2 more pictures on the wall & 1 put away. Maybe that’s 2 steps forward.
Found an old journal I tried to start with only 1 entry, 12/9/14. A promise to write everyday, a promise I couldn’t keep.
A poem of sorts I wrote in my youth, a journal from that time. I’ve let it all go.
January 12, 1999
The Orchestra Plays On
He is the beginning, he is the end
And all the beauty in between
With the curl of each hair on his head
begins the wonderful being I pledge my love.
His eyebrows gently introduce his eyes,
the portal to his soul.
His star so intense with love & compassion,
I can't help but feel the calming whisper of his embrace.
It's almost as if his eyes peek right through me, to the innermost core of my soul.
A soul he absolutely illuminates with those portals of shining brown.
I can can picture his lips highlighted with tin prickles, the gentlest prickles I've ever caressed.
These lips are the source of a myriad marvels.
His thoughts become materialized with chose words animated with those prickled lined lips
and his brown portals expressing his beautiful soul.
A soul so magnificent, its source is within his strong, giving heart.
A heart that rhythmically beats and joins my own to create the greatest orchestra,
conducted by our enjoined soul.
An orchestra that I am privileged to hear the rest of my life.
A lifetime where we shall walk, side by side, hand in hand,
laced with each others fingers, grasping the other.
His hands are so strong, strong enough to carry & gentle enough to provide.
The lines of his palm tell our story of which we have not yet lived.
The characters and narrator will be revealed each day as we take each breath & share our lives.
We will live these lined stories of his hands & pass them on to our children as we sit at the kitchen table
laughing
I'll still watch those prickled lined lips.
We'll talk, walk
We'll run
We'll stand in each other's presence and just stare, completely at peace, completely happy.
As I sit here tonight peering out the plastic window & only darkness surrounds
I see in the distance a great illumination expressed with the gleam of brown portals
I hear a beautiful melody
and feel the prickled lined lips
I can almost taste him
his strong hands on my back
his arms embracing me
our soul being nourished
And the orchestra plays on.
-KJB
The title of this poem from my youth is striking because I've shared the beauty of the orchestra
with you a few times now. Through all the pain the beauty of the orchestra continues to make such wonderful music,
to evoke a wild array of emotions. Seeing these items of my past bring up memories and some pain,
however the memories we've made are starting to help the old memories not be so painful;
if that makes any sense at all.
take care,
