Poems & Prayers
A Fiery Writings Collection
Poems
Prayers
Wild Horses, Wild Horses ...
It Was All For Me
He said it was good to see me smile.
But, I wasn’t smiling for me.
She said I was confident.
But, that wasn’t confidence.
It was passion,
Because I stand up for what I believe.
He said I was brave,
Because I built a life of my own.
But, survival isn’t brave, it’s a need.
She said, “I don’t worry about you.
You always land on your feet.”
He said once that he,
Could never love another.
Was it true for her,
Or, for me?
As they held my memory,
In the middle of their lives,
I realized I’d long since,
Set them free.
He said it was good to see me smile.
But, I wasn’t smiling for him,
I was smiling for me.
He Knew Her
He knew everything,
There was to know.
Then life happened,
And, he knew her more.
He knew her heart,
Its most ambitious dreams.
He knew her fears, her tears,
What it sounded like,
When her soul would scream.
He knew her wounds,
He’d kiss her there.
Her passion, her love,
How deeply she cared.
He knew her peace,
Where his arms saved space.
He knew her from the tips of her toes,
Every crease on her face.
The curves in her smile.
The gleam in her eye.
Both when joy came to visit,
And, when pain made her cry.
He knew her.
Like he knew himself.
Side of his side.
There was no one else.
He knew her,
A knowing so fierce,
The heavens would shake,
His focus would pierce,
Through space and time,
No distance too far,
No monster too big,
No battle too scarred.
Her love shined bright,
Night and day.
It was because of her,
He knew his way.
What path to take,
Which roads to leave alone.
He knew his way to her,
Like the heart knows its way home.
The Little Gods
Peering into the oblivion,
The abyss looks back in fright.
The darkness begins to tremble,
As we learn to embody our light.
Burning in hell.
Rising from ash.
This isn’t our first time,
And won’t be our last.
The sins, we witness.
They hang, our cross.
Compassion, grace, mercy.
Our light revealed, never lost.
We are the phoenix.
The phoenix is us.
Little gods,
Fire birthed from dust.
The Gravedigger
Oh, the ways I have failed,
At all they wanted me to be.
And yet it’ll be the gravedigger,
Digging my grave.
You – friends and family.
Friends watched you
Break your back for sport.
Your courage made them feel big.
One foot, two feet, three –
They began to dig.
Aunts nursed your addiction
As if it were their own.
Killing the prodigal son,
The hole never deep enough.
Just like that, the damage done.
Cousin, “Have another drink.”
Memories that make them laugh.
Your addictions a quirk –
They knew they knew.
They pulled up the dirt.
We can’t leave out the diamond queen,
Who took you because she was able.
A pharmacist and barkeep,
An addict’s fairytale fable.
You woke up a little too late.
The grave prepared.
Party planned.
A performance of who loved you more –
The perfect time to grandstand.
They pass the shovel hand to hand,
Burying truth in lies.
Afraid to look. Afraid of the dark.
Now they dig a grave
For your little spark.
Oh, the ways I have failed.
Oh, the ways they’ve hated me.
Still, it’ll be the gravedigger digging my grave.
For you and little spark-
Friends and family.
I Believe
I’m not fearless, despite what they say.
And, I don’t believe in luck.
I’m not built that way.
I do believe in effort.
The non-transactional kind.
I believe in the journey, the revealing.
I find joy there, even when it’s not mine.
I believe in intention.
The why of the what’s and how’s.
But, I believe even more in impact.
Where can I contribute to better,
right now?
I believe in love.
The kind that makes you swoon.
The butterflies, take my breath away,
Sending wishes to the moon.
I believe even more,
In the love that stands its ground.
When staring eye-to-eye with inhumanity,
Wild horses, wild horses, I will not back down.
More than all of this,
I believe in choice.
The trembling,
The crackle,
The chains breaking,
The sound of my own voice.
Don’t you dare call me good.
I’ll laugh at you if you try.
God help me if I settle for good,
When great patiently waits by my side.
Call me willful. Call me stubborn.
Call me loved. Call me blessed.
But don’t try and squeeze me into a box,
Built for much less.