At 17

At 17 I set thought orbs in glass jars on window sills

hoping to catch the light to add color and life to the dark marbles

endless piling up and spilling over,

rolling out and down the roof

lost in the lawn to be found by cutting blades,

mowers make hasty work of beauty,

chipped and broken I picked them up

one by one depositing them back in place

now able to fit in more as pieces take less space

when no longer whole.

At 18 I no longer needed the jar, or the light to see

through the darkness piled up for they had turned

to fine grains of sand,

each hurt, each infliction of pain

castles built of a fragile mind

tipped over to the wind and set free,

no longer serving who/what had been me,

standing in the rain with an empty jar

I caught puddles of rainbows

swirling them about I found the smile

I thought I could live without.

Reflections of things here and gone,

no longer adding debits or credits

but being at one with what was

and what would be

the essence of me no longer contained

in jars on sills

and broken marbles cut to bits,

no words to describe the ever changing tide

that I had become

moving through and over

never looking back

no longer needed to see what was left behind.

Not sure where this came from but saw the image and these words came to mind. No worries, I am a happy girl in the light. No darkness here, just talking with words from the stratosphere of the cosmic mind.

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13 thoughts on “At 17

  1. Hello! Still plenty of snow on the ground and now it’s raining, not good. Happy Wednesday! Have an awesome day! You’re so welcome!

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  2. Thank you IRB, sometimes I just let the words filter through the sun and find me waiting, I unfollowed and re followed so that I can get you in my mail, in case you wondered what was up with that πŸ™‚ peace and love and much thanks, K

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Your words are stars and I humbly thank you for shining your light for me....

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