Was

depth of field photography of mallard duck on body of water

Was
He stood on the snow-covered rocks,

watching the three little ducks swim.
Taking turns, diving under the cold lake.
Like children, indulging a dare on a whim.
He was content. Was smiling inside.
Simple emotions were welling to the brim.
More certain that he was almost all the way back.
He was wishing that it was him.

He was standing there, contently entranced.
Soaking in every detail that he could find.
He was feeling the tension of his heartstrings
as they slowly stretched to unwind.
It was not all that long ago, really.
He was adrift, floating away from his mind.
Just then, he was suddenly overwhelmed.
Was remembering, all that he’d left behind…

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He remembered when he was entirely sunken
In the darkest depths of his own despair
Was held under by his own helplessness
Was fighting, for any small gasp of air
Was beside himself, flailing with his lonely soul
Unable to breathe, or even to care
Was looking, around himself, at nothing
Was alone, and wanting no one else there

He was lost, slowly drowning in constant doubt
Submerged, below the murky surface of his worry
Hearing only that incessant, dissenting voice
It was the sound and the resound of the fury
As he finally, desperately, managed to look only up
It was through eyes so tired and blurry
He was doubtful he could get all the way there
He was certain that he had to hurry

He began the ascent, from his abyss of self-pity
Was no more time he could waste on reflecting
He was towing his lessons, out of this depression
Through all of the shame and the blame deflecting

Was willing his load, upward, determined to make it
 He was far more buoyant than he was expecting
With his sole motivation, his self-preservation
He surfaced, with the self he was neglecting

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He had willed himself up and out, onto solid ground.
Had saved his heart and his soul from dying.
If he said that he was completely free of the pain,
they both would know he is lying.
Yet he is getting ever closer to leaving it all behind.
Is going to be himself again. There is no denying.
He is inspired, and required, to get all the way there.
 And he is sure going to live trying…

He was going to stand here for a while more.
And only then would he continue his run.
Transfixed as he was by the three ducks.
Still having their own carefree, unique fun.
He wants nothing more than to bask in this feeling.
It is his head. It is his heart. Together as one.
He finally manages to pull his eyes away.
He is met by the warmth of the sun.

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Ado

Ado
A dynamic so dynamic.
A torrent to perceive.
A gambit of emotions.
The years conceive.
A tear. An eye.
A heart. A sleeve.

Always prepared to give.
And reluctant to receive.


I watch the group of you.

From the outside in.
I see all of you, and all of your compassion.
I barely know where to begin.
The love. And the respect.
The quiet. And the din.
The worry. The fury. The sound advice.
The raising of the chin.

It’s the overwhelming urge to share your lives.
And the way it’s always been. 

 


It’s much ado about everything.

And that’s okay.
I see all of you, giving all that you’ve got.
On any given day.
The laughter. And the hugs.
The work. And the play.
The adamant of your honesty.
Your investment in all the way.

It’s about saying exactly what you mean.
And the meaning of what you say.


I find it exhaustively inspirational.
And extremely refreshing.
I
see all of you, lay it all out there.
With zero window dressing.
No self-preservation. And no hesitation.
No wasted words. And no second guessing.
One on one. And all for one.
When one of you is stressing.

It’s the selflessness of true friendship.
And an undisguised blessing.

 


Together when you celebrate.

 For each other if you grieve.
A gambit of emotions.
These years conceive.
Some beer. Some wine.
You share. You believe.

Always anxious to arrive.
And reluctant to leave.

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