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Ethel Theron Poem
I want to see him as someone who did me wrong... in order to let him go. I want to no longer love him at all and just see his true colours as brightly as they show. Put up a wall, draw a line in the sand. Let go of his hand. And see him for who he is, now that I know.
For some reason I still feel like he is in there. I feel like he is just lost. How could I have thought that he was more than just a season… and not just a stumbling block. Another lesson to add to the past mistakes I thought had locked... locked away. Never to be looked at again…
I find myself still wanting to be there. Help him deal with all that I know he now feels. In my absence… his loss… How is it that I still care? That he still consumes my air? How is it possible? How did I get here? Why did I hang on for so long? Pretend to be strong?
Why can’t I be angry? Why do I want to reason? Am I crazy? I would not allow nor condone this kind of behaviour from anyone. And yet I’m worried that he is alone, when I should just be done.
He is like a parasite in my heart. Sucking out every ounce of love I have… and he is not even anywhere near me. How is it possible? How is it that I have given over so much power? When did this happen? When did I cower? Am I clinically insane, I have to be. How is it possible that this could be me? I feel so lame, lame as in my body is numb... lame as in how could I have been so dumb?
Blind to what was as clear as day, deaf to the words that continued to drum. Getting Louder and Louder from all sides. No matter how much I tried to hide, or run from… the words which echoed everywhere and anywhere trying to find me. Shouting at me so loudly. Knocking at my knees, allowing me to weaken, slowing me down and forcing me to crumble to the ground.
Stopping me in my tracks. Stopping me by showing me all the cracks… in a perfectly crafted, weaved web of lies. Forcing me to look it in the eyes… forcing me to stop.
Stop. Drop. And roll. Acknowledge the flames setting fire to my soul. Siren’s blaring… fires blazing… forcing me to let go. Now that I know. Now that I see. How is it possible for there to still be love left in me?
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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Ethel Theron Poem
I was born in the wrong era:
My heart longs for romance
My heart longs for love letters
And public declarations of love
My heart longs
My heart longs for chilvary
And a tip of the hat when I enter the room
My heart longs
My heart longs for doors to be opened
And flowers on my doorstep
My heart longs
My heart longs to be serenaded
And not to feel jaded and complacent
My heart longs for clarity
And confidence
My heart longs for a Bridgerton..
And Wuthering Heights kind of love
The kind where it’s unwavering.. uncontainable and where no one loves the other more
Where the love between two is shared and declared
My heart longs
My heart longs for those stories where our hearts beat as one
In unison, beat for beat
A love that cannot come undone
A love that is strong and complete
My heart longs
My heart longs for a love that holds a safe space
A love that knows no bounds or excuses
A love that knows each crease in my face
And dares to study each corner of my mind
A love that withstands the test of time
Shouts from the rooftops
And cannot believe that he is mine
And I am his
A love that reassures and adores
Every part of me I try to hide
A love that is transparent and kind
My heart longs for a love that’s difficult to find
A love where I can bare my all
And know that in his arms I can fall
A love that brings peace to the turbulent sea that is my heart
A love that will cross oceans and travels the seas.
A love that climbs mountains just to be close to me
My heart longs to be set free
To pour out all of the love contained within me
Without being left feeling empty
But rather a reciprocation
Of unlimited and unconditional love
A love that is deep rooted in an unmoving foundation
Of peace and respect
My heart longs for a love that does not need to be checked
A love that is easy and seamless
The hopeless romantic in me no longer tugs gently
But, screams for the loves described
My heart longs for a great love
A love that is inscribed
in the scriptures
A love where I am his rib
And he is my protector
My heart longs for the softest of loves
That allows the flowers in my garden to bloom whenever he is near
Consider this my prayer for the love
For which my heart longs…
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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Ethel Theron Poem
Sometimes, I feel completely alone.
No matter how much I try to reach out,
or try to connect.
Sometimes, I feel unwanted.
No matter how much love I pour out,
or try to perfect.
Sometimes, I feel misunderstood.
No matter how much I try to explain,
or try to correct.
My delivery
always seems off or lost in translation.
I’m told that I’m “overthinking” or labelled “crazy.”
Sometimes, I feel inconsolably sad.
No matter how much I try to pretend,
or try to mask.
Sometimes, I feel broken inside.
No matter how much I try to mend,
or try to bask
in the ambience of joy and life.
Sometimes, I try to block out the whispers
of birds in the night.
Telling me that something is not right.
Telling me to trust my gut and run the other way.
Telling me that I’m blinded by the light
of my own rose-tinted glasses.
Those whispers have followed me across oceans and seas,
through familiar and unfamiliar species.
And yet, I still fight to believe my own heart.
Fight to hold on to the parts
that have been shown to me.
The picture of what will be, shall be, can be…
The promise of what’s to come,
and not what it is.
The constant voice that is as elusive as a ghost.
That appears, disappears and reappears at its own will.
A voice that creeps up and says “I want this,”
“I love you,” “Don’t go.”
Words that are intangible and float in the air.
Yet, hold so much weight in my heart and soul.
That pull me apart and make me stay out in the cold,
begging for warmth,
begging for more.
Breadcrumbs that feel like a feast in the moments I receive them, reminded of a time when my tummy was once full.
Holding on to the hope that with each promise and chance provided, we get one step closer to having all the tools.
Needed to build the home and settle in the nest.
It seems in my search for a love that is free,
I realized that all I needed was a safe place to rest.
Paradoxically,
I fell in love with one who has no desire to be a home…
Who has no space to hold.
Who wants to be free.
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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Ethel Theron Poem
A Well-Dressed Mess
Sometimes she feels damaged and dark.
and that no one really sees or knows how deep it goes.
The contrast is stark.
Difference is night and day.
Her aura and love for others shines as bright as the sun.
While her heart is as heavy and clouded as the sky when the storm comes.
Every time, she thinks she finds a safe space to be herself… feel seen, heard and understood.
it dissipates right before her eyes…
like cotton candy in a bowl
of water.
She tries to grasp at it, but before she knows it,
it’s gone.
She finds comfort in her solace and solitude,
because she’s unmasked and declothed.
No white picket fence & garden full of roses,
with pleasant smiles and false supposes.
Just her. No expectations and room for
discernment from others. The ones who
never really see her, are the ones who
stay... She is still figuring it all out. “I'll just take it
day by day”, she says.
She’s a composed, poised and “well-dressed” mess.
Striving for independence and trying to be strong
But, constantly succumbs to emotional distress
As though she deserves it.
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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Ethel Theron Poem
I always felt connected to the ocean.
Drawn to and captivated by its motion.
As a little girl I would plant my feet, steadily in the sand,
at the edge where the waves break and stare confidently ahead, unafraid.
Heart filled with pure joy. Excitedly anticipating each wave.
Feeling the water submerse my feet and watch as the water ripples while it pulls back. I’d imagine myself out at sea.
Dream of its beauty and wonders that may be,
across the waters.
I would close my eyes and feel the ocean breeze.
Let it take over me and embrace the relief I felt.
It was my release.
No fear,
no darkened thoughts.
Just hope, admiration and wonder in its purest form.
That was my norm.
As time passed,
my curiosity and love for the ocean only grew stronger and emboldened me.
I no longer planted my feet at the edge but would run towards the waters.
Deeper
and deeper I would go.
No hesitation,
no fear.
Eyes gleaming, my squeals of joy like echoes carried by the wind.
I would turn my back to the waves and fall.
Eyes closed, trusting…
that no matter how rough the waves were, it would always push me back to the shore.
The older I grew, so did my love for the ocean.
It was the best thing I knew.
I would dive headfirst, swim far out, where I could not even stand, my feet unable to feel the ocean floor
or plant themselves steadily in the sand.
Trusting, I would let go and float…
body as light as a feather.
No weight, untethered.
Sun glistening on my skin, gentle waves cradling and rocking me into a beautiful and blissful abyss.
One day, without warning, a rip tide pulled me in.
Under water.
Keeping me down.
Spinning, spinning
and spinning me around.
Fear consuming me as I tried to break above the surface, to break free from this current which had me twisting and turning.
Eyes burning, choking in salty water scratching the back of my throat, water filling my lungs.
Body weakened by its unyielding power, rendering me weak, unable to breathe.
Just as I thought there was no end in sight of this merciless plight,
a wave pushed me to the shallow end.
I crawled and pushed the rest of the way, gasping for air,
battered and bruised,
feeling betrayed by what I had once so blindly trusted
to be safe,
to be beautiful,
to be pure.
After what I had endured, I felt I could no longer believe,
believe in its beauty, admire it, and trust as I once had before.
As time passed,
I tried to visit the ocean once more…
Determined not to let this one experience define my love for the sea.
I return.
This time cautious.
This time fearful.
This time filled with doubt.
I walk out…
towards the edge of the waters, just close enough to feel the ocean breeze softly kissing my skin, and hear the waves break.
This time, not letting the water touch my feet.
This time, not standing steady, but rather ready,
ready to run, if need be.
Though the above may be true,
I still feel a pull, a sense of hope that the ocean is still filled with beauty…
a remembrance of the joy it once brought me.
The beams of light which glistened on the surface of the waters no longer shine as bright,
but still guide me,
the way a lighthouse would to a ship lost at shore.
I want to trust, to love, to float, to dive…
Maybe I still will,
with time.
But for now, I stand at the edge of the waters,
trying to admire; to hope, to wander as I did before.
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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Ethel Theron Poem
She has a royal flare
She walks with poise and grace
She welcomes all in, with care
Her smile brightens up every place
She can be stern
And firm
As she keeps all in line
But, she always moves with love
And acts in kind
She graciously rules from her throne
Still completely in her prime
Her Age but an indication of the time
She has graced the earth with her presence
Her spirit still young and sublime
Her will still strong and filled with reliance
She has lived a fruitful life
Over the past 90 years
An obedient daughter, a devoted wife
A nurturing mother and dedicated nurse
Always ready to lend a helping hand
Be it in the church,
hospital or to a neighbor or two
She is a pillar of strength to me and to you
She walks in her stride
With absolutely nothing to hide
By the Word, she surely abides
With God always by her side
On this special day,
Under the glistening sunrays
Her emerald, green gown shines
As brightly and regally as her heart
She is more precious than any gemstone
More beautiful than a work of art
She may be a little short in height
But her presence stands mighty tall
For she leads by faith and not by sight
As a soldier of God, most faithful of us all
She is the one
To whom we run
In our time of need
She is a true gem indeed
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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Ethel Theron Poem
I still see you in sunsets,
Feel your absence in the presence of others,
And your presence when I’m alone.
I hear you in old school jazz
Your imprint,
Lingering with every note.
The echoes of our laughter,
Best parts of myself,
Fully realized, self-assured, and whole
Like hot chocolate by a fire
On a cold winter’s night.
You possessed a distinct warmth and light
That signaled toward the beauty of the unknown.
“Be where your feet are.”
Maybe you were right.
Although, to me, this still feels like an unreachable star
Not unobtainable, distanced by space or time,
But rather the constraints and limitations
Imposed on me by my own mind.
Constantly racing,
Pacing,
Facing my train of thoughts,
Contradicting any idea of where I thought I would be,
What I always said I want and need.
Softly humming, “Dream a Little Dream of Me,”
Craving your kiss,
Thinking of how our souls would’ve danced
Had I given you a real chance.
There you were,
With all the tools in hand
Paint brushes, paint, a blank canvas
On a stand,
Ready to fill my life with colour.
There I was, riddled with fear,
Unprepared, closed off
A colourless brick wall,
Not willing to move at all.
Copyright © Ethel Theron | Year Posted 2025
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