i’m having a hard time with dying
this growing old
this decay of body and mind
my soul aches for a consuming love
a cool breath of spring
warm breeze of summer on my skin
i want to be in love
to believe with someone
to be beautiful in someone’s eyes
and i know better
my heart is set on breaking
and the best that i can do
is let it break
sometimes the truth needs to be shared
even if it makes you feel really ugly and spoiled and pitiful.
I’m fascinated by the photo of the truck with your poem. Also, I like the idea of letting it break.
just let it break…
Understand this one all too well.
We can go on the road and sing those bad old woman blues together.
Linda’s mom can come too…
This is so touching Nance. It made me think of my sweet Mom and some of the things she says these days. Love Glynn’s poem too.
Thanks, Linda. Perhaps your mom and i would get along.
The best lies ahead
The best is where
our hope is
where heaven is
where rest is
where joy is
Yes, it is. it is. it truly is.
thank you, Glynn.
I know a dear soul who would both laugh and cry, as cliché as that ism to read this poem.
both laughing and crying seem to me to be required and appropriate procedure.
Your words, and that photo, make me think you might like Libba Moore Gray’s picture book, The Little Black Truck. Some picture books really connect with me.
i looked it up, as i have not seen any of Libba Gray’s books before. and yes, i see what you mean. thanks for bringing it to my attention. it’s a wonderful story.