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Post by Fire Monkey on Mar 3, 2011 13:09:36 GMT -6
by Timothy Emil Birch
Let us speak in silent words Our hearts crying out With the thoughts our minds cannot bear Crossing over dark waves and through dense fog As if by smokey lantern we wander Aimless down the corridors of some unknown place Confused by a dream that does not seem right Only to wake and find it is no dream And when I feel I can no more bear the weight of these hours I turn and see a window with Moonlight flooding in like a river of molten silver And in that moment I know I am not alone
Copyright July 31, 2010 by Timothy Emil Birch
In loving memory of my Mother, Myrtle Lorraine Birch nee Smith who passed away July 30, 2010.
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Post by Brigid Briton on Mar 3, 2011 15:01:35 GMT -6
Hi Tim,
This is a very lovely memorial to your mom. I love the idea of the moonlight pouring in, a beacon of comfort in the darkest night.
Brigid
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Post by Fire Monkey on Mar 4, 2011 7:48:33 GMT -6
Thanks.
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Post by dustandwater on Mar 4, 2011 10:47:29 GMT -6
Isn't that what we all seek on some level?
A way to speak without words?
A way to share the burden without having to ask?
I like the dream that "is no dream"; it is a truly haunting concept.
A beautiful memorial indeed.
Keep it up!
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Post by Fire Monkey on Mar 4, 2011 17:19:22 GMT -6
I find I write whenever the things I feel inside have to be expressed to keep myself from exploding. It can be good feelings that bubble up or oppressive feelings that would otherwise carry me down into some dark depths of the soul. Not to say that I don't write at other times, but at those times, such as the death of my mother, it is like I have no choice but to write or paint or often both.
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Post by diannet on Mar 11, 2011 6:42:35 GMT -6
Lovely poem. I love moonlight flooding in like a river of molten silver. It really is quite beautiful. I sense something left unsaid?
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Post by Fire Monkey on Mar 11, 2011 6:52:41 GMT -6
When I got the call that my mother had died I sat for quite some time at my computer just sort of aimlessly doing nothing and I looked up and caught a glimpse of moonlight, which you don't get a lot of that can be seen from my living room where the computer was and the fact that it was unusual caused me to stop and I thought about mom and realized that she was not really gone - in part I mean that her spirit goes on and in part I mean her memory carries on. It wasn't a river of silver that I saw, just the slightest glimpse of light, but it did inspire the poem.
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