Best Glimmer Of Hope Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Glimmer Of Hope poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of glimmer of hope poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Glimmer Of Hope poems, articles about Glimmer Of Hope poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Glimmer Of Hope poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

• New Glimmer Of Hope Poems
• Best Famous Poems
• Definition & Discussion of Glimmer Of Hope Poems
• Read Glimmer Of Hope Poems

New Glimmer Of Hope Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Glimmer Of Hope poems are below this new poems list.

View all new Glimmer Of Hope Poems

The Best Glimmer Of Hope Poems

Christmas Miracle in the Ghetto (Co-written with John Moses Freeman)

Peering at the radiating faces of happy families
So much joy emanates from well-to-do children’s sparkling eyes
Wish I could replace the grief, put smiles on the faces of my sons
Without a glimmer of hope even promises of warm meals would be lies

In the brown eyes of my sons, the same eyes their mother, my wife
Sadness the sacrifice, a courageous mother giving life
So great a zest for life she sacrificed to give her sons life
But now greed hath put her seed in peril and my world in strife

No “Help Wanted” signs in the windows of Main Street’s bustling stores
The aroma of fresh bread wafts tauntingly from the bakery
With my hands in pockets, finding not even loose change
Overcome with hunger and jealousy, should I resort to thievery? 

Mind reeling, contemplating abating moral principals
Suddenly appear familiar brown eyes amid face so dear
The image of deceased wife, Spanish born eyes filled with tears
Speaking, "Abe, the Lord is gracious, walk until head is clear"

I follow the light in her warm eyes reflecting in glass windows
They lead me down the road to a park at the end of town
Dressed in ragged clothing, a man sits with a smile of peace
Breathing white puffs in frigid air, this gentle soul sees my frown

The message is plain, as my fears begin to clear
There is a greater depth in a soul of love well kept
The night is far spent; I kissed the hand of this gentle man
He smiled sweetly and said, "Lift up heavy head from dread"
 
I look up to see sun glistening on snow-laden pine boughs
It’s here, Christmas Day, and I’ve left my children alone all night
An ache in my heart compels me to race quickly back through town
Breathlessly, I reach my porch unprepared for a welcome sight
 
Hearing laughter within, I smell, yams, turkey and ham
I open my door, on the floor, presents piled high as well
Laughing with glee, sons kiss me, sparkle of brown eyes I see
Sparkling brown eyes, of Spanish descent, love is evident
 
“From where in the world did all this come,” I ask my sons
“Beautiful lady with Spanish brown eyes, stopped at our door
She said a strange thing, as on the floor our gifts were lain,
‘Tell Abe keep the faith; a mother's love is stronger than the grave.’
Her hugs and kisses, will be greatly missed!  Who was she, Daddy?"


Thank you, Moses, for joining me and guiding me in this write.  Merry Christmas, dear 
friends!

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2009

A Tightrope Walk

I balance on a tightrope. Surrounded by 
lovers and dreamers, I teeter above a raging sea.
I admire their glossy smiles and envy
their bright-eyed confidence; envy is a sin, I know.
Please forgive me; a lie would carry more guilt.
The waves crash in dark shades of gray, still they smile.
Their laughter from all around pierces the thin air.
I teeter alone; I may or may not fall.
My fate is undetermined, in my own hands;
the tragedy today may be tomorrow's comedy.
Their laughter echoes...
On a day like today, the fresh tears sting. 
If only I could wake from the nightmare,
pry open the windows of my tortured soul.
If only I could charm the feral...if only.
Oh, the skeletal monsters we are bequeathed!
Yes, I understand the meaning of loyalty.
A fool believes the wicked will fall.
A fool believes the merciless will change.
Can a hollow chest develop a beating heart?
I chisel stone walls, searching for a glimmer of hope,
a flicker of humanity behind steel beams.
Could you spare a token of remorse?
I dare to drop a coin in a fountain of wishes.
A pocketful of coins jingle as my wishes sink
to the bottom of the venomous waters. 
I am patient as I teeter on the tightrope.
The audience cheers taking pleasure in my pain.
Blood pulsates through my veins, yet I feel cold winds
penetrate my soul. I refuse to cower or
live in contention... 
Blood is thicker than ink. 
I find my balance in the written word, a gift of life! 
Words sometimes spill from a bleeding heart.
I beseech the ghosts of the past to end their haunting.
Their breath is the frigid wind. I find shelter...
Tempered is the skin of the wounded. Who knows
what may lie beneath the flesh. In the mirror,
you may find a frightened child in need of love.
Most find the strength to balance and stand.
Every step brings me closer to solid ground...
I am reaching for you. Please take my hand.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012

Night Meets the River

Night Meets the River

The deep night sky meets the river
With stars sparkling in ripples below
The water moves with a quiver
To a kiss around the bend, it flows

Meandering glimmer of hope shines through
Peaceful sounds reach the quiet land
With soft music in the air, playing too
Where water and rays merge into a band

The moonlight fills the sky above
Spreading light through the forest trees
Shining on two gentle hearts in love
As apprehension quickly flees

Moving with currents, love lifts to the sky
This mellow night slowly does ignite
A lovely passion with a sweet sigh
Engraving a memory, with a beautiful sight

Heidi Sands

1/4/18

Copyright © Heidi Sands | Year Posted 2018

Let love lead you home

Lost in the world, no direction, no love, to be found,
No one cares for you, animosity knows no bounds.
When you're off course, you need not be alone,
A little help is all you need, let love lead you home.

Love is the compass, when you're astray in the woods,
Languishing in the darkness, you feel, gone for good.
A glimmer of hope, when, someone finds where you roam,
Let love lead the way, let love lead you home.

Temptation is abundant, too easy to go astray,
Loyalty is the director, helps to show you the way.
Show your thankfulness, for the love you've been shown.
Let love lead the way, let love lead you home.

John Derek Hamilton   October 21,2015

Copyright © John Hamilton | Year Posted 2015

Past reflections and New Beginnings

her brimming eyes..
shreds of a happy picture
in the icy lake



Each gust of the bone chilling wind, blows in fresh despair.  Though seemingly brutal has a new lesson albeit a bit harsh, to teach, a new message to deliver. The lonely lady in a dark trench coat with frozen tears in her sea green eyes, casts her eyes on the bare fanged limbs of skeletal trees around. Through all the bleakness she feels a glimmer of hope shine as a silver lining in this cycle of nature. 
Pondering over the human tendency to scratch up old wounds to keep them afresh and hold those daggers of the aching past, locking and unlocking them in the recesses of heart, to keep renewing the hurt. The flora around has shed the burdens of yester years, eagerly awaiting the blooms of a fresh spring. Clearly, it is the time to let go. To look forward to the bright horizons of the morrow, to cherish the first sprout of life rejuvenated. Let Go. Hope.


one last look..
the frigid waters ripple
her past reflections




Haibun
Yesha Shah

Copyright © Yesha Shah | Year Posted 2013

A Nook And A Storybook

A Nook And A Story Book Contest
Sponsor: Eve Roper

There was a day last week that I felt alone and sad,
   I carried days of grief and would pray for sweet dreams,
     I held onto a glimmer of hope when I had an idea,
       to get lost in my favorite book outside on the porch swing.

Sensuality of a solitary soul with desires of social freedom,
  pretty dear Edna lost inside a condemning creole heritage,
    although she loved the Gulf of Mexico and New Orleans,
     she had love affairs with charming men during her marriage.

Her appetite for passion wasn’t accepted in the nineteenth century,
   she craved lustful intimacy when it was strictly forbidden,
     Edna wanders around and finds herself within sexual promiscuity,
       in a small town news travels fast, even if she wanted it hidden.

Once wedded to the rich Leonce who traveled far too often,
  Edna yearned for the embrace of other appealing suitors,
    fantasizing beyond all common sense of comprehension,
       alas she was constantly damned by hypocritical persecutors.

Satisfactions and warm memories sooth her darkest nights,
   she thinks of her affair with Robert as she closes her eyes,
     so deeply did he love her, although she only craved his physique,
       she wore erotic moments on her back for a disguise.

Because of her rejection of the roles as a wife and mother,
   she was an outcast, a fading woman lost in fear and sorrow,
     no more love and lust to quench her deep thirst,
       she awakens…not wanting to face another tomorrow.

Drowning herself in the deep water of the Gulf of Mexico,
   released her from her miserable anguish she called home,
     no longer could another touch her the way she needed,
       she ended up living her last moments in despair while alone.


This poem is about the book "The Awakening" by Kate Chopin
The original name was "Solitary Soul"

Date Written: April 28, 2016

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

She Waits...

Perched on an altar of stone,
Enduring the weather of time.
	She waits...

A marble heart laments,
Sorrow...forever etched...as,
	She waits...

Her eyes filled with a glimmer of hope,
Embracing her lonely stand.
	She waits...

Immortal expressions of yearning,
Shaded by the garish sun...as,
	She waits...

For a moment...happiness embraces her, 
As she gazes at a seagull on her arm...while,
	She waits...

Facing a familiar horizon,
Profound longing radiates the cold sea...as,
	She waits...






___________________________
Inspired by the Statue of Opatija

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2010

I wish I wouldn't

The sun is burning my eyes, my hands and my feet
Harsh light scorches the ground, setting it ablaze
The heat brings out the pests and flies.
I run from sliver of shade to sliver of shade,
 hoping for merely a minute of respite.
Praying that the clouds will bring relief and rain
Rain never comes day in and day out. 
Every sunrise rings more and more pain
I’m wishing that there will be relief from the heat,
But I have doubts
Rain never comes and the heat never ends.
I don’t want to burn.
It never stops.
The water never stops flowing,
During the dismal gray days,
Into the pitch-black nights,
With time, they only get damper and muggier
I hope and wish to see the suns’ rays
I want to feel the light and drying warmth of the sun.
I want to stand on solid ground that isn’t washed away,
My hands are numb from the flow constantly soaking them.
I continually fight to keep my head above the surface,
Rain never ends and drought never comes.
I don’t want to drown.
I can’t feel my feet,
I wish the ice could be melted but the sun is frozen
I long for heat to visit this land,
The cold is taking me captive
I want to feel a warm sun again.
An ice wind never ceases, never leaves
Bringing more snow and cold that bites
The endless wind taunts me with memories of warmth in the summer breezes
I can’t feel my hands.
I wish for just one spark, 
I pray for just a small flame,
Something to melt the frozen sun.
I don’t want to freeze.
Far away I see a glimmer of hope,
A dark rain-laden cloud in the distance
Could this day be the last of the drought?
Could it be? A break in the clouds?
Yes, a ray of sunshine in my soggy gray world
The flood’s time is over
The sun is rising on a frozen plain once more
But I hear it, hope is nearby,
The dripping of melting snow and ice
As my hope builds, it is also torn down.
The cloud is gone; 
The burning, ever burning sun has taken it.
I wish I wouldn’t burn.
But it isn’t so, the clouds have closed my only hope
They have destroyed my chance of standing on land 
The rain pours and floods evermore.
I wish I wouldn’t drown
It wasn’t so, I didn’t hear a true sound.
The dripping was my own heart,
With my ears wishing to hear melting ice so much.
I wish I wouldn’t freeze.
We wished and wished,
We tried and tried,
We survived as long as we could,
But
I burnt.
I drowned.
I froze.

Copyright © Deborah Samuelson | Year Posted 2017

I Need You......

I squeeze myself, turn the music off…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I close my eyes, scream in my head…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I take a deep breath, feel my chest shudder…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I feel my heartbeat speed up, though time seems still…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I press my face to my pillow, trying to focus…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I hear an echo in my head, can it be your voice?..

~ You Need To Be Here ~

My arms are empty, discomfort breaks my focus…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

My hands are cold, my bed is so lonely…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

There is nobody here, only blankets to hold me…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

A glimmer of hope, I dreamed of you…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

My fantasy so short, I woke too soon…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

My eyes are dry, I roll over in discontent…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

My muscles tense, my conscious sways…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

Like an itch I can’t reach, my insatiable longing…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I feel claustrophobic, you’re so far away…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I need to hold you, I need to protect you…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I need to hear you, I need to feel you…

~ You Need To Be Here ~

I need your love, I need to love you…

* I Need You Here… *

<^*~|//RAIN\\|~*^>

Copyright © Jay Smith | Year Posted 2009

A Sense of Life

In this small square room of mental illusion,
I look at my reflection in a state of desolation.
I'm not what I am in this state of confusion,
I'm trampled on the ground by my sense of delusion.

I'm a black-hole in the corner of one of my classes,
absorbing all hatred and negativity that passes.
I see no light, nor a glimmer of hope,
what I haven't learnt is the courage to cope.

I need contraceptives for my mind.
Can't bear this cynicism and broken lies.
My thoughts are sown with verbal abuses,
raised by water like the weeds on turf-grasses.

Solitude was my belief in transient relief.
Its not a permanent cure, but just a relief.
When I snap out of it, I'm in the very same shoes,
I'm leached out of my strength, from out of the blue.

Escape from reality has never been an option.
Blacking out on drugs have never been a solution.
The past three years, I have witnessed huge losses,
instead of the results, now I discern the causes.

It might not just be mine, but your life too,
But what the wise men say, is indeed true -
Your deep sense of hurt, builds up your power,
because what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger...

Copyright © unfathomd B.A | Year Posted 2017

Black Light

It's breathtaking! So I am often told:
The sparkle in a mother's loving eyes;
The glint of an amorous joy in a coy bride;
The hearthside gleam on a cold winter night;
A glimmer of hope to the lost and forsaken...
But what would I know? I was born blind!

Copyright © Abdul Malik | Year Posted 2012

Paradigm Shift

For years and years
I lived the curse of all women

A woman’s work in never done
That is, never finished
The more work I did the more work showed up
The To Do list was never ending
If I made a dent in it 
You couldn’t tell
 It was multiple pages and still
I refused to forget a single item

I used to work my To Do list and hope
For some opening somewhere somehow someday
Where I would be able to read, take a candlelit bath
Go for a leisurely walk, paint, write poetry
It never happened
My ever growing To Do list 
Had stopped even giving me the glimmer of hope
I was just that crazy hamster busy at her wheel

Till one day 
I was late with a painting I had promised
I was pushed to the wall I had no choice
I just had to focus on my craft and not think of anything else
I went at it and focused and focused
It wasn’t easy but I eventually got it done
It was an awesome feeling to finally sign my name 
And say it was D-O-N-E
But my celebration was more to me
About having won over time 

Time who had always been so elusive
So demanding so full of orders and ultimatums
Seeming so rigid and inflexible
All of a sudden I had decided
I would ignore it 
Along with my long list of To Do’s
And surprisingly life went on…
Nothing drastic happened
Nothing fell apart
Nothing exploded
I was actually stunned to tell you the truth

I had once learned about 
The differences between Important and Urgent
But my power over it never really sunk in until then
Now I have a new life 
Where my Important priorities are in front of me 
Where I can reach the one or the other
And the dishes get done but not till I decide to take a break
I do my best to add less to my To Do list
And most of all, pace myself instead of 
Trying to kill myself racing through it all

It may seem to you like a small paradigm shift
But to me, my life is turned inside out for the better

Submitted for contest THE POET'S OWN sponsored by GREG BARDER on August 21, 2017 - RANKED 4TH

Copyright © Line Gauthier | Year Posted 2017

The Darkness of Cold Oceans Dwelling Deepest

The Darkness of Cold Oceans Dwelling Deepest

Into the utter darkness of cold oceans dwelling deepest,
there is far beyond any glimmer of hope an outer limit
that defines a dark realm of the true supernatural reality
existing beyond any iota of human understanding on Earth.

In this dark realm lies a catacombic-womb of dead souls
bled white from the inside-out-turning of sand-blasted
nightmares of pure evil that envelope into a desert storm, 
whereby living-dead apparitions appear in the shadows.

In this Procrustean bed there lies these horribly-tortured souls
who are like fossils of a past strife-torn life—a past without 
any mercy since the unloved ghosts who exist there sense a
palpable pain erupting deep within every second of eternity!

This achingly slow-death falls into a sentence as forgiveness
now is impossible and a weathered-weakness of bowels spiced 
from this seabed's loving memory appear as a bright-white pearl, 
and the golden sun rises and sets as rats spread the Black Death!  

Gary Bateman and Liam McDaid, A Collaborated Poem
Copyright © All Rights Reserved – August 15, 2018
(Quatrain)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2018

Lost Little Girl

There's a lost little girl
Roaming this world
Searching for truth and for love
Aimlessly seeking
Never reaping
All she is deserving of

There's a lost little girl
Giving life a whirl
While living her life all alone
Hidden inside
Is where she resides
Ever since she's been on her own

The little girl's life
Has been about strife
But now she tries to mend
Still lost and confused
She's easily bruised
For love she still contends

Her acceptance is grief
Her guilt has no relief
When her past comes chasing her down
Still she holds on to her rope
With a glimmer of hope
That her life will soon turn around

Copyright © Jayme Kunstman | Year Posted 2007

The Spark

Just when your world collapses

To the point of fall apart

There still resides a tiny spark

Deep within your hungry heart

The tiniest of slivers 

A slight glimmer of hope

A righteous nod from the voice of God

Letting you know you're not alone

Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2016

getting away

Getting away from all of you;
Getting away from me;
Letting go of my past;
letting go of me;
looking for a way out;
looking a way out of me;
taking my heart from all of you;
taking my heart from me;
running away from all of them;
running away from me;
making my way around them;
making my way around me;
getting away from all the chaos;
letting go of confusion;
looking for a glimmer of hope;
taking anything I can get;
running away from all of my sorrows;
Making the best of all that I can;
getting away from all of me

Copyright © becky mcgraw | Year Posted 2006

What Poets Do

We write of hate
We write of love
And other things 
We know something of

At different angles
Add our lines
Take a spin
With what we find

Fact or fiction
Lies or truth
Being poets
It's what we do

We write of needs 
We try and fill
Tug at hearts
Strengthen wills

From natures plight
To the call of man
We hold it all
Inside our pen

As the sage speaks
The pen moves
We say it all
It's what poets do

We write of days 
Given away
A solace with
Something to say

Glimmer of hope
Much needed laugh
Rhyme for the reason
For feeling sad

A little off beat 
Yet still in tune
Filling a need
It's what poets do

Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2017

Some Days The Poem Writes You

Some days you're thrown an I just don't know
Other days it's all right there
A glimmer of hope in which to cope
A fresh breath of poetic air

A constant loop as the dial slowly moves
In its never ending search for the truth
Some days you write the poem 
Some days the poem writes you

From the ups and downs to the toss arounds
All  grate on a soul in time
But what's growing there inside your despair
Can pour forth in the perfect rhyme

Some days you find the inner light
Others you have no clue
Some days you write the poem 
Some days the poem writes you

You can be more or less inspirationaless 
Then your pen flairs with the finest finesse 
The point that you make either blows them away
Or what you have to say is anyone's guess

Holding onto the theme of your color scheme 
Being the brightest of hues
Some days you write the poem
Some days the poem writes you

Copyright © Mike Hauser | Year Posted 2018

Daddy why did you leave me

You only know my name you don’t know my story
But you’re so quick to judge as if for the way 
I love my life you get the glory

Judging me for the choices that I make 
As if you for one have never made a mistake
Trying to make me feel like what I do doesn’t matter
And all of my dreams will eventually get shattered

You act as if you really care when in all actuality 
You were never really there

You never were around when I needed you most 
To be able to comfort me or wipe away my tears 
You were my daddy you should have been there to take away my fears

So I had to grow up by myself and learn to do things on my own 
I felt I would never have a chance in this world I felt so all alone
You see you were my hero once upon a time
I thought the world of you and I loved that daddy of mines

Until this day things remain the same and I think you’ll never ever change
But yet in still I have a glimmer of hope that someday you will see all of the pain that you have ever caused me

For leaving me to fin for myself and go through the things that I did
Some things I went through should never happen to a kid
So you see daddy all I ever wanted was for you to be there to reach out 
To me your daughter and show me that you care

But instead you choose to distance yourself you have become a perfect 
Stranger and for things you’ve done to me I have so much hidden anger
I hope one day you will see that the life I’m living I planned for me

You see daddy I’ve been through a great deal 
From being homeless to not knowing where I was
Going to get my next meal
From being beaten and touched by strangers I’ve been through so very much

And all I ever wanted was for you to be there to hold me in your arms and tell me
Princess daddy cares
But instead of the dream I had envisioned that someday you would eventually 
Come around and be the father to me that I seek and still have not found

Copyright © Eleanor Bolden | Year Posted 2012

Pick Yourself Up Dust Yourself Down

Pick Yourself Up – Dust Yourself Down

Is there a glimmer of hope in this convoluted soup
Is there a sign that all is not such a ****-a-hoop?
I came in here with blind hope and faith
And sit here now with a sweet bitter taste

A poem I’d read after such a relaxing night
Tore at my heart with such fierce might
From one of poetry soup’s own “elite”
Threw her splintered soul down at our feet

Like many she’d felt that alluring pull
That, in its time, had made her feel full
Had filled her world, her life, her words
Now she’s left feeling so absurd

Betrayed? Or was it something more?
A hint of love, through silken words galore
We’ve all seen and heard the literary whore
Who builds you up then knocks down your door

How many times over these electronic years
Have we seen people left in tears
By the ruthless cyber predators
These cruel emotional interlopers

Whose whispers woo and wind and wend
Through frail emotions that they transcend
Until the soul thief’s goal reaches its end
Leaving shattered hearts that’ll never mend

But the poet that lingers within us all
Lulls damaged minds with an incessant call
Cuts through self-doubt and low self esteem
Reminds us it’s not all as it seems

Instils words to our damaged minds
Washes over actions and phrases so unkind
And builds us up once again
Gives us the courage to pick up our pen

No muse, nobody - outside influence
Will ever give us such confidence
But inside us all that incessant urge
Encourages us for our souls to purge

So let them out: those emotions raw
Throw open wide the windows and doors
Burst forth with words from your very core
Leave people pleading for more and more

So pick yourself up - dust yourself down
Do not sit and mope with a morbid frown
Unleash the poet, the scribe, the clown
Reach for that pen and “go to town”

Copyright © Thomas Mansfield | Year Posted 2014

Grandmother Moon

Grandmother Moon cherishes me, 
kisses my forehead with her light. 
She reigns supreme over her kingdom, 
smiling down upon this humble spirit. 

I whisper to her of my dreams, hopes 
prevailing in spite of the odds. 
A tear forms in the corner of my eye 
as I challenge her to answer my prayers. 

I extend my hand, longing to touch her, 
to soak up her ancient wisdom and beauty. 
I can feel her gentle smile, she embraces me, 
bringing me comfort, her radiance guiding. 

She has been witness to the cruelties 
of man, more than I could ever imagine. 
Broken dreams scattered into the night 
her children gather around her, wink at me. 

Nissa, Nissa, I cry out to her. Is all lost? 
Is there no more hope for my people? 
A voice softly answers in my mind, 
there is always a glimmer of hope. 

Grandmother Moon watches over me, 
ruling the tides of my heart, my spirit. 
She is listening to me, tasting my tears, 
caressing the delicate tendrils of my soul.

Copyright © Pamela Davison | Year Posted 2005

BIO T J GREN PROLOGUE no escape

PROLOGUE
May 1979, Mount Druitt, Sydney, Australia

I was kneeling on the bathroom floor with my head over the toilet bowl. I felt sick. I felt nauseous, but instead of vomit, the only thing that came up was a white mixture of stomach acids combined with dis-solved pills. I felt terrible. The physical discomfort however was nothing compared to the mental hango-ver combined with the emotional state of despair I was feeling. It was only due to the mere fact that the pills I had taken the previous night were not strong enough that I was still alive. I had been a fool to think that heavy drinking combined with a large dose of headache pills would do the trick. It required something stronger, but due to my ignorance I had not acquired any sleeping pills or other stronger med-icine. I kept the stash of headache pills with me only for the purpose of taking them when the time be-came right: when the pain of living my life without love would become unbearable. They would be used to end the misery.

That time had come last night. Now I was feeling the after effects of the failed attempt. I felt worse than I had felt last night; worse than I had ever felt. The reason for this was not the physical distress, nor the mental hangover. It was much worse. After making a serious attempt to take my life, I now realized that I could never do it. The realization made me feel trapped. The only escape I had to get relief from the pain I was feeling was now gone. I was in a dead end trapped and surrounded by massive, dark walls of my mind. There was nowhere to escape. The only future I could see for myself was to continue living with the feeling of loneliness, misery and unworthiness. I had already experienced the torment of despair long enough to know how wretched it felt. And now that was the only future I could see for myself.

I was 23 years old and I was ready to end my life. During the last three years my emotional life had drifted into total turmoil and I was unable to change the course. I didn’t have the one thing I so longed in life: love. Why was it so difficult to find love? Why did I always find myself falling so deeply in love only to be rejected? The more I loved the greater would be the disenchantment and pain.

The continuous unfulfilled yearning for someone to love had taken its toll. It had not only shattered my heart, but it had also crumbled my self-esteem. Without love I felt I had nothing. It had become a fixa-tion: a desperate need without reality. The hopeless devotion had overpowered any sense of sanity caus-ing irrational actions which would only complicate the already unstable behavior: all because of love. What remained was a desolate, lonely solitude within my head: total despair with no escape. How to go forward without hope? How to go forward when nothing else mattered? The future looked dark, if not pitch black. That was the state I was in now, and the only direction I could take was the darkness which surrounded me.

The Olivia Newton-John song “Hopelessly Devoted to You” with words so fitting to describe the thoughts in my mind kept running in my head. This had been my favorite song and my song for her;

	Guess mine is not the first heart broken
	my eyes are not the first to cry
	I’m not the first to know
	there’s just no getting over you

But now there’s nowhere to hide
	since you pushed my love aside
	I’m not in my head
	Hopelessly devoted to you
	Hopelessly devoted to you
	Hopelessly ………

My heart was not broken for the first time. It had been broken many times, be as it may that I was to blame each time for setting myself up for the disappointment. Being an eternal optimist and a romantic soul, with even a glimmer of hope of finding true love I had to pursue that dream. This time around the dream had been shattered and the yearning for her love was so intense that I saw no way of getting over her pushing my love aside. But I had nowhere to go. I knew I no longer had a way out. I was trapped in my head. Hopelessly devoted to her: with no chance to possess her love. Hopelessly devoted and feeling hopelessly lost: hopeless, worthless, undeserving, and unwanted.

Love: such a simple word, such a strong feeling. But why was it so difficult for some? Why did love not come my way? Looking around me I saw loved ones getting together: feeling togetherness, bliss, and happiness. Why not for me? Love: such a powerful sentiment. The power to make or break: fulfill or leave empty: cries of happiness or tears of sadness. Looking around me I saw young love: the excite-ment, the hopefulness, the purity. Why not for me? Love: such a passionate emotion: togetherness or loneliness: acceptance or rejection: tenderness or pain: being loved or left hurting. Looking around me I saw love. Why did I get to experience only the downside of love: loneliness, rejection, pain, heartache, tears?

How did everything go so wrong? How did I mess everything up so completely that I ended up in this state of despair? Everything had been so easy and simple when I was a child, and even the years of my early adolescence went without apparent aberration. The answers lay down deep within my mind. A happy childhood didn’t guarantee a happy life fulfilled with love. Every action has its consequences. We sow the seeds of our future with the actions we take as the actions we take are echoed in our future. It was due to the choices and actions I had made that I now found myself living in a feeling of hopeless-ness. I was the only one to blame. With the mixed state of mind which I was in on that May morning in 1979 little did I know that the continued stupid actions I would take, would make things a lot worse before they would start to get better. I was lost and I had to find myself. The road to finding peace of mind was rocky and long.

SONNET – NO ESCAPE

The freedom of life’s end without escape,
no place to elude the pain of despair.
So close was the notion of a black cape,
darkness to cover existence unfair.
The pain of love far more than life itself,
to bear in hapless sorrow of regret.
Lost in the false sense of my darkest self
tainted minds morbid reflection‘s beset.
Dejected self with mindless thoughts adrift;
no lease of life to feel the next morrow.
I was chosen to live by nature‘s gift
and find freedom from the fear of sorrow.
Restrained by realities painful wrath,
a search begins to find life’s righteous path.


T.J Grén

Copyright © Teppo Gren | Year Posted 2016

I Have No Bucket List

I Have No Bucket List!
No hopes, No dreams, Nothing I want to do?
Life has shown me many things and taken me many places. Some have touched my 
heart so deeply that nothing can ever erase these memories from me. I have been 
blessed at times and cursed at others.
I have often wondered at my life and my choices. The path I choose for one reason 
or another would have me wonder of my sanity more times than not. I have spent 
many years crying in silent, desperate to be happy. I only wanted one thing in life 
and that was to be truly loved by someone; anyone just please love me!
I have had moments that gave me a glimmer of hope to have it snatched away from 
me. I have felt so special and beautiful just to be crushed and left wondering what 
happened, what is wrong with me? The moments of pure joy that has touched my 
heart has left a print so precious that I could carry on. I just knew that somehow 
love was out there and it would recognize me too!
What is a place but some where you go. What is a dream but another place and 
time? What are these things without any hope? I do not know what hope feels like 
anymore or dreams or even desire for life.
My bucket is empty except for the day to day things that carry me forward. My face 
smiles, my lips say that would be a dream come true, my heart always wants to give 
love and I make it through yet another day.

                                                                                              Debbie Knapp

Copyright © Debbie Knapp | Year Posted 2011

The Christmas Kiss

I was sitting in the crowded train station with time to waste, waiting on the train to take me home on Christmas Eve.  A very pretty, young lady, carrying a full backpack headed for one of the only open seats across the aisle from me next to a rather dirty and disheveled older man.

As she removed her backpack to sit down he glared up at her; she smiled a beautiful bright smile and said to him, “Merry Christmas”.

“I don’t celebrate Christmas”, he barked up at her.

“Yeah?  Well, that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy on the day that I celebrate Christmas.  And I hope the day is merry for you as well.”

“What is there to be merry about”, he moaned, “A bunch of hypocritical religious zealots pretending to be nice to one another while the world goes to hell in a hand basket.”

“Well, at least for that one day, most of us believe the hypocrisy, and even for just a few hours, we practice the morals that our religion tries to instill in us.  At least on that one day, for us religious zealots, there is a glimmer of hope that we can save the world from going to hell and, I, for one, believe that is reason to be merry.”

“Terrific!  And, what does that get me,” he whimpered.
	
“Well, what you get is this one time of year, when a twenty-two year old college girl is not afraid to sit next to you; smile at you; and, wish you a Merry Christmas.  And, if you just say, ‘Thank you’ and ‘Merry Christmas’ back to her, she just may give you the biggest and best kiss you have ever experienced.”

She stood back up and started to put her backpack back on as he simply stared up at her.  Once she was situated and ready to move on towards her train, she stopped; smiled at him again; and, said, “Merry Christmas.”

It seems I was not the only stranger that was witnessing this exchange.  All of those around me were perched on the edge of their seats waiting to see what might happen.  The old man cracked a little smile.  A glimmer came to his eyes, and he said, “Thank you.  And, Merry Christmas to you, too.”

The girl leaned down and planted a kiss right on his lips for what seemed like ten minutes.  Smiles lit up the faces of all the men, women and children watching this take place.  When the girl finally pulled back, the old man was frozen in place with a big ole smile on his face.  She adjusted her backpack and started heading towards the tracks.  All the men she passed on her way who witnessed this exchange anxiously yelled, “Merry Christmas” as she passed, hoping for a kiss as well.

I looked back at the old man who was still in a dream.  Suddenly he caught me looking at him and barked, “What are you staring at?”

I just shook my head back and forth and said, “Merry Christmas”.

“Yeah!  Well Merry Christmas to you, too” he shouted.

Copyright © Joe Flach | Year Posted 2012

The Devil Within

I feel tempted, dishonest, unlawful, inadequate, sinful, and incomplete. I thrive on hate, I fixate on pain, and I dwell on jealousy, my anger becomes uncontrollable, my rage over powers me, I feel helpless. The shadow within me fills my heart with sin, the darkness dims my light, my days grow long and cruel, my nights simmer my thoughts, I cannot feel, I cannot touch, my heart has been ripped from my chest, my soul no longer exists, I am gone! They pray for my salvation, they morn my soul, they have faith that there is still a glimmer of hope that I may be saved, that I may become myself again. I wake up! A bright light overwhelms my sight, I feel peace, I can feel my heart beating, I can touch my soft skin, when the blur subsides I see a face, a face, like no other face I have ever seen, it is my lord and he has saved me.

Copyright © stephanie hanvey | Year Posted 2013