Love Like Fire

Love

is what?
so many people
say so many things
what is it?
and why
are there so many kinds?

we love family
like a hearthfire
gentle
contained
constant
a place to gather
in comfort and peace

we love friends
like a campfire
bright
warm
far too far into the night
we gather round
to laugh and warm ourselves
at its flame

but I love you
like a firework
delightsome
wonderful
dazzling

I love you
like a shooting star
magnificent
inspiring
thrilling

I love you
like a sun
beautiful
powerful
blissful

because you
shine
and your light
shines through me
all of me
and there is no darkness
left at all

love like fire

Mother Eve

The Nobility of Woman

A choice
in a garden
pondered
thought through
foreseen and understood

A choice
between innocence
and sorrow
pain
death
and an unending, unchangeable
now

A choice
to embrace the bitter
that she might
fully understand
the sweet

A choice
life
not existence
struggle
not safety
agency
not innocence

A choice
made with eyes open
heart in tune
and courage
grasped with both hands

A choice
made by Eve
and all
her daughters after
to willingly walk
through the fire
that they might
fully know
joy

Thus is the nobility
of woman

Timing

When the timing isn’t right.

When the timing isn’t right

things happen.

Feet go in mouths

holes get dug

and turned into

metaphorical graves

ears become crimson

turtles do

odd and awkward things.

things get broken

or muddled

or downright

dangerous,

and all the things

I want to say

rise and choke me

so I say

nothing at all

because sometimes

it’s safer that way.

A World's Apology

I'm sorry

for unmet expectations

for dashed hopes

shattered dreams

unintentional hurt

growing pains

disappointment

sadness

loss

for circumstances that frustrate

for plans that fail

wrenching struggles

fear

grief

despair

but most of all

for broken hearts

I am sorry

that I am not

all you wanted me to be.

...

Testing, testing, one two three....

For all those millions of people who follow my blog as if their life depended on it, please disregard this post. Blogger is freaking out on me and I'm trying to figure out what's wrong.

The rain must fall

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart, and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

But, Longfellow, you never told me that someday the rain would come with the terrible force of a hurricane.

I do not like the rain.

And were it not for a promise made by someone I trust with all my heart, I would drown in that rain.

"For the mountains shall depart, and the hills be removed; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.

In righteousness shalt thou be established: thou shalt be far from oppression; for thou shalt not fear: and from terror; for it shall not come near thee.

No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me, saith the Lord."
~Isaiah 54:10, 14, 17

And, through the storm, this will be my motto:

"Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.

But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.

No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, in this life or the next, Sunday will come."
~Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin

I trust Him. He will see me through the rain.