Life hands us lovely days and awful ones; angry thunderstorms roll in that eventually fade to reveal cheery skies. The sun rises to light our way, always setting to give darkness due time. Every individual faces trials, feeling the weight of fear and sorrow as well as the immense relief that comes at their passing.
"No one is without troubles, without personal hardships and genuine challenges. That fact may not be obvious because most people don't advertise their woes and heartaches. But nobody, not even the purest heart, escapes life without suffering battle scars."
Coping with one's feelings during hardships, finding a healthy way to manage, can often be as challenging as surviving the trial itself. For some of us, it may be the most trying part. To think you can escape or anesthetize or ignore your scarred emotions, believing they will somehow no longer exist is like turning your back on the sun day after day believing this will negate its effects. The sun was meant to shine and to warm the world, as emotions were meant to give experience and meaning to our lives. Yes, even awful emotions have a place. Various tools exist to promote healing during tribulations; all of them require the courage to feel.
Poetry is one such tool—my frequent therapy of choice. When I sit down to pen out a poem, it is with the intent of expressing the emotions and experiences consuming me at the moment. It is a healing exercise to struggle with mixing words and my own feelings, pairing them up until I find myself mumbling creative lines that match exactly the sentiments gripping my heart. Perhaps I do this to better understand myself, knowing if I can communicate well enough, others in similar circumstances will feel and empathize and understand. I have written poems in the happiest of moods and in the depths of despair. It may be that when you write, you choose to share your verse with others or with no one. Either way, growth, cleansing, relief all come from the process.
I Danced with Gods
All That I Have
Do I Love You
I stand in the night and stare up at a lone star, wondering what love means. You whisper your desire—do I love you? I dare say yes. But my eyes drift back to that solitary star; my mind is plagued with intimate uncertainty.
What art thou, Love? Tell me.
I contemplate what I know—the qualities love doth not possess. Love lifts no cruel or unkind hand, for it seeketh no harm. It shirks from constraints and demands, for tyranny is not love. A boisterous voice never crosses love's lips, for to speak with thunder chases its very presence from the heart. Love inflicts no pain, no fear, no misery, but conquers all such foes. It is said love is not selfish, yet it does not guilt those who are. On a heart unwillingly given it stakes no claim. Love is nothing from Pandora's box; it is no evil, sin, or sorrow unleashed on this world.
My eyes glimmer as the star I gaze upon twinkles with brightness I do not possess. I recognize my smallness—my ignorance of the One whose hands placed that star in the heavens for me.
He is love. By His own mouth He proclaimed it.
Again the whispered question hits my ear—do I love you? I dare say yes. But my eyes squint tight, wishing on a lonely star, wondering what love means.
— Richelle E. Goodrich
Copyright 2012 Richelle E. Goodrich