The Sonnet on a Year

Twelve months or fifty-two weeks in a year.

Three hundred sixty five days in the same.

Eight thousand seven hundred and sixty

Hours. We could measure in minutes: five

Hundred and twenty thousand six hundred,

Or thirty one million five hundred and

Thirty six thousand seconds. Six different

Units measuring a year’s span through life.

Once the seconds pass by into the sands

Of history, it is impossible

To reclaim the lost time. Forever gone.

Therefore, spend time wisely and unhurried.

Do not take it for granted. Heed these words.

Beware; time is not a thing to squander.

Playin'

Upon my face, soft is His touch,

Butterfly kisses soothe me much.

As I drift into dreams and sleep,

A child’s voice calls me into the deep.

A gentle voice in my ear

Whispers, “Come follow Me, My dear.”
My Lord, Lover, Savior, King

Wants to show me another thing.

A child appears and takes my hand,

And swiftly we run o’er the land.

To the woods, between the trees,

Dancing, we, among the falling leaves.

We splash in crisp water ‘til end of day,

The smile on my face is all I can say.

The air is warm ‘n sweet, nearby is a creek,

We run ‘n play ‘til my lungs and legs are weak.

Warm, strong hands tug me back to bed,

And on my pillow, again, I lay my head.

“There is more to My nature, My beautiful love,

Of playfulness, I am not above.”

Another Narrative

She was the last I had left.

A second mother. My Grandmother.

I’d seen her two days before. It was a Thursday,

And I’d come to the hospital straight from college.

There was little time left… somewhere in my heart I knew it,

But my head did not want to recognize it. 

I skipped lunch. Just to see her.

I would have spent the hours dedicated to dinner too,

And the ones after, just to have more time.

Mom didn’t want me too. I had chores, homework.

So I went with my sister. My wonderful, lovely,

Fabulous sister, the second out of four. Ten years older.

The oldest had her own family now,

And the third was in college too—six hours away.

I did not want to leave, and I did not want her to go.

I remember my words exactly, every syllable.

The last from my lips to her ears.

“I love you, Gram. See you tomorrow.”

What I promised was a lie. I couldn’t go the next day.

School had my attention with assignments and homework.

She slipped into coma that night, and by the day after,

She was no longer with us. And that night,

I lay in bed, spilling silent tears into my pillow,

Careful not to let my family hear my heart shatter.

 “Time heals all wounds” is a cliché, a lie.

The pain is as fresh now as it was then.

A Dialogue

 A/N: Watch out for the quotation marks. It was an actual conversation... enjoy, I hope.

“Your heart is meant for true love’s fire,

Not to be dragged through the muck and the mire.

A burning flame, hot and wild,

That values the need for the meek and the mild.

“Remember, I hold your heart in my hands.

And I have for you, not little plans.

Did I not create the sun and the moon?

Watch your feet little one, and soon.

“For in both your hearts I will set a blaze

And the fire in you two I raise

Will only be second to the love you share for Me

For together, you are found and bound by Me.”

“Please Lord, give me understanding,

These thoughts are confusing.

I don’t know what You mean.

And I can’t see what You’ve seen.”

“All in my timing My child dear,

But you must keep open your ears to hear

Trust My timing, it is not yours

For if I say it, the ocean roars.

“Trust Me, My child. You gave Me your life.

Do not worry about joys or strife.

Listen to Me, and heed My call,

For I know you love Me most of all.”

“I know You are true, but I still don’t understand.”

“Sleep now, My child. Trust my plan.”

“I get the feeling You’ll be turning my world upside down,

And why are You telling me this right now?”

Silence is His reply,

And at His command, I

Slip off to sleep,

With strange thoughts in the deep.

My Narrative Poem

The Circlet

The circlet of silver in her hair

Weighed down on her like lead.

A sign of her wealth and rank

It imprisoned her despite

The notions they held.

Servants bowed, but

Kept their noses in the air

Inquiring on only shallow things

They believed to be her nature.

Cruel, cold glances

Left her hollow.

She suffocated under

The wrath of silver.

She could bear it no longer.

Her hand raised and tore

The silver circlet from ebony hair.

Her head unbent from the weight

And the sparkling shackle

Lay like fairy dust on the floor.

Poem from Narrative

The Concert

Ernest missed part of the concert.

Dr. Casey started early

And because Ernest now arrived

Later than expected

He played shamefacedly

Despite his assistance

To move the harp off stage

But he was present for some,

And Stephanie

Played wonderfully.