Grace calling home

Between the hills of red clover
the shadows still grow
beyond the whispering in my name
they still speak to me
in the still dark corners
where willows grow

I no longer heed the words
of my fathers
or of their mothers before them
but I hear their voices
and it saddens me still
as I am chained
to the past of lost tranquility

Keep on that path my friend
and don't linger
to hear the creek rush over smooth stones
for those stones are heavy
as chains of not so long ago
where once was peace
but now...

I see on the crest of the hill
the wake of the winds
it reaches down to the hearts
so hope may endure
for lost grace
to call me home again

Posted at Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #32: From Case Studies to Plague Poetry

My One #32

New Year but this is not the same
for out of the depths she called my name
raised me up to purge those demons
and cried those tears for me
for us
I trust My One forever
and then for one day more
for I hope to be with the only one
who never rejected me
My One
For I cannot be who I am
what I strive to be without her
She saved me from myself
that drowning soul that was me
back then
As now I can stand this day
at the crest of the morning hill
all I see is still nothing
without My One

I am the most fortunate and undeserving soul to have found My One. I don't know where I would be or if I would still be on earth, if it wasn't for My One.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United: Writers’ Pantry #11: Words Can Be Rather Nutritious

Seeking Slient Grace

I stood on the bank of the river
where Tommy O'Brien had drowned.
They say he died of a stolen kiss
his love gave to the shop keeper's son.

Mathilda cried through that dark empty night
when she desired more love than she had.
Then the walls crashed down to show the pain
would the pills in her hand let it fade?

On that day the bank took back his farm
after another year of crop loss.
Sean looked to the bottle for solace
and stared down the barrel of his gun.

Would Grace had greeted to save them
or Hope given them life on that day?
If they looked out instead of within
would they be given another way?

May we find a cure for one's lost dreams
heartaches and the depths of despair.
In silence we hear those quiet pleas
to grant peace they seek for their own.

For those who are struggling - there is hope.

Linked to Poets and Storytellers United:Weekly Scribblings #9: Contagion