Myrna D. Badgerow: three poems
a dream collapses
into unquenchable thirst and unanswered thoughts
She often ponders the journeys of her life, those borne in the steps of slow-footed time and those caught in the quickly moving winds of uncertainty. Her dreams and her reality collided so many times. Unanswered questions and unexplained reasons seemed to rule her heart and still her soul. Then she heard a whisper of faith and felt an unquestionable belief in her strength. Could she? Would she? Yes, she could and would conquer the lost moments, those borne in the captivity of denial. She trusted again. She believed again. She dreamed again. And finally, she loved again. He guided her. He inspired her. He moved her heart and strengthened her spirit. He was her Savior and He listened to her plea! Time moves at its own pace once more.... and she moves with it, content and understanding that she must. And questions? There is no longer a need to know the answers for they are not yet ready to be answered. This, too, she now understands and she is blessed.
unquenchable thirst fleeting thoughts of passing time a dream still survives
Lightning splits the night Thunder responds to the call A storm is now born
She awakens with a need to write, a need to scribe her thoughts, a need to express her emotions. She listens to the world around her and her pen listens as well. It begins to quiver with its own need, its own want to spill ink. She searches for words. Her pen, however, already hears the words whispering and begins to scribe....
Oh shadowed thoughts, why do you haunt? Why do you come to me at your will? You enter my heart and beat with its rhythm And my soul... you simply touch and hold it sill. I acquiesce to your bidding and allow you to enter For I have no other choice. You leave for me your words to write And to speak in your voice. I know there is a need in me To release the thought of you. Is this why you come? Is this your reason? Must I see your truth in your honesty's view? I give you my pen and give you my soul As your words speak only to me. You ask that I share them with others For perhaps your thoughts there is a need to see.
Her pen now stills and she begins to breathe again, the breath of creativity. But she does not seek creativity's praise. Instead, she gives all praise to the thoughts that guide her pen. She hears those thoughts whispering upon the wind as they bid farewell, and she looks upward, smiles, and softly says, 'Thank you, Lord, for your gift.'
Thunder escaping Clouds weeping thoughts from Heaven Lightning splits the night
I am like the moon, rising within ripples of midnight, floating upon waves of deep blue anticipation. I am sky's temptation in crystalline dress and dreams that tease and cajole words to touch, caress and quench thirst in starlit fire. I am a familiar face and an unknown entity, a footstep left behind and one waiting to be taken.
I am imagination's spirit, candid yet secretive, bold yet demure, painted in vibrancy and on blank canvas, singing poetry's music and exploring its silent pause. I am flawed and I am perfection, sipping slowly of creativity's wine, allowing myself to spill my truth into the ink of time, bathing in the glow of revelations found in words which tell my story.
Sometimes shrouded in clouds, Sometimes bright and watching, Always open to new thoughts, New adventures... I am like the moon.... rising.