TO OUR FLAG

I love this. Beautiful poem.

FULL OF ROSES INSPIRATIONALS

Ruby red, the color of the stripes He bore
Draped across, waving glory, at attention I adored
White Crystal color, were the stripes and stars
Displaying his presence and light
A symbol that lights up the night
Ocean blue the water that cleanses our souls
The back drop to the stars we’ve come to know
His banner over us, flaps in the wind
I hear the words, the little boy said
One nation under God, as his tears fell
For his father he lost, fighting for our freedom
It’s the reason a hero is declared
Prepared for us the life we now live
What one lifes sacrifice can give
I see a symbol of God, laid over his father
As to say you are honored
He gave His life for us, as did Christ
The ultimate sacrifice and glory
Leaving a longing, a pride that pushes us through
What he…

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Grandad

I can’t believe February 19th marked fifteen years since my beloved Grandad passed away. I still haven’t gotten over it, and still cry all these years later. He was taken too soon… I’m no poet (and certainly don’t claim to be!), but this is for the most wonderful man I have ever known.

It’s hard to believe how much time had flown by,

I had no idea that your time was nigh.

The guilt I carry has struck me to the core,

I wish I had the chance to see you once more.

I’ll never forget that fateful day,

A call to tell me you had gone away.

Why did you go Grandad? I wasn’t ready,

You were the one who held the family firm and steady.

Personality and kindness; your light shone bright

Your death came as a shock, you had lost the fight.

I flew to Jamaica, hoping it wasn’t true,

But it was, and there was nothing I could do.

I saw you for the last time, laying there, still

I love and miss you Grandad, forever, I always will.

❤

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I have no words, for this says it all…

Americana Injustica

This is what happens.
Or, moreover: what can;
when a woman is broken,
by the hands of a man;

these are the facets
that the light reflects through;
our many faces of torture,
that somehow still smile on que;

we sit on display in a window
it’s all that we know how to be;
like a sideshow in a traveling circus,
to glimpse us tells a million stories.

It’s a scale that is constantly sliding
tipping from and to either end;
unsure of which side that our weight will land,
until it balances itself out once again.

You’ve got the face of the innocent, young and naïve
aside of the broken down masochist, who can’t get up from her knees;
you’ll see the ancient and calm – next to the kamikaze lovebomb,
we have every archetypical matriarch and fawn, here for you to see.

We are each so different, yet…

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