Best Siblings Poems

Dwell not, O soul, on yesterday, 
  on sorrows past and gone -
the sketch you drew so long ago, 
  today may be...

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A child of four suffers recurring dreams,
disturbing parents and siblings with screams.
When she awoke, always sore in one knee;
next to a birthmark, it throbbed painfully.

Night...

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Lets flatten the curve with our words and soften our quill.
We are world siblings, showing solidarity through will.
Words that heal are like a prayer in...

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Devils deadly dime

The sign said no grown-up at the playground.
Tripping on a penny, like a mime!
My hand is in my pocket with the dime I...

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With his icy fingers he stole my smokey breath,
laid a sheet of slippery freezing cold by my feet
and then whispered in my ear right to the...

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Childhood is a ship,
preparing to set sail,
but not all harbors are kind

the ocean a mysterious enigma.

Not all inflictions are visible,
some bruises remain invisible.
Not all trauma...

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Hey are you still breathing?
Are you still believing,
or is your heart seething?
Does life still have meaning?
How's the word weaving,
is the ink still bleeding?
Tell me, does...

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Here’s to the travellers,
   the passengers, the tourists
who trek this alien landscape
   in search of experience.

Here’s to the resilient,
  ...

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Silent, she slips from her stronghold’s security,
safely tucked high on the cliff in her nest.
Cautious, she stays in the shadows afforded her,
sorrowful, hesitant, missing the...

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Can you recall the hush of Christmas past?
Think back to when you were a little child,
excited Santa Claus would come at last,
too young to even...

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If I had three wishes and knew that they’d come true.
I’d go back in time.  There are things that I’d redo.
I wouldn’t do them...

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finding shapes in clouds
or four-leaf clovers in fields . . .
the child’s eye searches

What does it mean to view life through a child’s eyes? For...

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The overlapping of me and us three
Of who I was and who I turned out to be
I never ever felt I was good enough 
Or...

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You were gone before my mind 
could grasp the brush which paints
faces on memory's canvas.
Vaguely, flashes of an open grave
on a sunny winter's day -...

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He grabbed me up from where I lay, peaceful in the sun, 
with my brothers and my sisters round about me. 
I felt four digits...

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