Abandoned

Displaced,

dropped from space

into this human race,

leaving no trace,

my true identity
erased.

.

Alone

I roam

the minutes 

of the long days

spinning into months

that turn to years.

With tears I mark

the passing.

Glimpses,

like shadows

viewed in the periphery

of my clouded vision,

too full of chaos

and sound

around 

me

I need to hear

your voice, Mother,

to feel your love, Father

the kinship of a brother

that I never really knew

beyond our childish

games-our names

scratched on

the sidewalk.

Come back!

What I lack

is kindred spirit,

the connection,

resurrection

of the flame to

ease the shame

of forgetting

and regretting 

the fall.

It was but for such an  error

that I walk through life in terror,

neither knowing friend or foe

and no matter where I go, it follows.

fear always an unwilling guest

serving pain in spite of all my best

efforts to deflect,

reject

the lie.

Have

I

been

abandoned

in this 

world

of angry

souls?

Will you ever come to take me back

into that bosom of pure energy

where love is all that exists?

Home.

CKP words and images 2020

The Gleaning

Listen, can you hear?

Can you see the tears

her heart sheds

for her children? 

From birth

the Earth

sustains,

remains

constant,

reliable,

viable,

strong.

How long?

CKP copyright 2020

Changes

Life-

fading

from its brilliant hue,

magenta, emerald, azure blue

draining, waning as the winds

of sorrow shake it to the core

what went before

seems like a dream

unraveling at the seams

and yet when viewed

with fresh understanding

shadow and form

become the norm 

once again.

Definition,

this rendition 

adds depth and mystery

for the hungry soul.

without the 

technicolor,

with each other

to paint the canvas 

anew. 

Inevitable

this flow

no choice but to go

forward

bravely navigating

the changes.

CKP Copyright Words and Image 

2020

Recollections

Delicate

fragile

amazing

vital-

I 

feel

their 

energy

in 

the 

feather

touch 

of 

their 

legs

on

my

fingertips,

the

breath

of

Earth

within

their 

soft

form-

I

carry

it 

with

me.

I have thousands of images taken over the years and will be sharing them as simple beauty posts during this difficult time for all of us.  The state of our world, our human consciousness and our unforeseeable future has muddied my creative mind.  If I take a few moments each day to revel in the things I have seen and revisit the joy I have known in all these experiences, perhaps I can find my center once more.  

Keep a good thought, be wise, research, trust your instincts and be well, my dear friends. 

Cheryl K P 

2020

The Sound of Magnificence

I have had the pleasure of sharing precious moments with so many living things in this world over the years. One of my favorites was the ten minutes I spent with a fledgling Osprey. The young bird was still damp after leaving the nest and landing on my rooftop. As I stood there in the glow of its first glimpse of freedom, I was awed by how already mature it seemed, ready to accept its role in the Wheel of Life. There was no sound but the wind, whispering to its soul and calling it forth into flight.

This post brought to you by Linda Hill’s SoCS prompt Visit her blog to meet some really great writers and read some interesting posts. 

Oh, and in honor of #NationalMargaritaDay, hop on over to Dan’s place. I hear they are serving up some great offerings at the bar. Hope to see you there! 😉

My Soul is a Tomb

My Soul Is a Tomb

My soul is a tomb-

moldy bones of contention

litter the dusty floors 

and congregate in the

murky shadows to avoid

the shards of filtered light

that steal through the gilded

windows, their arches softly

contrasting the hard lines of

mortar and cold stone. 

The faint strains of a waltz

hang on the stale air like

a fog drifting across the

stormy sea of destiny.

My soul is a prison

where cave dwellers make fire

to roast the flesh of dragons

slain by knights on ivory steeds

deep within the forest of lands

ruled by fairies with 

pixie slaves that live among

the thorns of the rose garden

where children in crips linen

dresses and brown britches

play hide and seek with 

gray wolf cubs that venture

into the daylight while their

parents sleep off the night's 

successful run with the red

blood of the farmer's dog  

staining their tongues as they

dream of being eagles.

My soul is a highway

paved with yellow brick,

lined with bright poppies in

shades of crimson, lavender, magenta

to soothe the senses of weary travelers

on their journey from rough hewn

cradle to the quiet shadows of

their final rest.  

They amble and trot, skip, jump,

race, fall, dance, trip and crawl

towards the promised land where

hand in hand they stand to face

the final judgment.

My soul is a legend 

of hunters, servants, kings

and jokers, dancers, builders,

bakers, forsakers and breakers

of hearts, of saints and sinners,

losers and winners, creating each

life with new vigor, new hope, new

understanding and a vow to make 

the next journey more complete 

than the last-without error,

leaving terror of the past behind

liked shreds of colored paper

to litter the road of memory 

with bright distraction-such

attraction impossible to deny

and so begin again..

and again...

For the prison can be breached

and the highway paved with gold

while the legend will be told in the 

etching on the walls within the 

tomb.

CKP Words and Images Copyright

2020

Indelible

Once upon a lifetime a seed of love finds a fertile place...

in a lonely heart

and plants itself-

waiting, hoping, longing

for the warmth of recognition.

Time passing unnoticed, unreturned and unappreciated, the bloom fading...

Withers

hope slipping into dark oblivion

drowned in a sea of tears,

buried treasure.

Silence, masquerading as the forgotten, disguising pain transformed into growth...

heart beats in spite of longing

to be free of sorrow,

no tomorrow

with sharp reminders

of rejection.

Time, the great amnesiac-cajoling, consoling the heart into release....

belief

that past is past and 

gone is gone.

Healed,

concealed 

the scar lies

dormant.

Then gravity takes hold, pulling the soul into the cemetery of regret..

the sweet sting

of remembrance

like the scent of a 

Spring bloom

long gone from the garden,

like a sunset that 

remains unequalled,

free floating once more

as a wisp of Summer air-

unexpected, unfair.

Indelible.

CKP Photos and words 2020