PLANET ARET
. . . CONVERSATIONS IN POETRY . . . . CONVERSATIONS IN PROSE . . . .
...a friend is a stranger waiting to be met...
Shadows That Candles Leave
THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE... (I HOPE...) THERE'S ALWAYS HOPE...
PLANET ARET
. . . CONVERSATIONS IN POETRY . . . . CONVERSATIONS IN PROSE . . . .
...a friend is a stranger waiting to be met...
Shadows That Candles Leave
August 23, 1998
wish I had more time, and I wish you wrote more too :)
lit my big, beautiful candle tonight.
it's filling the whole apartment with
lovely scent and i'm watching the shadows
on the wall from the flames. all the lights
are off.
one day, I'll be in a place to do this again too... thank you for
sharing the scene and mood...
flicker, flutter. first i see the profile
of myself and my husband as we stood in front
of the minister on April 10th, 1976.
then i see the faces of my babies. so chubby
and sweet, hair as soft as corn silk, skin as
smooth as a dream. they float across the wall
and i try to grab them, but of course i can't.
now i see myself alone. away from all my family
and friends. there is nothing familiar here,
nothing to hold on to when the bad things come.
i have only myself to hold on to. most times
that's enough.
how lucky you are to find, most times, that you love and can comfort
yourself... please don't let this slip away as the void of loneliness
sucks the energy from you - please keep writing and sharing and seeking
whatever you want or need to keep your self together and your energy
flowing as it has here...
but sometimes, like right now, when the shadows
take shape and become almost real, i want a hand
to hold.
without my interjecting words, this is a beautiful poem... you should be
published... I've saved almost everything you've written (must
have missed something along the way) and much of it is well worth more
than what I find on bookshelves out there...
please continue, honest love, ric
August 17, 1998
lit my big, beautiful candle tonight.
it's filling the whole apartment with
lovely scent and i'm watching the shadows
on the wall from the flames. all the lights
are off.
flicker, flutter. first i see the profile
of myself and my husband as we stood in front
of the minister on April 10th, 1976.
then i see the faces of my babies. so chubby
and sweet, hair as soft as corn silk, skin as
smooth as a dream. they float across the wall
and i try to grab them, but of course i can't.
now i see myself alone. away from all my family
and friends. there is nothing familiar here,
nothing to hold on to when the bad things come.
i have only myself to hold on to. most times
that's enough.
but sometimes, like right now, when the shadows
take shape and become almost real, i want a hand
to hold.
here is my hand
it enters your mind
through words that you see
it's hoping to find
a way to your heart
to hug and to care
and to let you know
it is always there
here is my hand
it reaches for yours
if we close our eyes
and open our doors
we can almost feel
the pressure of touch
and know in the wanting
is needing so much
here is my hand
caressing this word
love, let me love
has anyone heard?
hope is all that's left
to rebuild the world...
here is my hand
with fingers uncurled.
a hand to hold...
... a friend is a stranger waiting to be met ... a friend is a stranger wanting to be met ... a friend is a stranger willing to be met ...
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