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barbtries a blog
Tuesday, February 11, 2003
Will there be a sunrise on this mourning?
Nature guarantees one every day
But every day feels just as dark as mourning
Since the night they took my girl away.

Today it rains stays dark the way I feel
As if all of Nature knows my pain
Can I take the spirit’s lessons brought by seagulls?
Will there be a sunrise coming through this rain?

Can I do Now when my heart embraces Always?
Do the seagulls really speak to me?
Will there be a sunrise on this mourning?
Is Hope as Forever as your memory?

It feels like I could weep til sunrises cease.
As if I could cry until Heaven gave up light
Like Grief became my own identity,
And mornings are just mockeries of light.

Girl I am looking for the answer
I think I may just be seeking me
You are over there and in my heart and Always
Always you will be…will I be?

Will there be a sunrise on this mourning?

it's the middle of the night, and it's pouring rain outside in the hottest winter of my life. forgive this.

maybe i'll turn the tv off today, and turn a corner. maybe it will stop raining after today.

i need my strength, i need some energy. positive energy. positive positive energy energy.

i know if i could make my way to the water the waves would still be hitting the shore over and over.

i notice again, i'm breathing. i gasp again because bekah! is not.

okay. okay. that's enough of that for now.

the car? just police being pigs. nothing new. here's another poem i wrote in 1997:

I Still am Me

Though cruelty has displayed
Its face to me.
Though deception has played
Me like a cheap drum.
Though solitude has made
A hermit of me,
And the powers that be
Have their way with me.

Although I cry uncontrollably
Though I rage occasionally
I did not surrender willingly –
Or will not, when
They come for me –
When they throw the cuffs on me
And charge me with divorce and poverty
Though I know they only look down at me

They will not unseat my soul
They cannot erase the truth, which I know –
Their fire burns and scars
Even their words and looks.
I have committed and created my own set of books
Inside myself, remembering
My own goodness, the accomplishments
That are solid inside their diminishment

Who ARE they? Not you and me.
Bureaucracy, DMV, the local PD
Run amok: the 21st century
Looms looking mostly scary and ugly
To Court-worn, manless mothers like me.
I rise above the money they liened from me,
Maintain faith in what they will not see,
And celebrate that I still am me.

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