A Time to Go…#68

Twenty-one days since I posted on “The Last Chapter”, so much has happened during those three weeks.  First my body decided to act up, It appears that the heart valve is beginning to harden, the heart is a time bomb, a guessing game, a when will it need repair game.  This has slowed my activity least 50%, which irritates me.  My activity calls for rest from everything.  This really gets in the way of what I want to do.  The most horrible situation was the death of my nephew and his mother came first over all of my issues.  The process of publishing a collection of poems has begun, and I believe the dust has settled on my life and I will try to get back into a routine of writing.  The poem “A Time to Go” created itself, although I am far from her problems, one visit to a nursing facility for the elderly will certainly create such a poem.  I am back for now; I hope to return to posting often.  Thanks to all of you for your patients.  

A Time to Go

The old woman sit in a chair in the get-together room of the elderly housing that her children have placed her.  She has lived alone for the past forty years, now her freedom has been ripped away; all that she owns sits in a storage area of the local buy and sell shop.

Her knarred and deformed hands ache.  She has nothing more to do but contemplate the mystery that was once her life. No one really knows her; not even her children.  She looked upon the flesh of her being, time had taken its toll; she shut her eyes, it is time to go. 

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Broken…#67

Losses in life leave people broken,

Ones spirit may never mend; a sense of

Betrayal will unquestionably never end.

Does one never learn when they are clearly?

Shown that they are not wanted; is there a

Reason to hope, reason to survive.

Does one give up?  Lie down… die.

Put life into perspective, of your soul be

Protective; learn to live within your own glory

Write yourself a new story.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Juncture of the River…#66

Memories are like rivers flowing through

The landscapes of our minds, liquid

Thoughts waiting for the right moment to

Trickle into tiny brooks and flow back in our

Sight.  One by one, we pluck them from the

Pools of recollection that form at rivers edge.

Each juncture, a story finds life and reveals

The lost memory to us, fresh and sometimes

Changing as some things forgotten returns.

The colors may become more vivid and the

Happiness or sadness, more or less intense.

Tales of yesteryear pass through our minds,

Hearts and souls keeping our past alive,

Renewing our hopes, reminding us of our

Forgotten dreams.  Renewing our sense of

Being a part of something great and lasting.

Then there is silence, the rushing waters of

Memories are stilled, the sun rises and sets

As days go by, some more quickly than others.

We turn down a road; look up at the sky,

Watch the landscape change, become

Recognizable, our hearts leap, our souls have

A smile and we are once again gliding down

The river of our memories into the wonders

Of our always conscience minds.

©2019.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree