Slow and simple

She reaches out
Soul filled with wonder
The little things
Sweet and slow
Absorbing the gifts of life.
She takes a breath and smiles
Yes little one,
Come see the view
Water the distant companion
Calling gently
She rises and carries her pet
Feeling the water rush in and out
She moves slowly with purpose,
Searching for the treasures
Undiscovered at her feet
Laughter carried on the wind
She sets her hair free
To the salt breezes
Hold her arms up
And falls forward
Waves hold her
Water a buoy
She turns to see the sun
And sets her spirit free.


A simple fig

“I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant loosing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

I read the words,

Those she spoke in her mind to the world

so long ago

before she was gone

and I fear that I understand the truth

of the dream, the fear she holds.

She speaks the words of want,

Overwhelmed by abundance,

of ultimately not deciding

from fear,

and for some reasons her words make me sad.

To feel that way,

to reach out

yet pull back unsure

indecision the hardest cut

as she starves wondering which

is the one to pluck,

and which shall be the chosen one,

deeper words reminiscent of a movie

that sparked fear when I was young,

Sophie’s Choice ,

in the depths of war to have to choose

between one or another,

I hate choice therefore

I chose something as opposed to nothing,

I reach out and hold it in my hands

appreciative for the chance

to have it all.