Poem I

By Kathryn, May 14, 2012 5:39 am

Poem I

Kathryn Tierney Moreadith


Push comes to shove, this story of

How she has been astounded

Forced to the brink of how she thinks

And how her dreams abounded.

Take notice now the rule of how

Rhythms must keep changing

She learned this from music’s own drum

Heard its own arranging.

She’d seen a lot in worlds that fought

The very thought of sight

She’d heard a few sounds that were new

As she prepared for flight.

And so aware she was of ‘there’

An idea, a fear.

Each place she’ll go, hope that she’ll know

How to value the ‘here.’

Doubtful is it if she’d the wit

Ever to play this game.

And life, for sure, has done to her

What school could never tame.

Beginning small, a whisper’s call

Pain spoke to her at night

Which soon had grown more than she’d known

How to attempt to fight.

When down she fell under the spell

Of loneliness inset

To mother’s keen advice, she’s seen

She will remain in debt.

She’d stand again and think of when

Mom said to her in need

“You’re doing it, don’t you forget.”

Little engine, indeed.

With each small struggle won, she’d shrug

“I’m tougher than I thought.”

But frailties too, no fewer few

MadeĀ she the thing she sought.

“How’s that?” they’d ask, “a simple task:

Not hard to just be you.”

Misled you are, though not so far

From where she started, too.

For how’d she know just where to go

When she lost track of she?

But soon she’d see that was only

The momentarily.

When for a while her sunshine smile

Feigned that all was okay

As sadly she kept asking why

The end was not that day,

It is all right, she’d say with might

The best we can, we do.

And when you live with much to give

Things will be taken, too.

So long pain stayed as a parade

Tried to tear down her wits.

But though “You’re weak!” others did speak

She’d never call it quits.

She’d have to laugh at her own gaffe

Of trying to previse

Just when she would know when she should…

Such notions can be lies.

Answers were left the prize of theft

Questioned to no avail.

Or was that act the very tact

Allowing for this tale?

Now, looking back, though there’s a lack

Of clear and manifest,

She did not miss the point of this

In ways, she’s found her best.

When what she earned from what she learned

Was oddly unforeseen

She really saw that life would draw

Hands that could sweep her clean.


But only in the event when

You let its grasp conceal

What you have built, favoring guilt,

Will life venture to steal.

When what was taught and what she thought

She felt as different things

She realized what she’s most prized

Are all these ponderings.

What brings her to that which is true

Without far lands to roam?

When in her ears new songs she hears

That’s how she’ll know she’s home.



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