Then the Tomb…

Conflicts rampant in the world,

musty tombs fill quickly; tales,

rhymes of the times, repeat of

ancient crimes.  Vanity, regret,

no joy, plagues fester from hate;

fools come in the night, rob virgins

of their innocent light; children

unable to live their lives.  Women

fair in looks, proud, hear their

laughter, jaded, men chase after!

The aged they smile, sing a little

ditty, old and forgotten…what a

pity.  Moralized and wise, sneer as

you may, their looks have faded away.

Their life of treasures lay in wait for

the vultures; respect the elderly…lost

in future culture.  Marble slabs rolled

back, the open earth consumes, fear,

death and then the tomb.

©2014.thenthetomb.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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Coupling…

Spring, summer, autumn,

winter, sun, moon, stars,

snow, rain, winds, laughing,

joy, crying, grief; birds fly

over the falling  snow, life

must go; someone died I

guess, bury them deep, deep,

deep they will not rise from

this sleep, frail things enclose

the soul; eternity descending,

its beauty rendering death;

silence immense; the

assassination of freedom

intense.

 

©2014.copulingofthoughts.annjohnsonmurphree

A Patchwork Life – Part 2

old-woman

 

Living and Breathing a Patchwork Life…

I have never believed that I should be immune to grief; I have accepted that my living a life in a constant state of unhappiness conditioned me to believe that it was normal; I had not labeled it grief.  Before my children my world was to exist, afterwards I had happy moments; life for me consisted of keeping my children happy and safe, if possible.  Then later with children, grandchildren and work suddenly came retirement, being alone, and I had to stop and think about how I got to this place, this questioning place.  There is a time to search and a time to give up (Ecclesiastes), so the search continues in my life.

The dynamics of my life no longer made sense, I could not identify with what this stage of my life should be; alone, old, a storehouse of memories that could only be defined as constant grief.  With this life style being “normal”, the means of processing it could not be accomplished in any normal way that I knew, any way that I could find in books, talking to others; I had to begin a journey that I did not have a “lifetime” to prepare, the need to seek the answers and understanding is now urgent.

We must live within our own schedule, we all experience grief, it is impossible for us to define it in the same way.   Whether a lifetime or moments, days what causes grief is many times the same; the death of grandparents, parents, children, friends, death comes in different forms, but it all results in three words; it is final.  When we lose our place in a family or have the lack of one, divorce, misplace a friendship, it all results in dealing with a grieving process.

It seems that happiness and grief go hand in hand; my mother never wanted me, she never gave hugs, kissed or told me she loved me; this has caused me a lifetime of grief.  Yet I have had to be happy that she allowed me to come see her once a year!  When she died, I did not suffer the grief of her dying as she had lived a long life and on her terms; I grieved because I had never heard her say “I love you”.  Standing over a mound of red southern dirt brought this home to me, she had thrown away her chance to tell me and I had no more time to continue to try to get her to say it.  One might say you need to let go, you must forget…unless you have never heard your mother or father tell you that they love you, you may not understand.  Nevertheless, that child in me cannot heal, so I allow her to grieve, and I have given her permission to heal in her own time, if possible.  After all, somewhere within she is still that child who wanted desperately to please, to hear that she mattered; and the grown up must now search for the answer too, “Who am I now”.

My heart continues to be like a patchwork quilt, keeping the memories alive it keeps breaking apart and I keep trying to mend it piece by piece, I hope my experience; my words will help others in some small way with their own losses throughout their lives.  There are others, I know that I am not alone!

©2014.apatchworklife.annjohnsonmurphree

Supper in the Churchyard…

The fall wind has swept the

leaves from the yard it is still

warm as the sun sets; evening

twines its shadows among the

gravestones, hand in hand men,

women and children are silent

in the coming twilight.

Their breath a vapor in the departing

day, the pines sway, the evening is

taking on a mystery of its own; the

winds still and each gentle soul begins

to pass the broken bread.

Clouds gather, the hues of the season

spread across the landscape, the church

tower like a shrine points toward the

Heavens;  supper in the churchyard

ends.

Oak, pine and wood shavings spring to

life as pyramids of fire leap toward the

Heavens; a slow melancholy hum flows

throughout those gathered and the night

air is filled with the spirit of the moment,

”Oh that circle want be broken…” rises to

meet the stars.

Childhood memories revisited, a little

white church, sweet secrets beneath the

tablecloths, children playing, old folks

praying, hope grew in the hearts of the

people; and in the hands of God, they

left their heavy loads.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

Broken…

Fissured stones are entwining arms,

limbs dancing among the once pride

of summers bright leaves; now buried

in the decay of the season.

The wild wind of love, solitude in its

stillness, alone the breath echoes and

floats among the winds, no longer in its

majesty; scatters upon the unfeeling

storm.

Mist cloaks the unbounded, drinks in a

vanishing moon, the stars hide behind

bellowing shadows; sullen is the night

as it invokes fear in the weak.

Repose is the broken heart; creeping

among the graves lifeless as wilting

wreaths, diffused and motionless in

the depths of lost hope and

despair.

A cold image falls to the earth, the

night is stagnate as black shades of

death hovers in dank vapors; a life

stilled and soon unremembered.

 

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

Sea Giants…

 

In the solitude of the

night crouches Ice

Mountains floating like

pyres that wait for the

ceremonial fires.

Arctic waters move in

time with the rhythm of

the seas mystical lyre,

crossing vast distance the

Ice Mountains never tire.

Sharing the sea floats a

Steel Mountain opulent and

free, a jewel of human design

to ravish the mind.

Radiance and glittering from

port into the black waters under

the gaze of the moon, the vain

and glorious Steel Mountain

could never have foreseen its

sandy doom.

The two mountains were not

prepared to consummate an

unwanted union on that cold

and misty night, in the belly of

the Steel Mountain confidence

soon replaced with fright.

Wealth turned into an evil mate,

its unequal locked in a coffin filled

with water all too soon learned

their fate.

In silence both steel and ice unaware

of the looming catastrophe shared

the same path, the Ice Mountain moved

forward unscathed, while the Steel

Mountain quickly floated downward to

its cold salty grave.

(The Titanic)

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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The Gates…

I am death, covered

by the blood of life’s

victims, the peace

loving, the innocent

and the brave, silenced;

they lay with me here

in the grave.

The living stands in cold

silence, regret, moans on

every breath, living souls

that cannot keep away

the fear of death.

In the voices of life, there

could be heard prayer,

prejudice and dismay;

whether hate or fate, all is

now with me at “Heaven or

Hells” gate!

 

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

 

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Disappearing…

Growing old, no finery, aging

body, luster gone from aging

eyes.  Vanished beauty, shaded

looks from an old lover; the

soul cries.

The enemy that is not kind, as

both beauty and strength decays.

Time engulfs the aged, suddenly

life changes in every way.

Of youth, we dream, while youth

and old age begin to entwine;  we

mellow with each setting sun, our

minds fight becoming old, of truth

we decline.

At last, we see the world with fading

eyes; hearts becomes weak.  The past

gone there is no future; the years have

gone by so quickly, we weep.

The days are long, were we ever young,

this crumbling body we cannot change; the

prison we live in, the past, the present

brings only weary pain.

Suffer, feeble, remembrance hidden deep

within our minds; emotions felt, we must

live the hand dealt life has not been

kind.

Frozen in time like ghosts’, nothing left to tell;

it is the last stage of life, some wait for Heaven,

while others continue to live in hell!

 

 

****

 

2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

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Beyond the Voices

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