Chainsaw

The subtle bouquet of life’s leafy green
devoured by the hot friction of steel.

The sun-ripened sweetness of deciduous flesh
rendered to powder by man’s industrial teeth.

Tears of sap flow, leaves scattered like severed fingers
curling inward towards rigor and death.

The idling beast surveys the remaining victims,
a forest’s death row awaits the next execution.

The Bitter End

A labored breath in, a shuddered breath out,
I struggle to see through the darkness.
Whispering voices, mournful tones,
All talking about me…I am here.

Stray comments waft past my consciousness –

“…such a great mom…kids will miss her…always there…”

Am I supposed to be proud?  I am angry.

I was so much more – but no-one saw, or cared.

 

A childhood lived, but not experienced,

My passions deemed unsafe; improper; unwise.

Afraid I’d get hurt; afraid I’d choose wrong.

All was chosen for me.

 

Others’ expectations, so confining,

A spirit straightjacketed by good intentions.

I took those lessons into the world

Where they continued to shackle me.

 

I can’t travel the world, I need to work.

I can’t quit my job, we need my check.

I can’t start a business, we need my benefits.

No time, never time, for me.

 

Now it’s too late, no time left to be me.

No accomplishments of my own.

No obituary for me, there is nothing to say.

Nobody knew the real me.

 

The darkness spreads, the voices fade.

I try to speak, one last chance to be heard.

For someone to know who I am, who I was.

I was here – Why did no-one see me?


I was here

 

“Someday” never comes

A little girl lived with unspoken dreams,
Others expectations met first.
Escape at eighteen, desires anticipated.
Now it is my turn.

What do I do to find my life?
This is your life, they say.
Finish school; find a job; get married; have kids.
Ok, done – now is it my turn?

The kids need shoes and lessons,
The car and roof need repairs.
My husband starts his own business.
When is it my turn?

The kids are grown, the house paid off,
The business is a success.
My hair is gray, my reflection unfamiliar.
Now is it my turn?

My children all have children.
I still wait for someday to come.
My family all say they love their life.
What about my life – when is it my turn?

My time has ended, the light grows dark,
My voice silenced, I sink to oblivion.
One final thought my last link to this earth –
Why was it never my turn?

Don’t wait for permission to live your life.