When I wake up with music behind my eyes.

What wondrous places

have I been to,

unfettered,

whilst sleep has held my

body captive

and

how long will the fragrance

of heaven

cling to me?

—When I wake up with music behind my eyes.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

Today, we are held.

And this,

is the wisdom

of nature,

this love letter

You write

daily

of sparrows

feeding

young

and

woodland orchids

quietly blooming

where eyes seldom see

and death

comes

to

all,

eventually.

Even then,

in musty

decay

there is beauty

left behind

to nourish

others.

But,

today.

Today,

there is

enough.

We have enough

and

tomorrow

will come

holding her own worries

in a basket,

but

today,

we are held.

— Today, we are held.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

There was so much more I wanted to include in this poem. How the continous thread in God’s Word speaks of ‘just for today we have enough’, and how this life can cause us to chase tomorrow’s blessing and worries, but that is for another poem.

Another day.

Scale.

I know

a woman

round and

lush and

nurturing,

who fought

a war

with her body.

Believing

that

by becoming

less,

she would

become

more.

Reducing who she was

meal

by

meal

until her soul was

hollow

and still

the numbers

did not equate

with peace.

— Scale.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

The places I cannot go, yet.

I am

a house of

many rooms.

Quiet, dusty corridors

sunlight

gently

dripping in

like liquid

gold.

How I love to drink my tea,

a lovely Assam,

malty on the tongue

and comforting,

as I walk through

these spaces

gently touching

things

I had

almost

forgotten.

But not

yet.

It is comforting

to find

old friends.

You,

and you,

and even

you.

We must stay in

touch,

I say

to the past.

But

some doors

are

locked.

In dark corners

where the

light

does not

quite

reach.

And try as I might

when I stand before them

trembling key in

hand

I cannot enter.

I cannot enter

though

I must.

There is

work

to be done

within,

but not

yet.

And so,

instead

I sit before them

quietly

weeping

ink

onto paper.

Until.

— The places I cannot go, yet.

© Liezel Graham 2018.

On how to live.

Do not think it

a small thing

to be

alive

today.

Go

and

squander

it,

foolishly

if you must,

on the sun

and

the trees

and

the rain

if you

might be that

fortunate

to have

freedom

in your body

and

your mind.

But do not

curl inward

to die

long

before

the music

stops.

Live

sumptuously,

feasting

on the sound of the wind

susurrating

through the trees.

Soak

up the

rich

death of

Autumn leaves

until

you glow

with a life

lived bravely

and

it is time to

sigh

your

farewell.

But not

until.

Not until.

—On how to live.

© Liezel Graham 2018.