I no longer walk barefoot through this garden of forgotten time,
where the grass, once the silk of summer, now scratches my soles with memories,
here, in this enchanted soil, bloomed a flower that stole my soul,
an earthbound spell transformed into petals that sang to the touch.
Perhaps someone, a faceless traveler, came and stole it away,
leaving only the echo of their footsteps in the corners of my silent garden,
and I, left as a guardian of the waters, hold in my hands springs of longing,
that were meant to nourish its life, to lift its song to the sky.
Now, however, I no longer walk barefoot through this sanctuary of lost dreams,
the grass, once a caress of the wind, now cuts deep like the blade of a past,
and every corner of the garden bears the weight of an unspoken mystery,
a murmur left from times when the flowers were my confidants.
In this silence, I weave my thoughts with the threads of the grass,
seeking answers in the shadow of footsteps that vanished at dawn,
and I wonder if I will ever find that enchanted flower again,
or if I will remain just a keeper of water and bygone tales.
The world feeds on tragedy, with an insatiable hunger for misfortune,
They demand confessions, not out of care, but to dissect and devour the soul,
When I reveal my pain, their eyes become glassy with disgust,
And their pity drips like acid on my open and bleeding wounds.
Perhaps that's why I've made my sadness a "nameless grave,"
A place I visit alone, away from prying eyes,
Where no one can turn my pain into a fleeting spectacle,
Where silence weaves veils over memories and unshed tears.
There, in the dark silence, I bury my sufferings one by one,
Away from eyes that wish to turn my story into a show,
I have found a sanctuary where the echoes of pain are my silent confidants,
And only shadows keep me company in this dance of lost souls.
It is a place where I can breathe without feeling the weight of curious gazes,
A space where pain is not a phenomenon but a part of me,
A corner of the world where silence whispers solace and secrets,
And where, ultimately, I learn to embrace my own darkness.
The night sky.
Countless stars like my confidants,
Twinkling, shimmering beside me.
One might be a father, one a mother,
One a friend I’ve walked with.
These twinkling stars of mine,
Like my children running around me,
Warmed by the star’s light,
I forget the January night's chill.
Don’t say, “This is a lie, it’s not real,
Just a ghost wandering in your mind.”
If you ride a wild thought,
Reaching a star isn’t a big deal.
So this isn’t just a familiar ghost for you,
My rush isn’t in vain.
If your heart can bridge the distance,
The stars aren’t that far from us.
I most enjoy gloomy afternoons outside
While the rest of the world hides away
These foggy Sunday evenings lost and in love with my solitude
The scent of rain, cold air, decaying leaves and pine
Mist falling lightly against my face
The feeling that this little magic is mine
A quiet moment in the woods, us birds meditating on the song of the wind that surrounds us
I don't feel the icy grip of winter
I carry enough warmth with me in my heart I do not need a shelter
I grow bored with walls and every other aspect of life that threatens to contain me
I need wide open sky to remind me that my life is small
So that my dreams will remain large
I do not want to give up my longings
I want to stay out all night on a cold river back by the fire
Just me and the moon
Don't ask him my secrets he will never tell you
I choose my confidants wisely
The stars will only gossip amongst themselves , they respect my sovereignty
Together we all sit quietly
Meditating on the song of the winds that surrounds us
This little magic
All mine
I had you in my grasp
We walked together hand in hand
But as time went on and I held tighter
You seeped through me just like sand
Time never stands quite as still
As it does when things come to the end
When you don't know how to end things
Do you never speak or remain a friend?
There doesn't seem to be that middle ground
Between confidants or nemeses
And so you walk through life knowing
That you're strangers who have memories
Harry knew that Maribelle was his soul partner.
He felt it from early childhood; had dreamed of it.
They were confidants, best friends, throughout their lives.
Maribelle was popular, she had lots of boyfriends.
Harry was patient. He waited, not rushing her, keeping quiet.
At the age of thirty-one, Maribelle realized they were a perfect match
You were so understanding and patient with me, she told him.
Marveling that her soul mate, Harry had been next door all her life.
I was asked to interview my husband's potential secretary.
Reluctant I was, but I got dressed and did it.
Using his office and his chair.
It was much too cumbersome for me.
I asked the third question and leaned back.
WHAM! My head and back were on the floor.
His executive chair had fallen over, and my feet were in the air.
I was wearing a suit with a skirt!
I crawled around and stood up, straightened myself.
I said "You are hired".
Her face could surely have been no more red than mine was.
Her eyes bugged out. She began to thank me profusely.
I found out later I had probably made a mistake.
She could only type 17 words a minute.
I type 85 words a minute, so I ended up doing all the work.
After we became friends I took her cat to raise.
I loaned her money, we became confidants.
I finally brought up the chair incident during a lunch.
She looked at me and we both began to laugh.
We laughed until we were crying; we were wailing now.
My husband had to ask us to calm down, but we couldn’t.
let's talk with
the women...
let us understand
their views,
wishes,
their yearnings... lift
flights together...
Let's learn a little of
femininity is relevant... !
But don't realize why
we are lucky to have been
bestowed for confidants,
our friends wish anything further...
At least from us... ! wish well :
Understanding.
It's characteristic of the chauvinism in which we
we entangled for life, conceive that
it's something else...
If you intend what intimacy
is "come on", isn't it...
It's so simply trusting,
and trust must not be lost,
never in friendship...!
Being born in the Year of the Monkey did not affect me at all
Except I love surprising, tricking and playing with people.
Trees are my favorite places to be and I hang upside down often.
I like the chitter chatter of lunchrooms, so I guess I was wrong.
It affected me a tiny bit.
I am child-like, not childish, but some people do not understand.
The other ones who were born in the Year of the Monkey do.
They are my most avid fans, playmates, and confidants.
We gravitate toward each other, speaking of silly, fun things.
Banana and peanut butter pancakes? Me too! Me too!
You loved the Curious George books? Oh, yes,
And the man in the yellow hat. We resonate with each other.
We are the jokesters, the players, the thrill-seekers.
We are the ones born in the Year of the Monkey
And we all do it well with a sense of fun.
I cannot name one person
Who would eat the foods I eat,
Plus follow the routines I do
To make my day complete.
The same way I would not enjoy,
Of all my kith and kin,
Their daily meals and hobbies,
Living in their minds and skin.
For even those close confidants
To whom we often speak
Would balk at certain habits;
That’s what makes us each unique.
If we could spend a day or two
With one friend at a time
And do exactly what they do
(Including writing rhyme)…
We’d understand a little more
Or get a better sense
Of what their lives are like by seeing
All the evidence.
But maybe we are better off
Allowing the mystique
Of others’ worlds to stay unknown,
Preventing a critique.
Spirit O so Holy
The embodiment of a righteous God
All power
All Glory
I pray that God,
the source of hope,
My Holy Father will fill us completely
He will fill us with His essence
With the joy and peace
Because we trust in him.
Then we shall overflow
With confidants of hope
Through the power of the Holy Spirit.
O' Holy Father Lord God
8/30/20
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©
Romans 15:13
those friends I have known
I can't tell you anything
you're still my brothers
She fell into the sea on a warm spring day where clouds were thick.
Her parents tried to rescue her but she disappeared good and quick.
Traveling down to the depths of the sea in a whale’s warm mouth.
The whale knew she was being abused at home by father, a louse.
So he rescued her like his own daughter, raised her up on the coral reef.
Took her to the surface often to breathe, living here was a huge relief.
She thrived in the sea which took away her pain and helped her to trust again.
The sea creatures became her family, confidants, neighbors and friends.
She was encouraged to reinvent herself, so she gave herself a new name.
For now that she was being loved and nurtured, she was forgetting her pain.
She was Aryanna, the maiden of the clear blue ocean and vast deep blue sea.
She was empathetic and as gentle to the turtles and fish as she could ever be.
She became happier and more trusting every day,
Decided to officially turn into a mermaid with fins, deciding to stay.
Sea was overjoyed had loved her since discovering her at the age of three.
She is waiting to help others, in the prettiest part of the deep blue sea.
She fell into the sea on a warm spring day where clouds were thick.
Her parents tried to rescue her but she disappeared good and quick.
Traveling down to the depths of the sea in a whale’s warm mouth.
The whale knew she was being abused at home by father, a louse.
He rescued her like his own daughter, raised her up on the coral reef.
Took her to the surface often to breathe, living here was a huge relief.
The nurturing sea took away her pain and helped her to trust again.
Creatures became her family, confidants, neighbors and friends.
Encouraged to reinvent herself, she gave herself a new name.
She was being loved and nurtured, forgetting her human pain.
Aryanna, the maiden of the clear blue ocean and vast deep blue sea.
Empathetic and gentle to the turtles and fish as she could ever be.
She who had been rescued, became more trusting every day,
Turned into a mermaid with fins. Traded in her limbs, deciding to stay.
Overjoy sea had loved her since discovering her at age of three.
She is waiting to help every child in the prettiest part of the deep sea.
Give back my identity,
I can not be anyone but me
Can't you see, I am lost without me
Words are all I know, how to write
It's my birthright
I wasn't born clever or bright
All I know, is words and how to write
Pen and paper
Brings me closer to the light
Here I feel confident and bright
My soul feels free and light
Pen and paper
Gives me the confidants too write
Here I am free to express all I have to write
Give me back my identity, please
I am on my bending knees
Begging you, please
Give me back my identity,
For words are all I know, how to write.
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