You’re My Miracle #Poetry

*Author Note: If my husband could tell his story within the framework of a poem, this might be it. Everything you read is true.

Childhood, innocence
Taken by my father’s fists
Who snatched me away from Momma
Hopping state to state – slumming in trailer parks

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser
Echoed the themes of my whole life

Daddy didn’t care,
Momma, nonexistent
Step mom, drug user
Not one who gave a damn

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Then I met you on the college green,
You were that life-line I held on to
But those words refused to let me go–

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser
Don’t even bother – you’re unworthy

I believed them, oh I believed
Never telling you how I truly felt
Letting you go – my greatest regret
As I watched you walk away

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Continents and wars separated
Us until one day I learned
Someone’s stolen your heart

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Without a care in the world High Risk became my game
No one would even know if
I’d died in some god-forsaken desert

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Son of bitch, I survived
Like a cockroach I kept returning
Unwillingly, oh so what was the point?

They kept chanting–
No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Time blurred – broken dreams, heartaches
My constant reality as I wandered
The wasted land called Life

Perhaps there were some truth to the words–
No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

One day, out of the blue
An email by you asking–
“Do you still remember me?”

Battles I’ve fought but never one as great
as on that day when in my heart
I truly wanted to hope —

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser

Life was just as cruel to you
With your own battles
Losing your love, your sight

Do I remember you?

Oh, yes…

No one wants you, they say
You’re nothing but a loser
Slowly fading, fading till only a whisper

Twenty years have since passed
I still hold you in my arms and
You hold my heart

You accepted me as I am
You loved me inspite of my
Brokenness

You saved a boy no one wanted
And instead of a loser
You made me the man I am today

You are my miracle

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#YouTube Tuesday: Man’s Hands

I wrote this poem not too long ago about my thoughts on nature, and how man tries to imitate it with his own creation.  Below you can either read it, or watch in video format.

 

Beauty and magic

are found in nature

where the urban

landscape

only hopes to

emulate

 

 

Guardian, keeper

of sacred and pure

unmarked, noble

from man’s

immoral hands

these peaks stand

 

 

This world darker it

grows, compelling me

to the mountains

in search

of what my heart,

soul yearn for

 

 

No city or wealth

created by man’s

hands can provide

the hope

and harmony

crafted by earth

 

 

Now I understand

the soldiers’ need of

retreat to the

quiet

after wars

to a place where true

healing exists

untouched, unblemished

by man’s hands

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books: Man’s Greatest Achievement (Short Story)

dean land

Gray clouds hung low in the sky as a group of teenagers clambered down the street littered with rusted and mangled vehicular bodies.   Houses on both sides of the disintegrating asphalt stood in various wretched shapes.   Woods warped.  Windows smashed or missing. Vinyl sidings bent like painful hang-nails.

The group turned down a particular graveled pathway which led to a large, crumbling brick-laid building that stood three-stories tall.  A sign stretched across the middle of the structure with words etched in the marble slab: Esmond High

As soon as they crossed the threshold, they turned right and entered into a large room.  Inside the open room several long tables spread across the dusty tile flooring, each partnered with two deformed metallic chairs.   Large windows lined the far wall of the room, and like the others, many were either missing or broken.  They also provided the only source of lighting.

The younger version of adults sat at the three front tables, and waited in silence.

Moments later, a man shuffled into the room.  Long, wispy white hair hung long from his head.  White-black beard partially covered his face, its bottom touched his ragged red and black plaid shirt.

“Good morning, class.”  His hoarse voice crackled as he slowly hobbled to the front where a small wooden desk stood.

“Good morning, Mr. Pike.” The teens replied in unison.

He gingerly set down a plastic bag on top of the desk which wobbled with the weight being pressed on it.  Mr. Pike groaned as he forced himself to stand straight, and turned his cataract-riddled, hazel eyes to the classroom before him.

“It seems our number is ever growing smaller.” He sniffed.

“Marge’s parents have married her off to the Mableton’s clan so she won’t be coming back.” The only female in the room spoke in a quiet voice.

“Ethan, Sam, and Levi have been recruited to the front line.” The dark haired male in the center table said.

“Sal was killed with his parents last night by thieves.” The smallish boy next to the brunette female muttered.

“Madness.” The old man whispered as he rapped his arthritic knuckles on the wood.  “This is what we’ve been reduced to.  Constant warring with one another.  Servitude and slavery.  Mockery and misery all around us.  All due to stupidity.  Stupidity.”

“Mr. Pike?”  The girl’s voice drifted to his ears.  “Are you alright?”

He shook his head hard and blinked several times as he struggled to regain his focus on the remaining kids.

“Yes, yes of course I’m alright!” He snapped as his hands gripped the plastic bag.  “It’s a bit disconcerting when I see our future being ripped from us, that’s all.”

“What’s in the bag, Mr. Pike?” A petite oriental boy from the table directly in front of him asked.

The elder released his grip on the bag and began to pat it. “Ah, yes.  The bag.  I discovered the content last evening when I was rummaging through a building that was once a library.”

“What’s a library?” The girl asked.

“My dear Oona.” He smiled. “A library was used to house what we called books.  Books were once the foundation of which we built a great civilization. Books were what brought us out of the last Dark Ages.  They enabled us to become highly advanced and educated and enlightened.   They were the glue that held us together.”

“What happened?” The small boy next to Oona asked.

“Man grew stupid, Darrin. “He answered. “We grew so enamored with technology and all our wonderful advances, and decided to get rid of books, which contained everything, to rely solely on digital machines.”

He glanced across the room and saw that all eyes and ears were completely attuned to him, and continued. “Then the storm happened and wiped out all the technology, and with it our heart and soul as a specie.” He raised a hand into the air. “Hence, you see the result all around us.”

“So…” Mr. Pike reached a hand inside the bag. “For the next few weeks, we’ll be reading two of the greatest books ever written, in my humble opinion, by man.”  And pulled out two heavily worn hard-covered books. “Moby Dick and War and Peace.”

“Could we take turns reading them?” Oona breathlessly asked.

“I don’t read too well.”  The oriental boy moaned.

“Don’t worry, Mai, I’ll help you.” She smiled.

 

reading

 

Okay, questions for the reader:

1.  What message do you think this story is trying get across?

2. Would you want to read more of this particular story?