leg in front of the other
And move on with my life.
Away from pain. Away from fear.
Away from everything about these dark days.

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Performance

And for your pleasure, I will paint my face,
Rehearse my lines, put on my costume drear,
Then come before you, stand firm in my place,
Recite the lines I know you want to hear.
And for you pleasure, I'll dance my routine,
Smile when I should and struggle to stand tall,
Then take my bow and hope you have not seen
The times I stumble, flutter, start to fall.
And for your pleasure, I will be a clown,
A soothsayer who only speaks of fun,
To lift your spirits up when you are down;
Then I'll sit at the mirror, face undone,
And curse the imitator that I see,
And wonder if you ever could love me.

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Blow Now

Blow now, oh chilly winter wind, please blow
Across the barren woods where leaves are dead,
Across the lonely meadow laced with snow,
Across the soul where hope and love have fled.

Blow now, and bring to me some dream's rebirth
So my sad heart won't have to be alone;
Bring back the sun of summer to the earth;
Bring back the heart's waves that I fear are gone.

Blow now, and bring the echoes of the years
When sunshine gleamed upon my innocence;
Bring back the past, unladen with the fears;
Bring back the hope that hasn't been here since.

Blow now, and bring the salt wind from the sea,
And, if you can, bring springtime home to me.

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