Monday, November 9, 2009




For more than half of a day
I felt unfamiliar elation
followed by
The helpless type of anger
that leads to blank staring
at inanimate objects
until they blur into a sort of
cohesiveness that feels safe.

The chaos of children,
trying to be perfect,
the distractions of a mind
riddled with thoughts
of starving, money, tumors,
and autism. Fear of my own

In my mind
I'm still a child
Forced to see and do
what no child should ever
Fearing for my life
Innocence lost

Why do I feel so unworthy of peace?

There are arms and voices
that comfort my pulsing veins
and moment by moment
through the fear
I see the hope
that could be my home.

Angela Minard 2009©


Ruth said...

Sleep comes unbidden when I want it not
And escapes me when I wish for it
Taunting the night and wasting the day

The man who does not know me
And yet I pretend
He is my friend

The babe in my arms
Who does not exist
Except in my imagination

I think it’s a wish
To go back in time
And start the last twenty years over

Impossible, of course
And yet, I fear I have failed
And want another chance

They say life begins at forty
I hope so--nothing seems
To have started yet

I am a blank page
That is afraid to be written on
Blank and yet filled with doubt

My creative spirit locked in a cage
Snatching stolen moments to fly free
Is the cage of my own design?

The locked door opens for others
But not for me
Why must this trap be shut so tight?

Angela said...

Thank you for the beautiful poem!

Ruth said...

Well yours are always so awesome I just had to give it a try myself. :-)

Ann said...

Beautiful poem, and I'm glad that through it all, in the end you see hope.