Patricia Quinn


He paints sunflowers on fire
and wild blue starry nights
sees the beauty in ravaged faces
peering out of their ravaged places.
He holds on gently to his world
with a steady hand, and with a stroke of
brillance, maddening color explodes
gushing and spewing like a volcanic eruption
of a force inside that could not be denied.

The River

On a cold summer day
you went away,
and a sudden lonely rain fell
like a million tears
that flowed into a river of sadness.

Now hear the river cry
as time slowly passes by
from summer to spring
still there are no answers to the
million questions of why.
No matter who or what is to blame,
hear the river cry only your name.

River of tears
River of sorrow
River of pain
in it came
like a sudden lonely rain.

River of strength
River of Faith
still you will flow
to beyond what we know
to beyond where we can see
to where troubled waters find their way
in turbulent seas
that move on without regard into the
unknown of an eternity.

What Remains

Somehow, I understand you
so much better now.
What is it about death
that alters the bitter
feelings we felt were so justified?
Why is it that now, I understand
that what was underneath all my
pain and feigned indifference was
this repressed love, the love
that will always remain.

For now as I stand before you
I am forever left to wonder,
If I would have forgiven you
when you needed me to
instead of when I was ready to,
If I would have been brave enough
to swllow my pride for just one time,
Would you be here still?
Still is it just my heart
or my ego that wonders,
Could I have made the difference
between life and death.
And in the end what remains
is the irony of how easily I can
finally forgive you,
but may never forgive yourself.
Because, I understand so much better

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