Broken

As she sits ever so quietly
in the corner of the broken room...
she smiles.

When she catches a glimpse of the moonlight
forming a warm glow around his sleeping face...
she cries.

As she reaches out her hand
unable to resist the urge to run her fingers through the dark curls...
she smiles.

When the simple touch of her hand
causes him to flinch and pull away...
she cries.

As she quietly moves herself
back to the corner of the broken room,
she sits ever so quietly...
watching him...
loving him...
and reminding herself that tomorrow is another day.
Then she smiles.

Ripples

Here is another poem from a local man living in Brynmawr.
The Author, Ray Hapgood, kindly gaveme his permission to publish it.
I really love this poem - it is so very true!!

Sometime when you're feeling important,
Sometime when your ego'sin bloom,
Sometime when you take it for granted,
You're the best qualified man in the room.
Sometime when you think that your passing
Will leave an unfillable hole,
Just remember this simple example,
And see how it humbles your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in up to your wrists,
The hole that you make when you leave it,
Is the measure of how much you'll be missed.
You may thrash all you want when you enter,
You may stir up the waters galore,
But just wait for a moment
And it is still the same as before.

The moral of this is quite simple,
Just do the best that you can.
But please always remember
There is no irreplaceable man

Ripples

Into the illusion of my life:
seen as a quiet pool of existence,
small pebbles of your life's energy, splash.

They excite and churn up the still surface.
Ripples radiate, melding and merging
in concentric joinings of cosmic awareness.

Forever more I am awed by the impact
of the solitary moment in time.

Your life became part of my reality
and through me
a part of ripples in other ponds.

With lives entwined we leave our wake
in the vast ocean of humanity
evidence that we were here
and we mattered to each other.

©D.W. Rickard 2001

WHAT I HAVE...

What I Have Written
What I have written
Is not
What you have read
Is not

What I am writing
Is
What you are reading
Is

What I will write
Is not
What you will read
Is not

Got it?

- Copyright 1996, by Joseph Rohrbach

The lesson

Take a bucket and fill it with water;
Put your hand in it up to the wrist;
Pull it out and the hole that's remaining,
Is a measure of how you'll be missed.

You may splash all you please when you enter
You can stir up the water galore
But stop, and you'll find in a minute
That it looks quite the same as before.