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I Am In Love ©
I am in love
with a wounded wolf
A dented angel
A wild hare
A diluted prince
If I could kill the hope in me
perhaps I would survive.
But I can't
It is my nature
The wolf smells it
and holds his wound closer, tighter.
The angel senses it
and prays a stuttered prayer for me…for her.
The hare sees it
then flinches and darts out of the way.
The prince smiles sadly at it
recognizing his shattered past and distant future.To be in love
and empty of want
is to eat a meal both sweet and salty
bitter and savory
cool in the mouth
hot in the throat
It is to lie upon the ocean.
No land in sight
And feel
Just feel
Everything
Without the ability to affect anything
permanently.Ora B. Nance
January 3, 2006
www.orabnance.com
Letter For The Artist Child ©
In its origin
Sin is a deed done by the Archer.
A mistake that can be rectified on the next attempt,
‘tis the preferred manner to perceive a miscast intention.The exception to this is when God delivers an Artist Child to the Imbecile.
This is not a sin, nor a mistake.
It is the greatest test the soul can derive for itself.
For it is proof that your beginning does not always predict your ending.So Child, be strong.
Look forward to the bright horizon.
Breathe deep the fresh, cool air coming toward you.
Spend your days not in sadness, nor anger about the prickly past, or the sullied present.Rather take the rocks, sand, sticks and occasional rain.
Build a tricky gate around your creations so that only by request can you be seen.
Remember to be quiet sometimes so that what is inside of you can speak.
And don't bother worrying about anything that will not last at least 100 years.Ora B. Nance
June 6, 2005
www.orabnance.com
The Person I Once Was ©
The person I once was, I still am
I may hide my blue eyes under strands of gray
My hips may be wider than when
I squeezed them into my Calvins
But my heart still beats fast at a stolen glance
at a young hottie across the room.
I still yearn for that princess storybook ending,
which grows further and further from my grasp.
I still write lonely poetry in smoky nightclubs,
hoping for a different outcome.I have changed locales, from sunny California
to leafy, green North Carolina ,
but I still drink Coronas with lime,
and wish I had more dollars to carelessly spend,
instead of always worrying about the bottom line.And at the end of the night,
I retreat to my new home,
put the cats in the bed, and fall into a deep coma,
praying for a night free of anxiety dreams,
and a morning that will allow me to
stride forth into a hopeful world,
one more time.Sara Abrams
December 19, 2006