Tag Archives: forgiveness

Soaring Solo

spirit guide

Morning coffee on the veranda
Sun sparkling diamonds across still water
Reflecting and questioning her needs and wants
Completely alone with only her thoughts

She thought about him across the miles
Flying solo on that rocky coast
Yoga at sunrise with no care in the world
Guided solely by his internal light

What was it that she wanted
Why had she reached for him
The question with no answer
Haunting both their minds

She stepped to the edge of the veranda
Leaned out over the rail
Raised her face to the heavens
Head-to-toe kissed by the sun

A quiet resolve washed over her being
As a voice inside whispered softly . . .

“N o t h i n g”

It was enough to knock
And have him open the door
To know he’s still out there
Put their past to final rest

Touched in his words
Transported by his voice
Offering genuine forgiveness
Having it accepted fully

Her smile radiated
From the inside out
As slowly she turned
Leaving her secret spot

That space of solitude
Where she throws it all out
Her spirit guide answering
In the form of a majestic hawk

©2013 jillterry │jillterry.com

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Truth Defined

If I hadn’t
Loved him
So
Much

My loathing
Wouldn’t run
So
Deep

© jillterry


Means to an end

means to an end

With old patterns faltering in the wake of time, serving him less and less; desperation creeps, then slowly sets in.

Searching for something real to cling to; in a world of illusion and cheap parlor tricks; of which he created and has always dwelled.

Better to be an imaginary somebody, than a real no body; his platform, his soapbox, his mission, his salvation.

Spewing his gospel as weightless as smoke rings, growing bored with his half dozen converts; unable to stroke his monstrous ego; he sees only one place left to go.

One soul he touched. Upon a time was touched by. He refuses to release and let go. Disguised as forgiveness, he sets about his mission; back to the only arms left, that wait wide open.

Naïve and weak, yet privy to his ways; a masochist for certain, to take him back in. She is not the reason, but merely a convenience. Providing him shelter, buying him time; bringing him closer to where he believes salvation resides.

The beautiful butterfly, with delicate wings; once so fragile, easily ravaged; consumes his thoughts, still rules his darkness; and so true to predator form, of which he will always be, he sets about stalking, making connections; broadcasting his relation, as if guaranteeing him a position. Wasting time, sniffing and searching; for the butterfly has morphed, long ago taken flight.

And so time ticks on, for this wasted life; over educated and under achieved. When he could have soared to the greatest of heights; been a true inspiration, perhaps a revered master. But the only expertise, he can lay claim in the end; is leaving a trail of pain, in the wake of his disaster.

© jillterry


One step beyond

Finding the capacity
To bend without
Breaking

A willingness to
Change
Or be changed

Some times
Often times
Easier said than
Done

© jillterry


Reparation

Within her circle of stones
She drifts back to that place
Casting out shadows
Demons handsome face

Once lost in his darkness
A labyrinth of despair
Longing for an illusion
Twin flames sweet embrace

That lone wandering drifter
Disguised as a sage
Stealing souls
Trying to make it pay

She felt he was coming
Hyena slowly circling
Hell fires burning
Raging like lightening

Call down the thunder
Glance back courageously
Lifetimes spent stalking
Doors opening and closing

Atonement is sought
Peace offered up
Discounting her wrath
Holding nothing from the past

© jillterry


Poem-a-day No.2

Forgiveness

My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!

~ John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892)


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