Curtains raised
upon this stage
lifted shadows
one new day.
Encores played
familiar piece
kindred players
different key.
Life’s gavotte
a gleeful tune
every third beat
ends all too soon.
So what is left
now but to live
moments to take
and those to give.
To learn to love
and risk to lose
each turn a jewel
the heart will prove.
So let us grow
as rhythms flow
this one new day
for us to know.
•
Dear friends,
May I tell you about someone? It’s about one courageous woman who has a beautiful heart who just happens to have a brain tumor. She has undergone surgery and a long bout of chemoradiation, and although she has fought hard and continues to fight to maintain the kind of ‘normal life’ someone as lucky as me would take for granted, she was forced to reach out.
His heart unveiled before me,
descended from fields above,
let him free me with eternal songs
and constrain me with his love.
Lilacs amidst the autumn green,
like lilies among the thorns,
let him hold me up in blossom tides
in whose haven I am reborn.
If come the dawn which want of rain,
the hours of trial and drouth,
let him kiss me now as he kissed me then–
nectared kisses of his mouth.
When moistened rivulets meander down
my cheeks onto my neck,
let him dry the tears and calm my soul
with words of sweet caress.
As cashmere skies dissolve in mist
to lower eve’s curtain from above,
let them come; I fear it not–
for I am sick with love.
•
Frosted stars
proclaimed by breeze,
a dance of farewell
before their queen.
Revealed by moon’s
glow in misted eyes
a wish reflected.
A longing…seeking
to be found.
Thread of secrets,
thrum of time,
silvered braids upon
wounded soul.
A queen
before her horizon
heeds the echoed promise
of a rising sun.
She smiles.
•
This time of year always reminds Puppydoc to be thankful for all those who have come into her life, past and present…to cherish the memories of those who have left and to treasure each moment with those who are here.
Wishing everyone a wonderful holiday week.
🙂
A bustling hospital. An unexpected arrival. A frigid Christmas Eve.
I was saying goodbye to another patient when fate collided us.
“I’m sorry Father,” I heard your son say, “you can no longer live with us, but here is a nice doctor who will find you a home. Merry Christmas, Dad.”
Pretending not to notice your son’s exasperation as you pleaded for him to stay, I choked down the anguish of my own awareness and proceeded to examine you.
Bound to the prison of your seat—scared, bewildered, frail—you looked so lost. You asked why, what you did wrong, where your son had gone, not fully comprehending the chaos surrounding. A deep sigh escaped pursed lips as I searched within for an answer that would never come. Taking your hands, contorted by disease, I gazed into eyes dulled by years gone by—their hope fading beneath a glimmer of fear of an iniquitous present and an unpromised future–and I made you a promise I wondered if I myself could keep.
“It’s going to be okay…you’ll see.”
But hours pass, and it was not okay—you couldn’t sleep, you wouldn’t eat, and the only sound I heard as I passed the door of your half-vacant room was the resonance of muffled tears.
Behind a mask, I also let myself weep.
* * *
Soon the day ended. I entered your room, prepared to make my final rounds. But instead of a bid goodbye, what escaped was an exclamation of the first words that came to my mind.
“Sir, I think we should have a party!”
And that was what we did.
A 90-year-old veteran. A 30-year-old internist. A 20-year-old nurse.
Gathered around your bed, over reconstituted cocoa, you shared with us your history, your joys, your life’s adventures. Over paper cups of chicken broth, I told you my story. As the muted treble of holiday cheer dripped through the bedside radio, together we heralded in, with bittersweetness, the arrival of Christmas Day.
You then took my hand.
As I started to apologize for the late hour, you stopped me. Eyes still glimmering, I hear you laugh, and I believe I finally catch a glimpse of what was the real you.
“Thank you for a blessed Christmas,” you said.
Yes.
A blessed one, indeed.
•
Snowflakes.
Fading upon blushed flesh,
its rivulets a frame
sketched for the captive soul.
Gaze glimmering, hope dissolving,
an echo to the void of twilight’s end.
She longs to be released.
A breath divine.
An oasis to a threadbare wish
sculpts bittersweetness
into frosted air.
Embraced by light,
she follows the seraph’s call
and is freed.
•
![Still Dreaming [a poem]](https://i0.wp.com/phoebemd.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/pexels-pixabay-247314.jpg?fit=1104%2C737&ssl=1&resize=40%2C40){kind=small}
