She whispers her dreams into the ether,
Then lets it go,
Building each day on the basis of trust,
Knowing she’s going to be okay.
**
Her heart carries the wind of yesteryear,
Lessons taunt, acceptance no longer the key,
She did the work, shed her toughened skin,
Ready for the safe landing, in which she is due.
**
She released the fear, knowing it’s no longer hers to hold,
Untethered the regrets she laid bare for the one ungrateful,
Now she no longer needs for her point of view to be understood,
As she walks on the edges of freedom.
**
She grieved her many goodbyes,
Ushered in her peace on the wings of her pain,
And walked away with her head held high,
Unbidden.
**
She honours the stars that shine in the darkness,
Dances to the tides of the moon,
Dreams in purrs, a unison of two sweet souls,
Protected in the security of all that will be.
**
The day is near,
The walk highlighted in song,
Strong arms wrapping her femininity tightly,
As tears glisten in relief.
**
Abundance is held on scales now balanced,
The dues paid in hardship of years gone by,
If you walk her path, she’ll honour you with her heart,
And her everlasting smile.
**
She waits patiently,
Warmed to her very bones,
Summer has arrived, never-ending,
Even in the depth of the coldest of nights.
**
She knows who she is,
Dreams in technicolour; scrapping that black and white mentality,
But don’t underestimate her strength,
As that will never be discarded along the highway of her travels.
**
There is only the here and now,
Yesterday a painful lesson that hardened her spine,
Tomorrow but a hope and dream,
An onslaught of a possible song.
**
Come say hello,
Stay a day, a month, a year,
Live within the boundaries outlined,
Let her dissolve all you fear.
**
The scales may tilt just slightly,
But as long as she holds fast to her trust,
They will realign,
Allowing the rain to wash away any residual tears.
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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More stories from Colleen Millsteed and writers in Poets and other communities.
You Weren’t Supposed to Read This
You weren’t supposed to read this. That was the first line, written in the margin of a notebook I never intended to open again. It wasn’t a warning so much as a plea. The kind you make when you hope the paper itself might protect you from being seen.
By Imran Ali Shahabout 17 hours ago in Poets
Comments (2)
This is fantastic. I love the way your thoughts perfectly fill your stanza. I love the breakdown of it. And the message is timeless. The past is gone and unchangeable. The future is uncertain and unpredictable. Allowing the mind to dwell in either the past or the future is a recipe for discontent &/or misery. Peace is found in the present moment. Thanks for the poignant reminder. ⚡💙⚡
She is sooo inspirational! Such a beautiful poem my kindred spirit!