lonestarwolf's blog: "My Blog"

Just a little bit about myself and my life. I am 41 years old, divorced after my ex left me for my sister, I have managerial custody of my 12 year old son. I am recovering from cancer, had a kidney, a tumor that was almost as big as a volleyball removed. They claim I would have had 5 months if I hadn't had the kidney and tumor removed. I also take care of my two parents, my father is 81 and my mother is 71. Well today the electricity went off and the alarm clocks all reset and we where running a bit late, so my dad yelled at my son to get him up and going. Well my son yelled back, and world war three started. Now a brief history of being raised by my father, he thinks the saying spare the rod and spoil the child is a law somewhere because he used to whip me alot, ok thats an understatement because once he knocked me cold with a 2X4 because I let it slip half an inch while holding it. Needless to say, he may be the reason I have all kinds of physical problems today with all the beatings, knocking me out with his fists, or whatever he could grab hold of. Now he doesn't remember all this, he says I am exaggerating, but I still have nightmares about most of it. Well my father said i am a bad father because all I do is "TALK" to my son, I don't spank him or anything. To set the record straight I do spank my child some, but I don't believe in hurting him like I was hurt. This goes on a lot, so if I seem short with anyone, or distant, now you know why ok, please don't hold this against me, I come here to relax and have people around me who make me feel needed and special, not hurt and confused. So please forgive me for today, I might not act normal but I will try ok. Hugs to all my friends, thank you for being there

When in troubled times I doubt myself, I feel lost and alone. Darkness falls around me as I walk alone, trying to find a ray of hope and light to show me the way. Stumbling I fall and lay still on the ground, eyes closed and pray for a sign, some hope to help me get up and go. And then like an angel, my friend appears, reaching down to help me up. Brushing me off, you hold me close, helping me take my first step after my fall. I don’t even have to see your smile, because I feel it way down deep into my heart. I feel the glow of your heart, and it warms my soul, from the bitter cold of loneliness, to the warm embers of my friends love for me. We walk along and you slowly release me, from holding me close to just holding my hand. And after a time you walk away from me, telling me you will be with me always. And even when you’re away I feel you close to me, holding me, keeping me close to you. I don’t have to wonder where you are because even though your not standing here holding my hand, your spirit is here, I feel it warm and strong, and in my ear I hear you whisper, “I am here always”.

I wrote this poem a couple years ago for a friend, and she is still a good friend, one that if she ever left me a part of me would die, I love her a lot, always will to. And no she and I don't have more than friends relationship,so don't get that idea OK. Her nickname caused this poem to ignite inside me, and well here is the result. Be gentle in your comments, this one is really mine LOL Stirring in my bed, I feel you move nearby. I wonder why I love you so much, but I do know the one main reason why. Every morning you wake me, gently kissing whispering in my ear, gently blowing in my ear, saying good morning and how much you love me. Its your kisses in whispers that keep us together, and forever will it, for you always know what words to say, and where to touch, where to kiss. For your kisses in whispers are what I need to survive, for its how you say I love you every morning. As the years pass you still wake me gently this way, for its an expression of our life's together, and our love. Even though I am awake when you do it, I keep my eyes closed till you finish, loving the feelings it gives me, loving your kisses in whispers.

For those of you who wonder where I got this from to put on your site as a comment, I wish I wrote it but I didn't I just love it though. It describes a woman in ways eyes cant see, nor a heart can feel, it simply just is, beauty, plain and simple so without anymore fanfare, here is Lord Byron's She walks in beauty like the night. SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

Who mourns my loss? As they lower me into the ground, who stands to see they don’t drop me. Who over sees that they cover my casket right, and not leave it open for wild animals to ravage. Did anyone even check to see if I was really gone? The mortician’s cold deft hands, working to prepare the body for internment. Cutting here and there, dragging parts out and filling areas with other things, placing the body in its suit for all eternity. No one came to view the body as it lay in state. No one said he was such a good friend, or great person to have around when in need. Who sat vigil over the body as it lay in the funeral home waiting for internment? The dirt is cold as it covers the casket. The workers leave, and all is silent now, with just a little wind blowing. Weeks pass, and no one comes to place flowers on the grave, just weeds blooming. Who will clear the weeds and wipe the dust from the headstone? Night falls, and still no one comes. Did anyone actually check to see if I was dead? Perhaps they made a mistake, and I am trapped inside the casket. Night grows darker, and slowly a mist forms. A form takes shape in the dark and light mist of the night. A hand lovingly wipes the dust from the cold stone. Slowly sobs begin, and a form falls to its knees. For you see, I come to mourn my loss, for no one else will. I crossed the void to be with the only one who cared.

Would you think me weak for writing poetry, and listening to classical music? Perhaps I am, but in writing poetry my soul becomes free of the burden and restraining confines of the body. I let my soul come forth and breathe with the words that flow from inside my pain and suffering. I see inside the dark places of my soul and shine light deep within to make the horrid creatures go away that lurk beneath the thin layers and I am safe again.