20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Sound of No Sound

Lost in thought, her mind
wanders to a younger day, when she
expertly walked the tightrope over joy and
pain, a misstep here and there, but
never completely losing herself in that
cauldron of self-awareness bubbling
below

Pain – it was not feared then, but
admired, on the weathered faces of
the elders, noting their wisdom and
grace, the simple way they brushed
her hair from her face, and kissed
her forehead, assuring her with their own
worry that there was none for her

But now she wonders where that
elder-wisdom has gone, and will it ever
find her, or if it’s even hers to long for,
the kiss of peace long ago washed from
her furrowed brow.

When did she stop trusting herself?
Was it the first time she rolled over in her
lover’s bed only to find he wasn’t there?
When she felt the sharp sensation of betrayal
from one she considered a friend?
When the sting of loss pierced her heart so
deeply she thought she would drown in the tears
she never cried?

In the stillness that is left she listens,
listens for anything that will convince her
she’s alive, and in that empty place, darkness
reverberates like a thousand universes swirling
around their suns, like the hum of angel wings,
like the breath of creation in her ears

Like all those who came before her
Like all who will ever come

The sound of no sound
bringing life, bringing light
resting in the goodness that rests
inside the stillness of her mind,
where she is whole

©SpiritLed 2014


With Tears

“Tears” by Jonathan McCallum

Seventy?

Tears pool, brim and flow onto hands that grasped liquid sweet moments.

Memories frozen into brilliant waterfall within.

Towards my soul’s canyon, your light pours in, revealing precious faces, kind eyes, little hands briefly held.

Traveling through childhood’s mist, middle life forest to foggy old age to reveal a distant eternal land.

With tears. Just seventy years?

Poem by Jonathan McCallum @peoplepoesia


5 Comments

Echoes of Tomorrow’s Past

In your tear-filled rage
of not deserving,
time and space
collide with the moon
in your heart,
guide, seek,
draw you to the edge,
invite you
to cast your sorrows,
your excuses,
into the Unknown,
nothing more than
echoes of tomorrows past

©SpiritLed 2014
http//:wp.me/p2Ptur-6p


2 Comments

Attempted

Tears streaming down her face,

Her hands over her ears because the sound was too loud

Flinging herself on the bed

still cringing in disbelief

She can’t take it anymore

She’s tired of hearing people say,

You might as well take a whole  bottle of pills and kill yourself,

Your ungrateful like your mammy,

Look at me when I am talking to you

She is drowning

and everybody that she trusted turned out to be the wrong people

She’s hurt that words can’t describe the feelings in her chest that seems stuck.

Why did she even come home

If she knew this was a continuation

of where she left off at

she would have just stayed

and it wouldn’t have been about a bottle of pills

but someone’s hand of rage

that could have ended it all.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA


sad way

thCAW0NR7V

often in
vulnerable
moments

or any
random
millisecond

in
the
tiniest

stain

scent

syllable

spark

igniting its
p a i n f u l
memory

because

i hold so near
the echo of
e a c h

tear

i

ever

caused

…and regrets
and my searing
m e l a n c h o l y

but
if this
is the

story
of the
world

unfolded

why such
a sad way to
…finally reach

shore

home

find

love

y o u ?
.
.
.


.
We only hurt the ones we love
Why we don’t need a reason
Gonna get all that you deserve
And all that you believe in

Beth Orton


4 Comments

Christmas Past

Albums from my shelf stare at me-
Don’t take them down, my heart screams.
My hand reaches up, my soul wanting to see
the sweet face of my baby, the glimmer of the tree.
Presents piled high-touching the limbs.
Pictures of lots of kids, lots of different trees.
The tears I knew would come, fall down my cheek,
In a quiet house, my oldest  ones all grown,
Families of their own, their houses now with those
glimmering trees, those piles of presents.
And my baby, the baby from those days, gone.
I visit his grave, decorate it like a table in the den.
I cry there, with his younger brother with me.
Not even born when those pictures were made.
I made the cookies, wrapped a few gifts, got cards.
I went on the church outing, held my tears, my breath.
Christmas, it was so wonderful, hope, peace, love.
I knew better than to believe it would last for me.
I need to get a new album, this one is falling apart.
Like my life did. Tears fall as I replace it on the shelf.

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