One moment I’m free soaring,
Beyond the reach of my grounded fears and short comings.
Clouds of possibilities glide serenely into my reach,
Challenging me to dance about them with confident wings.
This is what it means to be alive and free,
The toil is over now life can begin.
But quick as a raptor with talons bare,
I find myself cut short.
Hope dies within a sudden chaotic fall.
And I watch as wing meets ground,
Dashing the fragile creature this is my heart and mind.
Within my grasp is held the string,
Frayed limp and useless.
Now I find my feet planted firmly in regret,
I pick up the pieces of my dreams wondering how I can begin again.
Welcome to the Story Game!
Welcome to the Story Game!
— Read on storygame.blog/2019/06/03/welcome-to-the-story-game/
Check out this new blog a friend of mine created. It’s almost like a choose your own adventure but where you decide where it will go! Have some fun and check it out!
Blink upon a gliding cloud,
With Spring sunlight filtering between.
Darkness flees this growing world, running with frozen feet.
Now I see a world reborn, blazing forth with life so green.
Blink my eyes and feel the warmth, let my soul roam blissful and free.
Spin me round,
Touch the ground.
Push me left,
Pull me right.
Tell me lies,
Hold back truth.
Speak your words quite uncouth.
Before our banter,
Spread your slander.
For I am quite over you.
Gliding over this rippling silk,
Quicksilver becomes my woven garb.
Beyond with wind toss assurances come the clouds,
A veritable feast for the eyes and mind.
Open your eyes beyond what is,
And breathe in the impossible.
What’s left will be,
Think of it.
Close your eyes tight and imagine you’re here,
Between sage and these stones.
You smell the baked earth and drink in the silence,
Of a place older than your grandfather’s father’s home.
Listen close to the babbling creek and hear each word,
As water runs from high mountain snow.
Wish upon the very wind and come back to this, your hearthstone.
Along this path well know to our feet,
We tread with deliberate pace.
Your hand in mine, our hearts as one,
Beating in time to this place.
How I love to see you with hair aglow,
In these rays of the setting sun.
Your smile so gentle and eyes so rich,
No wonder I want for nothing.
So hold you close as I always do,
As we walk the path round our pond.
Tap roots down deep,
Swell with nourishment.
Seek clouds on high,
And leaves so broad,
Thicken the stalks around.
Spring has awoken,
And so shall the dawn,
Let us renew our world once more.
“I’m too old for this,” she moaned as we repositioned her body higher up in the hospital bed.
“You are not,” I said, looking her square in the eye.
Her eyes narrowed and a gnarled hand reached up to point a finger at my chest, “Boy, I’m 86 years old, I’ve got 15 great-grandkids, and I’m stuck in here fighting cancer. I’m too old!”
I gave a short laugh and said, “that’s nothing! I had a patient who woke up from surgery and asked where the hell she was, and what the hell we were doing in her room.”
“She was 96, and her family didn’t even bother telling her she was going in for surgery.”
My patient looked at me, mouth open in shock.
“You’re right,” she said, that’s too old.”
In this bleak moment,
I long for winter’s end.
To feel rich warmth beneath my feet,
Bare to the grass and soil.
Where is the Spring,
So longed and look for?
Hiding beneath this old frost,
Sleeping through the storm.
So I will wish, hope, and wait.