A Path to this Moment…#387

A Path to this Moment

Reflection upon conception, an unwanted Soul, cast away because of greed.  An image of the future, lost in time, starvation, did not kill the seed. It lived; it did not go away, destiny or fate, life without love surrounded by hate.

Yoke around the neck at birth, emotional scars during its journey on earth. Tomorrow’s path is long and steep, search for the past, a need to prove why hurt and anger ran deep.  Truth in abandonment can be found; sanity and sorrow are closely bound. 

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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A Time to Go…#386

A Time to go, is a bit of prose to fill a void…

The old woman sat in a chair in the gathering room of the elderly housing project where her children had placed her. She has lived alone for the past 40 years. Now her freedom has been ripped away. All she owns sits in the small storage area of the local buy and sell the shop. Her gnarled and deformed hands ache. She has nothing more to do but contemplate the mystery that was once her life. No one really knows her, not even her children. She looked upon the flesh of her being. Time had taken its toll. She shuts her eyes slowly as her body relaxes from the pain that will no longer be. It is time to go.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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A Mother’s Love…#385

In the stillness of the midnight hour veiled in

Glory, my mother, stood next to me. She touched

My face where there are always tears. She

Placed her angelic arms around me to take away my

Fears.

What are these thoughts you have, my child? She

Said to me with a mother’s smile. Embrace my

Love, let it take away your sorrows. We are all

Here for only a short while. Be joyous of each

And every tomorrow.

Seek life, not death; things are never as bad as

They seem to cherish your life…follow your dreams.

I opened my eyes, sat up, looking around; this was

Only a dream. It was one I always held dear, love, from

My own mother was never found.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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The Forged Tongue…#384

Standing in a graveyard alone.

to mourn, to stare at the mound

of dirt, below was the shell of one

who loved but a few, the seed of

kindness never sowed, the love they

did not seek, now silence lies

beneath. Entitlement is all that

remains, grief, no greeting,

unwanted presence, gestures, tone

and it looks like in death, there was a joy

and greedy ploys. Gluttony bloomed

before the setting of the sun, looking

for more to take, life took on a forged

tongue. Open jeers, false deeds, honor

lost, the price of greed can be at a great

cost. Roars the misty breath of strife

destiny has finally caught up with a

liar’s life.

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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In the Mist of Grief…#383

In the Mist of Grief

Memories emerge in the darkness of night, becoming one with my soul like the rivers that flow into the sea. These hours before dawn are like a cold rain pounding into my heart. The grief is fierce as it raises and then returns to consume my spirit. My senses are attacking my very soul. The depths of my courage wounded; I am listing in a sea of sorrow. My life is filled with more grief than many can bear. In search of a miracle, hope merges with despair. Is it my destiny to lose all that I have ever loved? It is a hard cold hour to depart from this misery. 

©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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A Clandestine Life…#382

A silhouette in the darkness is walking away, a worthless human being believing love exists on earth.  The fear of parting hangs heavily in the air.  A clandestine life is finally revealed, and no one cares!

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Writer…#381

The Writer

 Sleep, never-ending consciousness,

thunder, spray dashing against

the windowpane, in the distance

railroad cars, clang, clang, clang.

Sleep, gulls screaming float through

the air, wild and free, diving into

the frothy white waves, living without

care.

Sleep, ghost trampling upon the mind

and soul, brushing shoulders with

death they surge across time wanting

their story told.

Sleep, wanting the body to relax, flip

right, flip left, the noise of the world

springs from every nerve, wistfully let

there be silence, calmness come back,

come back, come back.

Sleep, brooding, daggers in the back, rise,

dress, the night will never be soothing.

those words in the head keep moving,

mind in a rage sitting silently staring at

the blank page.

copyright©2022.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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