Poems: Questions

After some digging in an old box I found in my parents' basement, I found this poem that I wrote sometime in my early 20s (maybe my late teens). I don't actually remember the incident that inspired it, but it must have been something that hit me deeply at the time.

There are so many questions whose answers I can't find.

Will I ever heal and leave the past behind?

When will my strength return ... will I ever be the same?

Will I find forgiveness or will I always be to blame?

 

My heart, it lies in pieces ... will be ever be just one?

Will I get my life back ... will my grief ever be done?

Can I have some peace ... will my pain ever stop?

When this all is over, will I come out on top?

 

Can I let the past go and just live for today?

Will the horrid nightmares ever go away?

Will I see myself again or am I ever changed?

Can I fix the life that has been rearranged?

 

I still feel so dirty ... can I once again be clean?

I know this was a lesson, but what can this thing mean?

Can I ever live again ... can I seek my dreams?

Or will I always feel like I am tearing at the seams?

 

Is there any hope for me or should I just give up?

Will I always feel as if I am an empty cup?

Can I ever heal ... will I ever mend?

The guilt and pain I feel inside ... will it ever end?

Poems: For Baby Hannah

This poem was written not long after my niece died. It's not the best I've ever written, but it gets the message across.

Our future plans are shattered now,

As you lie beneath our feet.

Every thought of you is a memory,

Painful and yet so sweet.


Even now we hold you must dear,

Though you are buried deep,

Beneath that old willow tree,

Whose secret we shall keep.


You have died too young, too soon,

Your short story briefly told.

And though I yearn to join you,

I must let my own fate unfold.

Poems: A Little Help

This free verse poem was inspired by a picture prompt I once saw on a poetry writing website. I included a picture similar to the one that inspired me below. Brothers are great...most of the time.

It's not fair, it's just not fair,
For we are just too small.
And we must wait, and wait, and wait,
Until we can grow tall.

But brother, little brother, I simply cannot wait.
I really have to go.
Help me, won't you help me?
O help me, little bro.

But the ground is dark and dirty,
And not where I want to be.
Is there not another way?
Must it still be me?

I will be oh so gentle,
And I'll be very fast.
But I must have your help now,
For my need is still not past.

For you and only you,
Would I do this thing.
Make it fast, make it quick,
Or you will feel my sting.

Flash Fiction: Winter Rescue

It's February now, and it's absolutely freezing where I live. This usually gets me in the mood for either short stories or flash fiction. Today flash fiction and the cold north wind are both on my mind, so here's a short (very short) tale about one boy and the bitter cold.

Winter Rescue

This was a mistake. He’d known that when he’d left this morning. He’d gone anyway. He’d promised his friends he’d show up. They hadn’t, but that wasn’t his problem. Another blast of icy wind wound its way down his back. Maybe it was his problem.

The north wind grew colder and his hands froze. Jesse dropped his sled. It was too cold to drag the sled back home. He’d get the sled later, when the wind wasn’t threatening to steal his breath. It wasn’t worth losing a finger over. With this in mind, he tucked his hands inside his pockets.

Jesse kept walking. He had to get home. As the wind threatened to tear his scarf from his face, he decided that his friends were the smart ones. They had surely stayed home in their warm beds. He’d been the one to brave the cold. But they could have at least called to tell him they weren’t coming.

It was too cold to go sledding. He knew that. He’d known that before he’d snuck out of the house. It was why he’d snuck out of the house. But he’d done it anyway. What was he trying to prove? That he was an idiot? It was forty below!

The wind howled again and Jesse was driven back. Frostbite was setting in. His feet hurt too much to take another step. With a sigh, he collapsed in the snow and waited. For what, he wasn’t quite sure.

A bright light startled him and Jesse looked around. A truck. A man climbing out of the truck. Beckett? Their neighbor jumped out of his truck and ran to the boy’s side.
“Jesse!” Wrapping his arms around the kid, Beckett lifted him into his truck. “Are you okay?”

Jesse nodded. “How…”

“Your mother called me. Her car wouldn’t start.” Beckett pulled Jesse’s gloves off and held the small hands before the heater.

“Is Mom mad?” His voice was small.

“Darned straight. And she’s not the only one.” Beckett sighed and put the truck in gear. “But let’s just get you home.”

Jesse nodded and closed his eyes, not caring that he was probably grounded for life.