I’ve felt the pain of death.
The cold touch it leaves upon your soul.
The fear of pain so great
I was afraid to live.
Alone and tortured
I became its tasty treat.
Smarties, easily swallowed whole,
yet it savoured me.
Allowing my pain to last, melting slowly
in its pit of despair.
Like a dose of dental anesthetic
Death left me numb to life.
Its crippling agony returning unannounced
no dental work complete.
I feared love, a reminder of the black shadow
that longed to consume me.
But love found me.
It waited on the top of a mountain
too steep to climb without a rope,
a rope that dangled in front of me like a carrot.
Your smiles a ray of warmth, like a sun
breaking free on a summers day.
I’d smile back,
and death would remind me of the
storms that it could rage
But you kept smiling.
Breaking through the clouds,
daring me to grab that rope,
while death stood with its knife waiting,
to sever the bond.
I climbed slowly, one step at a time.
Reaching for the summit, my sunshine,
I stumbled as rain battered my mind
casting memories of pain in sharp
frenzied lightning strikes.
Your presence became my umbrella, transparent
allowing sunlight to filter through
I made it to the top of that mountain,
to a love so patient, it endured all.
And now I live.
I live in love,
knowing Death will come
But I will no longer be its tasty treat
© Amanda J. Evans
Excerpt from the book “Imperfect Paths”
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Foreword . . .
How many people can say they have not walked on rough terrain to get to where they are today? Most of us have been bruised and beaten to find out who we really are within; to find joy in this life we have been given. We are flawed beings with imperfect paths, and those turbulent journeys can either make us or break us.
It is easy to blame our past wrongs, the people who have tarnished our trust, and the bad bets the world throws at us. But we still hold the power to make a choice to become better than the humans who hurt us; to be the voice of change by learning from the experiences which have attempted to break us. Along the many roads traveled, the decisions we make will determine who we are to become.
Take a moment to walk in another’s shoes. The poets here have opened their Pandora’s Box, not to release the personal demons that taunt or once to keep them confined, but to share how to sever the weights one is shackled to.
Donna J. Sanders, Author
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