Tag Archives: lost

Sitting with sadness

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Death Changes Us – 


I lost my first love to death at nineteen, chased his ghost for a decade; trying to find him, trying to find who I was without him, until I met the mate of my soul; found love with him so true and unconditional that I was totally free just to be and discover me. Now too, I have lost that love to death – my greatest love, my true love, my last love; and while I know exactly who I am now, don’t have to search or chase his ghost, for I see and feel him everywhere, in every thing, I can’t get past the pain of my broken heart to even fill my lungs with a full breath. Love changed us, it made us better, it created precious life from the best of both of us, it saved us more than once and his death has changed me still more. If I could feel anything past this pain perhaps I could find a way to peel my self off the floor. 
~ jill terry 7.7.16


THUNDERSTRUCK

Loneliness brought her there in her darkest hour
Spinning out of control in a world collapsing
From within lifetime ago dreams he magically appeared
Though lost and broken she wished he had not found her

He brought her in from the frigid cold
Shattered the bonds that restrained her soul
Vowing never to lie, nor secrets would they keep
Her desperation and need making him weep

He offered himself wholly and the healing began
Extracting painful memories, mending old wounds
Breathing life over her, his own strength into her
Promising forever to love, protect and keep her

©2011 Jill Terry


Idle hours

Night falls
And the door of
Loneliness
Opens once more

Wandering thoughts
Leading deeper
Endless hours
Pass by idle

Tears born of
Frustration
Wanting so much
To believe

While truths falsities
Ebb and flow
Raging as the sea

To shed tears of happiness
Heart swollen with joy
From the gift of truth
Another should bestow

But what illusions spring
From a bounty of words
While reading the pages
Of one’s very soul

A beacon in the darkness
Wrapping round the heart
Come to life on a virtual page

Where freedom is found
Chained spirits do soar
And the abyss calls you
By name

© 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


Backtrack

Sunrise__St__Augustine

She found herself traveling
South on A1A
Desperate now to get back
To that place

Hunting ghosts
Slaying demons
Searching for that lost
Part of her self

Since the door was slammed
Locked down tight
She was filed away
On the back of a shelf

Images unraveling
With the hum of the miles
A Technicolor reel
Unraveling in her mind

She reaches the bridge
Inlet in sight
Closes her eyes
Lets out a sigh

© jillterry


Wasted youth

The parking lot was full
Spilling over onto the boulevard
Hearse at the ready
To lead the procession

102 in the shade
Suffocating humidity
No breeze to speak of
All those gathered
Dressed in black

Mourning the loss
Young life wasted
Blood and tears pouring
Tragically taken

Listening through the wall
Razors trembling fingers
As her mother fucked
Yet another unknown stranger

The warning signs
Flashing neon
Young voice hoarse
Screaming out for help

But she had no interest
In playing mother
Too busy living
Her own lost youth

The belle of the ball
Life’s ongoing party
Of superficial friends
Hookups and hangovers

Standing at the graveside
Pounding in her head
Fist full of dirt
Her only child dead

© jillterry


Worth retrieving

She watches the water
Flow lazily by her window
Gently being pulled
By the slow moving current

Offering further proof
In the power of connections
Something she once put
Total faith in

Reduced to a place
Where she no longer believes
Still searching for her own truth
Once given so freely

A journey she must make
In order to retrieve it
Tangled in that web
Of lies and deceit

© jillterry

 


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