Member Poem

I know you're out there,
somewhere in the darken mind,
a long way from home,
I know you're scared.
I see you running away,
from the empty memories that haunt your soul,
you stopped crying a long time ago,
for the pain took everything.
The paddle you hold is now broken,
and in the middle of the lake you now sit,
the canoe drifts aimlessly,
until it bottoms out.

So far from home in that darkened mind,
unjust reasoning results nil,
touch the waters one last time,
taste the tear that longs for home.
Leave your memories in the past,
and touch the shores of home.

There is movement as we sleep in the night. Things transpire beyond the waking hour. The sweet angel sent by the Great Spirit sends word of others we love. Those we miss and hold close to our souls. Last night she came to me as I slept. Whispered in my ear as I lay in restful slumber.

"She's pregnant"

Thoughts of you came flooding in. We moved through the night in a dance of apprehension and fear. Then I realized you were alone. Through a peep-hole in a door I saw your face. The blockade that separated us was only temporary.

"She's pregnant", the angel whispers again.

I drew you in and there you were. Frightened and confused. Lack of guidance from a grave spills a tale of sadness. There were no flowers to hold. The vivid blooms of the past never enter into today's mind. Their vibrant colors fall grey as a stone marker.

"Guide her", the angel says as she touches my cheek. Her gentle breath breathes life to blooms of the past.

I see the broken paddle wash up on the shores of home. I've never let go of your essence. You're a part of my being. The broken paddle I now hold in my hands. What once guided you is no more so I shall be the inherent light that draws you home. For to gain freedom we must first surrender. The constructed consequences were of our own making. Therefore we can overcome them. The painful remorse is the Ego chocking on its own image. The practical mind, or Super Ego accepts a righteous bloom without reserve. Inherent freedom transpires and the symbolic tear upon a grave concludes our fate.