Painting with Words

I'm not the poet that I want to be
not even the poet that I can be
I want to paint with words
so that the poetry and prose
dance.

Heartbreaking Loneliness

Loneliness is the terror that haunts her days.
And nights.
She had never been alone before.
Born into a family with older and younger siblings.
Aunts and uncles and cousins.
From home to college.
From college to marriage.
More than thirty years of family and companionship.
And then a wasting illness.
Death.
Widowhood.
The family came and stayed.
And stayed.
Then the night came.
She was alone.
For the first time in her life.
At the age of 67.
Loneliness is a living thing.
Chasing her from dark to dawn.
Her lonely heart found another. 
The gift and grace of love again.
Years of love and companionship.
But the terror has returned. 
Another wasting illness.
Another dying husband.
The loneliness waits in the corner.
Her widowhood is immanent.
Again. 
And she is afraid.
And hurting.
Our words are dust.
The promise of Emmanu-el rings hollow.
She will be alone again.
It is not the love of God for which she longs.
She is confident in that.
She aches for the companion of her heart.
And she prays that when it is her time to die, 
she won't have to die alone.

The Womb of God

Human
Divine
Ripe
Birthing eternity