Frozen Efforts

At what point do we accept, there is an issue, a failing, a falling, a void...
As we descend or once we are buried?
Is the shovel our saving grace or the devils device?
There are times when digging in is a fruitless effort
One can not halt the swallow of quicksand
Until we freeze our efforts and wait for help...

Keeping My Distance

My mind has been in a coma
Shocked into a solid sleep
Unable to feel, sense or express anything

Quietly distraught with no solace to be found

and when thoughts have always been the life blood that sustains me
and my words the sutures that heal

I find myself now,

lifeless, still, and scarred so deep that the pain is visible, tangible and infectious...
and distance, breathes life into the virus

Developing the Negative

Existence does not always give us what we want or expect
it gives us what we need to grow
and when it gives us a big dose
of all that we don't need, want or understand
we are meant to find the purpose behind the pain
There is always something to be gained
amidst the loss
It''s all about developing the negative

Life Changes Everything

And there is no going back
no reintroductions
no redos
no recreating

life goes on
and those that remain must live with regret
live with remorse
and live with ourselves

the true test is
have we discovered anything
have we unearthed meaning
or ascertaned courage

to know
change is growth
change is necessary
change is life

Love's Painting

Your selfless soul is leaving
and our hollowed hearts are bound
you leave behind this world
without uttering a sound
Your faith and thoughtful nature
a beacon shining bright
lest no sadness be our soul mate
but your smile, the guiding light
You've lived a life of giving
thinking nothing of sacrifice
if it meant that you'd be offering
relief to others' strife
You graced the lives of many
in your gentle touching way
Grasp firmly all our love
for we know you can not stay
and as our heavy hearts are sinking
to the soles of weary feet
we stamp the ground with heart prints
painting love upon the street

Floating Hearts

A shared heart has the strength of two...

One night
just the two of us
I am the one who struggles for words
Yet you are speechless

Tears flow
and for brief moments
our eyes meet and I say the words
I kept so close to my heart I forgot to share them

All night long
in the darkness I see floating hearts
radiating, drifting, shining and throbbing
The sentiments behind the words
held captive for so long they now burst forth

Enwraping the two of us
Giving us both a haven
that shrouds us with the warmest cloak and veil
And today,
my love for you is greater than it was yesterday
From the depths of my heart, I share

Broken Thoughts

As I look at my mother, feeble and weak, I do not see the person she was, the person she would want to be remembered as, or the memory she would want to represent her,  in her last days.  I see a kind, gentle, elderly person with infant like qualities.  She is mesmerised by the TV, has the reflexes one is born with, and looks at everything presented to her, with the fascination that a child has when seeing something for the first time.  She does not realize that she is married to the man who sits at her side everyday for hours.  She does not know that the others that frequent her bedside are her children.  She does not distinguish between family, and nurses or doctors. She has no recollection that she was once an avid reader, a swimmer, a daily church goer,  or a loved grandmother.  Unable to move her own tiny body to sit up, she relies on a Hoyer lift to move her from the bed to a chair.  Her accomplishments now, are comprised of, sitting in a chair for a few hours a day, opening her eyes to look at visitors for a few briefs moments, moving her right arm an eighth of an inch, and raising her left arm to feel the concavity that exists where her skull once was. She will never again, walk, talk, comprehend, or understand communication as we know it. While we talk about all the fantastic foods she used to prepare, she has no interest, and quite possibly, no understanding of a solid substance. She has not been able to eat or drink anything, whatsoever, for seven weeks, not even a sip of water, and yet she appears to still know what it is like, to experience thirst.  She no longer has the ability to swallow, yet she can still smell what we are unable to give her. She can no longer eat.  All she knows in her new state, is the feeding tube that pumps liquid sustenance into her body. Her hard working hands will never again make the wonderful foods, she was so well known for.  She will never again, play the piano, take a walk, talk on the phone, stand up, hold a conversation or say the rosary.  She does not even know how many children she has.  She has no idea that she was a class valedictorian when she graduated from high school.  She is now diminished to a small remnant of the magnanimous person she was.  She does not remember her life...she has no recollection of all that she has done, what is important to her, or what she believes in. She is no longer the person she was, but she is alive.  She can open her eyes and smile with parts of her mouth.  She can laugh, she does know what is comfortable and what is painful.  She does not have the moisture in her body to produce tears, yet she feels the impulses that draw tears. She feels frustration and anger toward her predicament, yet can not find or form the words to tell us what she wants.  She is the equivalent of a comma in a sentence.  At times she makes sense, but stand alone, without structure, and she is just a symbol that exists. A small mark that signifies a break in thought...and that is what her existence is comprised of, broken thoughts.