Reflection

Just a Thought

Sometimes all it takes, is a whisper of faith

      For a ball of hope to become a burning ambition

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SoCS – Ta

From the SoCS prompt  –  Ta

Lindaghill – SoCS

Ta or tata – Thank you or goodbye – Thank you and goodbye not such a positive statement now, or is it?

If we are saying thank you then there must have been something positive right?, there must have at least been something to be thankful for. But if we are grateful why indeed are we saying goodbye.

We go through our lives meeting people and places, putting down roots and getting comfortable yet we rarely want to remove them afterwards, is this because we feel that we are trees and we will die when uprooted? Even the most beautiful plant needs a bit of pruning to keep it fresh and alive.

Upon being born we are thrown into a strange unnatural world, yet we survive. We embrace the new environment, breathe the new air, learn to adapt to the new less fluid atmosphere. Our bodies are amazing machines which work in such a way that they are almost effortless in their pursuit to keep up alive: so much so that we often take them far too much for granted.

In our lives we accept the bumps and the scrapes, expect to be able to rebound from the small ailments and get better, yet what happens when this never happens: what if our bodies stopped healing to an extent, would we take more care?

Spare a thought for those accident prone among us for a moment won’t you. For instance, this morning I am sporting a purple bruise on my upper calf that mysteriously appeared, from an unknown source. When washing my hair this morning I discovered the memory of hitting my head after the recoil of pain from under fingertips. I also remember the scorn for the word of ‘Did that hurt?’ from an onlooker, as is somehow being hit around the skull with a metal bar wouldn’t be painful.

People are such annoying creatures..

……

Reflection of truth

I look tired he says, but means old
A gaze into the rust stained mirror confirms this
Eyes made red with erosion stare back at me
The reflection of another woman, living another life
Skin worn to a light covering, which hangs
From her cheeks, dull and lifeless
An ashen soul emerging through her bones
Threatening to smash the very existence of her being.
She is a stranger, with her greasy hair flecked with chalk
Pinched lips, exhausted from the daily notions of professing wellness
Nails that would claw a man to death yet snap at the very suggestion
A constellation of freckles spread across her nose, strengthening with age
Her sadness reaches out and I press my palm to hers as if we understand each other’s plight
And though we stand together in this moment

It is her eye that allows a tear to form, but not I