absence

absence from someone you want to be with is torture. there is the kind when you aren't sure when you are going to see them again, and the kind when you know exactly how long it will be. these are two very different forms of torture: either the days begin with new hope and the end with the sickening weight of disappointment, or you wake up dreading all waking hours, but the last moment before sleep will have you giddy with joy that another day has passed. while one form of agony is suspense, the other is the awful knowledge of time. how many days hours minutes you will have to wait. which is worse? well, i have to say that at least in the knowing there's a smile.

nothing to lose

as soon as she completed the act she felt she had lost. the attempt was like a drop in a bucket that would never be filled. the obvious heat of the midday sun evaporating all hope almost immediately... until the first crack of thunder... and it rains...

at peace

...what a concept. how hard is that, to be "at peace"? it seems almost unattainable (esp for one who thrives on change). BUT... i've had an epiphany.

maybe being at peace doesn't have to do with liking where you are or what is happening in your life, but realizing that life is going to be hard, and there will be ups and downs, but that's okay, and that beauty can be found even in the darkest of times.

realizing that made me feel that i was going to be okay, that having your life in order or being content does not equal being at peace. no, it is taking the good and the bad in stride, and trusting that God is there to carry you through both, and you can always learn something and grow some more.

that is my new vision, and i know that no matter what happens, i can be at peace.

deception

mist lifts thickly off snowy fields
as the last signs of winter
evaporate
into false spring

it is too soon for the smell of mud
everything is wet and dull
browns and greys
with no immediate promise of greens

the false hope
like a dream of love that feels
so real
is this balmy weather
and its mid-january appeal

window

from a window up high i see
morning light on the rooftops:
a Hopper-esque scene.

from the same window i see
the fiery orb of the setting sun
the orange blaze sinking into the trees
like a dying ember
ends a seemingly perfect day

and who's to know what tomorrow
will bring
just yellow light cast on houses
like a painting
if only to hold this moment
to keep the feeling
the uncertainty
of an unbelievable dream