Choosing Love
You choose, sometimes to lose
In the game of love
Seldom are there winners
So the sprint begins
Chaste kisses raining
On eager, trembling lips
To soft caresses
Or clasping hands
Walking together everywhere
Passionate loving,
Or heated climax
And thrill of victory
Soon gives way
To defeat at each turn
Words out of cadence
Stumbling club-footed
Tongue always in the way
Wanting to express
What cannot be?
So the race becomes a dance
Dashing becomes spinning
Whirling and catching
As we fall into each other’s arms
Bending gracefully
Then awkwardly we pause
Panting, sweating, waiting
Lose the beat, music dies
A slow death march ensues
And like the ballerina
Twirling in the music box
We start the dance again
Spinning, then winding down
Knowing full well
That it could be
The slow-dance or the fugue,
The last we lovers can endure
Before we separate forever
The race ended, no victory crown
Just regret, endless regret
Julia W. Prentice: A deeply feeling Cancer, Julia still has poetry from teenage years, when words were her salvation. She lives in California with her soulmate and a current furry companion. Former ASL interpreter, a passionate Peer Supporter of persons with mental health challenges, knitter, educator, crafter and singer. She writes like breathing: in ragged gasps, mighty shouts, half-voiced whispers. Always she is compelled to write. Finalist for ‘The Poet’s Billow’ Atlantis Award 2015. Published in the “Temptation Anthology”, “Where Journeys Meet - The Voice of Women’s Poetry” and “Poetry As a Spiritual Practice - Illuminating the Awakened Woman”. You may connect with her via her blog here.
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Just take a moment to pause... When life becomes rote, and frustration grows from being immersed in the same routine—different day, sometimes we need to remind ourselves that peace is still there—within our grasp— if we just take a moment to pause and enjoy the stillness and beauty around us. In the Stillness of the Night by Ginny Brannan Late winter’s eve and all is still the lawn lies bathed in silver light— gray shadows race across the yard and climb atop the windowsill to draw my gaze upon the sight. I stare out to the moonlit night, across the deck and wooded path fresh–painted by new fallen snow. The scene infuses with delight; this gift inside storm’s aftermath. Half–buried now, the old birdbath lies shadowed deep in indigo— it waits on promise of the spring when arctic chill has finally passed and snow gives way to new green grass. With gratitude, I hedge to go; tranquility allays my soul… I turn ...
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