November 5

Symbols

Poetry

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When someone you love is diagnosed with dementia as a caregiver your own life gets turned inside out as well. In fact probably even more as the caregiver. But really who knows? All of us are having our own experiences through our personal realities. Who are any of us to say what's real or not real in any given moment for anyone else. 

For me poetry and music have been consistent ways to examine emotions and personal growth the experience gifts me. Recently, I have found myself, once again, pulling at the threads my emotions through poetry. Some how by placing one word next to another I am able to find peace with grief. But even more powerful, I have been able to unravel the gift of the journey. 

Here are two of my most recent poems:

a cardinal rests
it’s frozen reflection
~ encapsulated
your colorful life stilled
in a lake of memories

image of guitar from the neck with the poem Sing Me overlaid.

Symbols

Dusk falls on the horizon’s shoulders
wrapping humanity’s edges in its shawl.
Night’s ink spills across the sky.
Poets write sonnets to the moon
as it interrupts darkness.

Are we any closer?

Time blows across oceans
in earthly rotations. Life, a series of nautical
points between birth and death.
The wind in our sails color our journey
with possibilities.

Is this too abstract? Am I?

Stars sprinkle heaven with light.
My heart soars through shared kisses
Skin sliding over warm rivers
we dance on the edge
of You and Me to Us.

Are we there yet?

Sigh after
shut…ter..ing
sigh
under love’s power we lie.
Fingers and legs intertwined.

How can this love not be of the Divine?

Future unfurls its mysteries
before our naked eyes
to the harshness we will find.
Yet passion’s flame is ours
for our hearts’ embrace.

Can we carry the torch without burns?

Streets littered with broken glass
from Genies’ lamps smashed against
the land of promised potential.
Dreams set adrift yearning
to be actualities. Idealisms bold as brass.

Dare wishes become realities?

Fantasies of equality
carried like Froto’s ring
a precious noose to some
a forbidden treasure to others.

“I do”, “I do too”, must our vows echo to an empty room?

About the author

Creator of sounds. Poet on an energetic journey with words. Explorer of Frequencies.


 

Delaina J Miller

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