Not just a jolt,

But a ritual,

The morning coffee sits, beautifully reheated from the microwave,

Steaming its wares at me,

Inviting me to start the day. 

 

With the sip formed from lips of addiction.

A gentle brush,

Such a minor unintended touch,

Of one leg passing another in the vestibule,

Creates a revolution.

 

As if a relationship has been made,

And kept dearly for years,

Daily routines,

Shared lives;

Pain and suffering.

 

And then its over; As if it never happened.

 

But it did.

 

The black and white rendered image of this firebird flower pretty much sums it up at present.

On the one side I am frazzled by all the input and changes in a life,

And at the same time, pleased about what has been achieved.

Rather like a climbing a mountain,

Ascending seemed like it was endless,

But now at the summit; I am rather pleased with myself.

 

The black and white rendered image of this firebird flower pretty much sums it up at present.

On the one side I am frazzled by all the input and changes in a life,

And at the same time, pleased about what has been achieved.

Rather like a climbing a mountain,

Ascending seemed like it was endless,

But now at the summit; I am rather pleased with myself.

It could only have been the plan of the Other,

Landing here, a million miles from my rainy start,

In a garden designed by God,

Tended by mortals,

One of which is me.

 

Thank God.