I Woke Up One Morning

Written by: Therese Bacha

                              "I Woke Up One Morning."

I woke up one morning as if from a dream, 
I had lived from being a child, to an old age. 
I was struck by anguish and fear until I realized 
that this dream was my awakened past.

I walked this earth with steady feet, 
Carrying my mind in my heart.
Surrounded by some who cared and 
other's who couldn't.
I felt betrayed and in return I wounded myself. 
Those marks are invisible, yet the pain is deeply 
felt with inner scars.

Along my path, I met my mother, a passive soul! 
kind, and generous, unable to express her perplexed mind. 
I met my father! unsatisfied at who he was, 
blowing blows of anger and frustration, into his world, 
yet sensitive enough To overwhelm his children with 
silence and authority, which he called love and protection 
from a world he feared. 
And under his wings was no such living.

I met my eldest brother, who's joy on this earth was 
short lived! A soul refined with inner depth and struggle 
to better himself and love unbounded by more love 
to those he loved.

I met my little sister, who will represent a loving 
child within a grown sensitive, and sensible feeling 
woman Her inner space, glows in her outer beauty, 
which remained young coming from the depth 
of her feelings, and suffering, and re-suffering, 
while creating from her own flesh her home.

We left our native home where we laughed, 
and cried, growing, hoping to fulfill a dream 
not yet dreamt. 
Follows a life with pressure, discontent,
pain, submissiveness we walked, unconnected  
with our partners, divided, never holding hands 
along the path.

Four new lives,  time, events, war, death, tears and smiles... 
engulfed our existence, until all that we call freedom 
brought an unaccomplished freedom 
short lived, yet lived.

I met my younger brother he our enigma our flesh 
and blood runs together in different fields. 
Children and more children they are our treasures. 
Their pains and joys reflect in our lives.

Yet, nothing can cut through the thread that holds 
our lives together. 
Young and old and growing will remain enduring, 
with every breath we breath, away or close, 
we hear each other's silences. 
Awake at night we see a portrait of beauty, love, 
courage, and endurance and colorful.

Awake with a warm feeling that I am 
that multiplicity of them, I am not alone
as they live in me and from me as one.

 Therese Bacha
12/12/12

Contest Old Poem You Are Proud Of.  Nathan. A  WIN (Honorable Mention)