water colors

Drawing in the Rain
By: the iHope Poet

This paint is a cascading storm upon the canvas,
dripping in a long streak of gray.
It's all a world of tears;
the tears spilling down my face.
It isn't easy drawing pictures in the rain.

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A Beautiful Farewell

Your light is missed now

but we know the night will end

to show us morning. 

Love, until we meet again.

What if.

Afraid of the Response
By: the iHope Poet

You are afraid of silence.
A fear that if you stop to listen closely,
you won't hear anything at all.

You are afraid of the dark.
The illusion that if you pause to look deeper,
you'll be alone in an empty space.

You are afraid of the cold.
Fearful of reaching out with warmth,
asking for it, too;
and feeling a ghost's breath instead.

You're afraid of deficit.
For what is silence, but a lack of noise and sound?
Darkness, but the absense of light?

And a frozen soul just a heart without
the warmth of love.

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The sky dropped buckets . . .

On a clear, blue day. 

By: the iHope Poet

The sun was here the other day. 

It promised it would stay

a while. 

The clouds were white and far away, 

yet lingered, as if threat'ning bile.

Today those clouds have lowered, thick, 

and though the skies are still so blue, 

I see the world in grays and blacks. 

And white is gone, the sunshine, too. 

So much for promises of lasting sun,

so much for hope of days to come.

The rain is here today, 

and I

can only look towards the sky. 

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Hospital Gowns . . . and one fallen leaf.

The Waiting Room Outside.
By: the iHope Poet

You wouldn't think to marvel at the beauty of pain.
But I do.
You probably wouldn't notice the few leaves (this time of year) blowing
through the wind on the ground; rustling against the pavement -- the echo of death
mockingly grating against a sacred silence.
But I did.
I couldn't just sit there and hear talk of still-breath and funeral plans when,
just inside, just a left turn down the hall and through a door,
laying on a bed with the t.v. flashing and muted, she's there.
She, with all the blood and the tubes and the wilted skin,
and the monitors that always find a reason to beep! 
She, with the metal Christmas tree, in the middle of June, upon which hangs prescription ornaments dangling in clear plastic bags, with all these labels that mean nothing to me,
and yet, mean the difference between her life and death --
She's there.

And breathing.
Not a limp leaf, scrambling across the grounds as the wind teases its hopelessness.
Not a body just yet, but a spirit. A soul. Grasping for help as she struggles with the pain and the fear.
It isn't easy, fighting pain. But harder still is having the courage to fight the fear of pain.
She has that courage.
The courage to say a prayer, over and over, to be comforted when it would be easier
to panic and give in.
And she does not.

For the beauty of the pain she grapples with;
for the time she spends conquering her fears --
and all of ours.
For the beauty of that dead leaf, on the ground;
God only knows how long it struggled on the branches, before
the wind overcame its strength.

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Told you so - don't make me tell you again.

You think it. I know it. 

By: the iHope Poet

I know what I know

and I mean it.

Whatever you say is considered.

For the words that you say will not make me delay

or unknow what I know

to be truer. 

You think that you know

so you question

and contradict every conception.

For there's danger in anything I have to say

if it makes you rethink

your deception

(I've been wrong plenty of times. Now it's your turn.) 

Falling Away

Does anyone Care?
By: the iHope Poet

One rung at a time, she climbs to the top,
the top of the ladder to reach the sky.
And one rung away, she stumbles and falls --
falls down through the air and
does anyone care?

One hill and another, she hikes every slope,
each step rubbing blisters; just keeps moving on.
At the top of the last, as she looks gladly down,
she trips and falls back--back through sweat-dirty air
and does anyone notice?
does anyone care?

She's told herself over and over again --
I'll keep getting up, I'll keep taking the pain.
But for each time she falls, there's another glass shard
sticking into her side, digging deep to her bones.
And will anyone reach out a hand or a heart?
Does anyone realize she's fallen so far?
Is there someone who notices all she has done,

does anyone care she keeps trying so hard?

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