Finding Our Voice
This is a very rough draft but I wanted to make a beginning when this poem began to speak. It will need a lot more work.
Finding Our Voice
Like thousands of leaves
on a tree
no two alike,
we flutter in the
winds of the world.
Yet how early
we lose our voice,
forget who we are.
Other voices
form us.
Tell us who we are.
Soft whispers of kindness
Sometimes the cutting
indifference of silence
or the searing scorn of
"You will never be
enough."
But do we go into
the dying of Autumn?
The voices turning
red, gold and the dead
brown
of so many leaves
falling to the ground.
Leaving us standing
naked,
Winter's stark tree,
against an empty sky.
Do we look deep within
the living core
down
past the roots
where our own voice
in darkness
waits to speak?
Bummed over ASU's loss last night. Seems after all the hype that they have a ways to go as a team to stay ranked.
Watching the Cards play the Redskins this afternoon and also the final round of the BMW at Cog's Hill in Chicago. Delighted to see Phil Mickelson in full ASU colors at the ASU game last night. He had no more to smile about than the state of his golf game of late.
Still fighting the virus I have had for three weeks. Some days feeling pretty good, some dreadful. I am doing a liquid diet today to give the intestinal tract a rest.
Busy week coming up. Ralph over on Monday to see what he can do about repairs to my T-Bird.
Phil and Marth to work on Tuesday. Blood lab at one. Stop at Walgreen's for a bunch of birthday cards. Christy over in the evening to watch the series opener of NCIS with me. Wednesday free.
Thursday Phil comes to work again. Friday Shauna will come to meet with Danny and I. We may have lunch. Possible movie that evening with Dorothy. Saturday brunch with Ame at Arcadia and Sunday brunch at the Biltmore with the Keenan's and the Mike Welty's to celebrate the birthdays of Joe and Jim. Where is my hermit life????
Well, if this is a rough draft, it is a smooth rough draft. Though I wasn't able to read it sooner, it so happens that this was a rainy Sunday with a cool, autumn feel to the air. So, I feel right at home in this lovely poem, in the deep roots that go down, down, down to find the authentic voice, the universal voice. Love the feel of this poem too Mumma. Well done, well done. Love the graphic too. You've become quite the blogger. Proud of you!
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