Her Journey of Letting Go
The Importance of Realizing the Beauty in Life
I wanted to write a poem about life. I thought it could stroll through a certain person's life and land at the very end, showing the beauty of human existence and highlighting the importance of their journey.
To me, this world has become so busy that there is not enough time to stop and look in wonderment at the things we experience and go through throughout our years here. Inevitably, we end in a hospital bed wishing we would have taken time out for more of the important milestones. Sometimes, we don't even make it to that ripe old age to even think that way. A person's death could be very sudden and very early. In that situation, the person who passed hasn't had time to think about these moments, but their loved ones have.
It all boils down to noticing and enjoying every little and big thing in your life as you move through the years, and this is what I wanted this poem to touch on. I wanted people who read it, to get that warm fuzzy feeling thinking about their own lives and realizing the importance of it.
A Journey through Memories
She carried that pink balloon so tight through the crowds and into the night.
Then tied it to her wooden bed post, and drifted off to worlds unknown.
As she woke with sleepy eyes, a child had changed in a blink of an eye.
She grabbed that pretty pink balloon and leaped out of the door as if brand new.
She held it tight and closed her eyes, then let it go to float away, a childhood gone,
A brand - new day.
She carried that piece of paper so tight, hugging all her friends with pure delight.
Then tossed her hat in the air and carried it home with vaunt and care.
She placed it in a silver frame and walked away with teenage grace.
She left one day closing the door, not looking back, for there was much to explore.
Days flew by and journeys were great, filled with fun and a few heartbreaks.
And as she walked down the aisle, she held on tight to her hero’s arm, the one whom had carried her through this life with caring words and thoughtful smiles.
And as her arm slipped out of her hero's embrace he softly kissed and let her go.
She then grabbed the hand of her new beau; happy, thankful, and ready to grow.
It is 9pm on a Sunday night; she is sweating, pushing, and feeling despair.
What could be wrong, why isn’t she here?
Then, at last, she appeared filled with life, crying and angry fully alive.
The nurse laid her on her chest and she held on tight with gentle care; she knew just then her selfish life was over; it now belonged to her little lucky clover.
Time flies by she said, as she looked up at me so frail; her body so weak, her skin so pale.
She held my hand as tight as she could, the uncertainty between us was understood.
I sang her a song she once sang to me, kissed her forehead and whispered goodbye.
As her eyes slowly closed and her hand fell to the side, I knew she was gone her journey had been long, but now she could say she was finally home.
© 2015 Missy Smith