FRIDAY AFTERNOON POETRY

By Debbie Bulloch

TIME FLOWS LIKE A RIVER

A soft bed,
Fresh sheets.
The scent of summer jasmine,
Filtered through
White cotton curtains.

A small table,
By the kitchen window.
A glass of blood-red merlot,
A piece of crusty bread
And some cheese.

A cozy chair.
In the corner of the room.
The scratched table holding books,
The ancient brass lamp
Softly lighting the room.

Simple pleasures,
From well-used, simple objects.
Freeing my spirit,
Letting me soar far,
Away from life’s toils.

Time flows like a river,
Carrying us along with it
On a journey
That no one may refuse.

A soft bed to rest upon,
A small table to eat at,
A cozy chair to read books.
And you, waiting for me by the river
To journey with through life.

All the simple pleasures,
Of my simple life
With you.

03.13.2009

Copyright © 2009 DB. All rights fully reserved.

STRATEGIES FOR SURVIVING IN A RECESSION

By Debbie Bulloch




As the world’s economic systems continue their downward spiral it is incumbent upon each one of us to find strategies for dealing with a shrinking economy. That old American sage, revolutionary and man-about-town, Benjamin Franklin once wrote, “A penny saved is a penny earned.”

We may not be able to increase our income, or in some cases, replace lost income. But every dollar (a penny does not go too far nowadays) saved is truly a dollar earned. The more we save, the more we “make.”

My father was an immigrant from Europe. He and his family lived through, and actually flourished, in the difficult post-war years. As a result of his childhood experiences my father was a very frugal person. Fortunately for me he taught me, among many other valuable lessons, how to be frugal. He always told me, “Debbie, if you take care of your money, your money will take care of you.”

In the past, many of my friends laughed at my frugal ways; they would often call me a “cheap skate.” Now, those same friends are joining the ranks of the “cheap stakes” and living the “frugal life.” The recession is radically changing behavior among many different types of people, from the Wall Street bankers who are now waltzing into Wal-Mart for the first time to buy their groceries to teens who are now thumbing through the piles of status jeans at secondhand shops to save money. And experts say that such behavior could linger long after the economy recovers.

Europeans have often looked upon Americans as being big spenders, even wasteful. Europeans are far more conscious about conserving resources. A good friend of mine from the Netherlands tells me that she likes to eat lentils — which are cheap and nutritious — and she bikes everywhere to save gasoline. (Yucca, are you reading this, see I’ve listened to what you say to me).

In these difficult times, there are things that we can all do to make our dollars go farther. Here are a few steps that are simple to follow and can save money (as an extra bonus, the less resources that we consume, the less of a negative impact that we will have on our environment):

1. Buy only what you need at the moment. Look inside your cupboard and you will realize how much food you throw away every year because you bought too much and the food spoiled.

2. Eliminate “recreational” buying (you know that is when you go to the store just to “look around” and end up buying things, not because you need them, but because they were on sale).

3. Don’t throw away things, take care of your things and make the things that you own last you a long time. I have several pairs of shoes that have been resoled several times; why be a slave to fashion and buy the latest styles? If you have good shoes, they can last a long, long time.

4. On the subject of making things last, look at how you use your car. Most people never take proper care of their care opting, instead, to replace their old car with a new model every five years or so. That is wasteful and has a detrimental impact upon the planet. Change the oil and oil filter at regular intervals, rotate the tires to make them last long, keep up with regular maintenance. Better still, learn how to do some of these things yourself and you will save money and make your car last longer. I drive a car that is nearly 20 years old and is considered to be “high mileage.” Whenever I get the temptation to trade it in, I look at it and tell myself that the car is good for at least another 10 years and 100,000 miles. I have saved money by not buying new cars.

5. Save even more money by making your own detergent and other household goods. Did you know that you could make your own detergent by mixing Borax with a half bar of soap, baking soda and washing soda? Did you realize that you could replace store brand fabric softeners by using vinegar?

6. Simplify your life. Advertisers want to make us believe that we need the “latest and greatest” products. If you buy too many “objects,” you will not only spend money that should be saved for a “rainy day” but you will eventually become a slave to your possessions.

These are simple steps that we can all take, right now, to improve our chances of surviving this recession.

There is no doubt that these are hard economic times. After the war, my father and his family saw worse times than the ones that we are going through now. Yet they all made it through the hard times.

We too can make it through this recession. But first, we must re-think our strategies and live a more frugal life.

NOTE: For additional information on how to make your money go further, please click on the links below:

neverpayretailagain.net

beingfrugal.net

WEDNESDAY MORNING POETRY

By Debbie Bulloch


IN THE HOUSE

In the house where we spent our nights,
Hung a photograph.
It is a photograph of you and me,
Dancing to the music from an unseen band.
When we were young lovers.

In the house where we spent our nights,
There was a bed.
Dark wood and white covers,
And on that bed we wrestled as one.
When we were young lovers.

In the house where we spent our nights,
There was a small table in the kitchen.
A blue table and two yellow chairs,
Where we planned our future.
When we were young lovers.

In the house where we spent our nights,
The walls were alive with the echo of our sounds.
Sounds of laughter,
Sounds of words tenderly spoken.
When we were young lovers.

In the house where we spent our nights,
The walls are bare,
The bedroom is empty,
The kitchen is deserted,
The echoes are silenced.

No one lives,
In the house where we spent our nights.
When we were young lovers.

03.11.2009

Copyright © DB 2009. All rights fully reserved.

FOR AMY, WHEREVER YOU GO

In the still of the night,
When all is quiet,
And even the angels take time to rest.
I rise out of my warm bed
And on kitten’s soft paws
I tip toe down the long hallway.

The night’s air is chilly.
Everyone sleeps.
The three cats,
The colored fish in the aquarium,
Even our big dog,
All are asleep.

Quietly, not wishing to disturb your dreamy slumber,
I slowly open the door to your room.
On a soft bed,
Surrounded by the stuffed trophies
From countless trips to Disneyland
You sleep.

I watch in awe,
As your body steadily rises and falls,
In rhythm with your deep breathing.
Nothing disturbs you,
As you journey, along with your dreams,
Unto uncharted lands.

I close my eyes
And I too journey.
Back to the days when you slumbered,
Undisturbed,
In my expanding womb.

Back in those days,
I could feel,
Your brave heart
Beating deep inside me.

For nine months
You lived safe inside me.
Where heat could not burn you,
Where cold could not make you shiver,
Where the bright Sun could not hurt your blue eyes.
Safe inside me, no one could harm you.

For the past seventeen years,
I’ve held your hand when you were scared,
I’ve kissed you when you were hurt,
I’ve embraced you in my arms when you were lonely.
For the past seventeen years,
I’ve been the mother bear,
Keeping the outside world at bay.

Now the time has come,
When you must fly on your own,
The day when I must let go is at hand.
I look at the girl sleeping on the bed
And I can already see the woman she will one day become.

Slowly, on kitten’s soft paws,
I finally dare enter the room.
Kneeling besides your bed
I watch you dream.

Before I go
Before I must finally let go
I kiss the girl
Who grew in my womb.

03.11.2009

Copyright © DB 2009. All rights fully reserved.

TUESDAY MORNING POETRY

By Debbie Bulloch



IN YOUR ARMS

In your arms,
I find strength.
In your arms,
I lose myself.

In your arms,
I breathe again.
In your arms,
I know no boundaries.

In your arms,
I am a child.
In your arms,
I am free.

In your arms,
Time stands still.
In your arms,
Mysteries are revealed.

In your arms,
I feel the heat.
In your arms,
I am complete.

In your arms,
The past, the present, the future
Are one.

Hold me,
In your arms.

03.10.2009

Copyright © 2009 DB. All rights fully reserved.


This photograph was published by LIFE magazine. It was taken on August 14, 1945, at a Times Square (New York) celebration of the Victory over Japan in World War II. The picture says it all, doesn't?

LOOKING INTO A MIRROR – PART TWO (A GIRL JUST LIKE ME)

By Debbie Bulloch



“Well, I was born in this area,” she answered, “…then my parents got divorced and mom and my brother and I went to live in Florida. But I like it better here, so I moved back a while ago.”

Back on January 11, of this year I wrote about my chance encounter with a homeless girl. The girl’s tale of divorcing parents and family displacement sounded all too familiar to me. Something about her story hit very close to home. Since the time of my first post about Jenny, I am happy to report that Jenny has found a job (not a small accomplishment in this economy), bought a used car and is sharing an apartment with a couple of new friends.

Today I will finish writing about my conversation with Jenny, what she told me and what I re-discovered about myself while talking to her.
......
Jenny and I stood in front of the local breakfast place. From outside the restaurant we could smell the magic aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I could tell by the look on Jenny’s eyes that she had told me the truth when she earlier told me that she wanted the money to buy food. I know what hunger looks like, how it feels; I could tell that Jenny was eager to go inside the restaurant and get a bite to eat. So we went in.

I regularly eat at this restaurant so our waitress already knew me. We exchanged small talk and I introduced Jenny as one of Amy’s friends (Amy is my daughter and Jenny is close enough to Amy’s age that they could pass as friends, if not sisters).

Breakfast at this particular restaurant starts with a complimentary order of Swedish pancakes. The area where I now live was once populated with several large Swedish families and they left their imprint everywhere. I watched as Jenny wolfed down the thin pancakes, covered with powdered sugar and blueberry spread. She looked up for a moment and saw me looking at her. She must have realized that she was eating too fast, so she tried to apologize.

“I am sorry …” she started to say.

I stopped her in mid-sentence and told her that there was nothing to apologize for. “Jenny, these pancakes are so good I can eat them all in one single bite.” I then took a big bite out of my pancakes and “shoveled” it down my throat.

Jenny could tell that I simply was trying to make her feel comfortable, so she smiled. In that big, unguarded, sweet smile I saw a lot of me.

By the time our food finally arrived (scrambled eggs, ham, potatoes and sour dough toast for me; a ham and cheese omelet with spinach and avocados, fresh fruit and French fries for Jenny) I had learned that Jenny was born and raised in the same area where I now live, went to school here, but moved to Florida soon after her parents divorced.

I could tell, by the way that Jenny spoke, and the words that she used, that she was a well-educated, smart girl. Her current status as a homeless person was in stark contrast to her apparent good upbringing. Given my own experience, I knew there was a lot more to Jenny’s story, so I asked.

“Jenny, please forgive me for asking, but you seem like a bright, educated young woman. You look like a college kid, why are you homeless?”

I saw a bit of hesitation in her eyes, as if disclosure would bring back some painful memories, so I added.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You can tell me as much, or as little, as you want. It’s all up to you. But before you go on, let me tell you that I too was once homeless, I too came from a broken family and I too had to beg for money to feed myself and my daughter, so I am not here to judge you.”

Jenny’s eyes opened wide. She looked at me, looked at the parking lot where my car was parked, and then looked at me again.

“You were homeless? You lived on the streets? You begged for food?”

With a wry smile I responded “Yes, yes and yes.”

Her eyes then turned dark.

“Look,” Jenny said looking straight at me, “you don’t have to lie to me to humor me. You have never been homeless. Look at you lady, you are the farthest thing from a homeless person. You were never homeless, how could you?”

“Jenny, I said I was once homeless, not that I am homeless now. I have way too much respect for you and for myself to lie to you about something like that. I would never tell you that I was once homeless if in fact I was not. I am not trying to score points with you; I am just letting you know that I share some of your experiences.”

She apologized for not believing me and then began to tell me her story.

Jenny’s parents divorced when she was 14 years old. Jenny’s parents never told her, or her brother, the reasons for the divorce. She told me that she suspected that one, or maybe both, of her parents were cheating. Jenny told me that one day her parents called her and her brother into the living room and simply announced that they were getting divorced. Jenny was not surprised; she had seen it coming for sometime, but her little brother was in a state of total shock. They both cried and pleaded with their parents to please give it a try and stay together. But as it is often the case when adults make these kinds of decisions, they are too caught up in their own emotional battles to give much thought to the effect of their decisions. Her parents had already made up their minds, so Jenny’s and her brother’s pleas and tears fell on deaf ears.

After the divorce Jenny’s dad moved to Corvallis, Oregon and her mom and new husband moved to Hialeah, Florida. Jenny and her brother went to live with their mom in Florida. Right after the divorce, Jenny’s dad would write them every week. Once, Jenny and her brother traveled to Oregon to visit their father for Christmas. Soon, however, the correspondence became less frequent until eventually their father finally stopped writing. Jenny told me that after her father stopped writing she sent him a few letters, and even called him once or twice, but he never replied.

Jenny told me that before the divorce she and her brother lived a fairly average, normal “middle-class” life. There were piano lessons, ballet classes and Little League baseball. In the summer they would vacation by the beach and in the winter the family would take ski trips to the local mountains. If you are familiar with the 1950’s sitcoms “Leave it to Beaver” or “Father Knows Best” you would instantly recognize Jenny’s family. When the divorce came, Jenny and her brother were abruptly torn from their comfortable lives to be tossed into a harsh world that eventually put Jenny on the streets.

Jenny’s tale was familiar. My own parents divorced when I was 13 years old and my mother re-married soon after that. Prior to the divorce I had been my daddy’s spoiled princess. Like Jenny, there were piano lessons and ballet classes (I did not like the piano, I wanted to play the electric guitar, but ballet was OK). There were also horseback lessons, tennis lesson and car repair lessons. Yes, my father figured that even a little princess needed to occasionally get her hands dirty and be able to change the oil and filter in her own car. My mother disagreed; she said that no man would ever want to marry a girl who was better at overhauling a carburetor than baking a pie; my father won that argument and if you have a vintage GM. car with dual, four-barrel carburetors I am your girl next time they need overhauling!

Although I already could guess at her answer, I asked Jenny if the divorce had changed her life. She let out a long, deep sigh and in her clear blue eyes I could see the signs of a gathering storm; I regretted asking the question.

I reached out for her hand and she pulled back. My question had obviously hit a deep and unhealed wound. She looked up again and I could see that the clouds in her eyes had given way to tears.

“Jenny, I am so sorry,” I told her, “I did not mean to pry, please forgive my question and forgive me for making you cry.”

Looking at Jenny, her small shoulders shaking as she sobbed, I found myself looking back into my own past. Reflected in Jenny’s eyes, there was a girl looking back at me; a girl just like me.

“Jenny, don’t cry, it was not your fault.”

She looked at me with a mildly irritated expression and then she said.

“I know it was not my fault that they got divorced. Why would you even say that to me?”

I pondered for a moment whether my next words would further upset her. I looked at her again and the feeling of déjà vu nearly knocked me to the floor.

“Jenny, I know the divorce was not your fault. I was not talking about that. I was talking about the other stuff. You know, the stuff that made you cry. The stuff that made you leave home and become homeless. The stuff that brought you back here, to the area of your happy childhood. All that bad stuff, that wasn’t your fault either.”

After I finished talking I looked at Jenny, to see if my words had missed the mark. They hadn’t.

Jenny began to cry again, her long, deep sobs shaking her. I looked around to make sure that no one was staring – no one was. I guess the restaurant patrons assumed that this was some sort of mother – daughter fight so they gave us a wide-berth.

After a while, Jenny stopped crying and asked me, “Why did this have to happen to me, why did he have to do that to me? Why did he have to molest me? Why? Why?”

Jenny’s voice trailed off and she began to sob again.

I reached out for Jenny’s hand and this time she did not pull away.

“Jenny, I don’t know why these things happen. I don’t know why there are bad men who do bad things to children. I don’t know why there are men, not all men just some, who want to hurt children the way your stepdad hurt you. I have no answers for those questions. Just like I couldn’t tell you why, if there is a God, these things have to happen. There is only one thing I know for sure Jenny - and I am as sure of this as I am sure that the Sun will rise again tomorrow - it was NOT your fault, it was nothing you did. There is nothing you could have done to prevent it. You were a child and the people who were supposed to be there for you to protect you, failed you.”

“Oh my God,” Jenny said and the way she said it I thought that maybe I had spoken too much. “How could you known that? How could you have known that I told my mom what he was doing? How could you possibly know that she would call me a slut and a liar?”

Now it was my turn to cry. When I finally was able to compose myself I said to Jenny. “Soon after my mother re-married, her new husband began to sexually molest me. The molestations went on for a couple of years. When I finally got the courage to tell my mom what her husband had been doing to me, my mother’s reaction was the same as your mother’s – she called me a slut and a liar! She would not even lift a finger to protect me from the monster she had married. It was after that when I finally realized that no one was going to protect me, so I ran away from home, just like you did.”

There we were, a young girl and me sitting across the table from each other. Different generations, different backgrounds, different parents – same story. For a moment, Jenny and I were united in a bond that only survivors of sexual abuse can understand. Looking at Jenny I saw myself at that age. Looking at me, I am, Jenny saw what she has the potential to eventually become.

Jenny’s story, and my story, are stories that are repeated every day, in thousands of homes across our nation, indeed across the world. It is a situation that knows no social, economical, religious or ethnic barriers. Jenny and I both came from solidly middle-class homes.

Children are our most precious resource and the hope for a better future. Through ignorance or neglect, or both, we allow our children to be preyed upon by adults. The damage inflicted upon innocent, powerless children goes far beyond the physical scars left behind by sexual and physical abuse. The psychological trauma that abused children are subjected to follows them for life, preventing them from forming healthy adult relationships and often affecting the very way in which they raise their own children. Once the trust of a child is broken, and his or her childhood taken away, there is precious little that can be done to restore it.

The damage done to a child goes beyond the emotional and physical scars. In a March 2007 study done by the Australian Children, Youth and Women Health Services, the agency conducting the study made the following findings:

What being homeless means

There are 4 main types of homelessness.

1. Sleeping 'rough' - that is, sleeping on the streets, in a park, on a bench, on the beach, or in some other area that is basically out in the open.
2. Staying with a friend or relative, or 'couch-surfing' around from one place to another.
3. Staying in a refuge or short-term boarding house.
4. Staying in a boarding house where people may live for weeks, months or years when they are not able to find a home of their own.

Causes of young people becoming homeless

There are many reasons why young people become homeless - it could be any one or more of the following:

• Problems at home, eg. feeling unsafe, being abused, fighting between parents, fighting between siblings, feeling unwanted, parents' divorce, trouble with a parent's new partner, a new baby in the house, money worries, too many rules, not enough rules, not getting on with foster parents.
• Problems at school, eg. bullying, teasing, finding schoolwork too hard or too easy, problems with teacher(s), not having any friends.
• Problems with peers, eg. peer group pressure, teasing, spreading rumours, sexist or racist harassment.
• Problems with the law, eg. drinking, drug use, stealing, graffiti, vandalism, assault, involvement with gangs, breaking in.
• Problems with boyfriends/girlfriends, eg. breaking up, being dumped, not wanting to take 'no' for an answer.

Dangers of being homeless

• Living rough can put you at risk of being harmed or manipulated by others.
• You could find yourself doing things that you don't want to, just to survive. Some young people get into prostitution, stealing and drugs, which can put them more in the control of others and in trouble with the Police.
• You can be at risk of sexual abuse or rape.
• It is hard to get proper food.
• There is nowhere to store any of your belongings and they could get stolen.
• There may be nowhere to wash yourself or your clothes.
• You could become very depressed and not care about what happens to you.

Children, Youth and Women Health Services, Australia - March 20, 2007

http://www.cyh.com/HealthTopics/HealthTopicDetails.aspx?p=243&np=295&id=2456

As the Australian research shows, a large percentage of homeless teens are homeless because of abuse at home. They simply cannot tolerate the abuse any longer and they just walk out into the streets. That was Jenny’s reason for ending up on the streets; that was my reason too.

Once out on the streets, runaway and homeless teens are subjected to further abuse. Both boys and girls are often the prey of sexual predators who exploit the vulnerability of runaway and homeless children. Some runaways end up selling sex in exchange for a warm place to spend the night. Others end up with pornographers who falsify birth records in order to pass off children as adults. Others end up using drugs as an escape from the overwhelming misery of life on the streets. Others end up dead on the street, or in a back alley.

Other studies about homelessness and children have come to the same conclusion: homelessness, whether due to intolerable conditions at home or whether due to the current economic downturn is taking a terrible toll on our children.

So, what can YOU do to help out?

1. Report suspected abuse, be it physical or sexual, to the local authorities. Go to your local police department and report the abuse to the authorities. They will open an investigation into the situation. (If you are a mandated reporter, such as a teacher or a nurse, you are already required by law to report suspected abuse);

2. Don’t be afraid to get involved. Studies have shown that the more people there are around the victim of a crime, the less likely that victim will get help. Everyone makes the wrong assumption that “someone else is handling it.” The end result is that no one is doing anything, just sitting around and waiting for the others to act. Take action, be responsible not just for your own well-being, but for the well-being of those who are most vulnerable – our children. Sometimes it does take the entire village to watch out for one another;

3. Don’t be afraid to talk to teens, especially your own, or those in your own family. Teens are often stigmatized by adults who cannot look beyond the teens often weird (OK, not weird, maybe just avant garde clothing) manner of dressing and talking. Behind every “different” looking teen, however, there is a kid trying to make sense out of a very difficult to comprehend, and often scary, world. Sometimes all that a teen needs is for a caring adult to lend a sympathetic ear;

4. Be ready to help if asked, or if needed, but avoid being preachy and avoid being a phony. One thing teens hate is “preachy” people, one thing teens can smell (a mile away) is a phony; and

5. Volunteer your time (money is good, but time is equally important) to a local shelter for homeless persons or to a teen community center. Exercise the power of one person to make a lasting difference in the life of another.

These are simple steps that we can all take right now. I know, from personal experience, that many times all it takes to make the difference in the life of a teen is for one person to get involved, for one person to lend a helping hand or a sympathetic ear.

As I wrote at the beginning of this post, I am happy to report that Jenny is doing well. She is on the road to recovery. She speaks with her brother on a regular basis. Jenny still has not made peace with her mother, but if my own experience is any indication, she will eventually be able to reach out to her mom. Whether or not she will ever be able to forgive her is up to Jenny. I am certain, however, that Jenny will eventually get around to forgiving her mom - if not for her mom’s sake, then for Jenny’s own sake.

What about her stepdad? Well, as it is often the case, bad karma has a way of catching up with bad people (my friend Yucca Gemini tells me that I do not understand what karma is and that I have it all wrong, that there is no such thing as bad karma or good karma, there is just karma – she is probably right). About a year ago Jenny’s father was crossing the street when a car, driven by a man running from the cops, plowed into him. He was killed instantly by the impact.

As long as jenny allows it, I will continue to occasionally report on her progress. I am certain that some day she will accomplish great things – she has already beaten great odds.

Finally, to all of you who read this I say, please watch out for children – they are our future. To all the Jennies of the world I say – hang in there, get help, don’t lose hope, things will get better.

Peace!

ALONE

By Debbie Bulloch


Existentialists, led by Jean Paul Sartre, believe that loneliness is the very essence of being human. Each human being, existentialists argue, comes into the world alone, travels through life as a separate person, and ultimately dies alone. Sartre believed in an epistemic loneliness in which loneliness is a fundamental part of the human condition because of the apparent paradox between the desire of man's consciousness to have meaning met with the isolation and nothingness of the universe.

I've often wondered whether the phenomenal success of Second Life is a reflection of our innate need to connect, the drive to abate the loneliness that is part of modern existence. Think about the bonds that we forge in SL with people that we have never met (and will probably never meet) face-to-face. So many of us spend countless hours online in order to connect with our SL friends. Isn't that evidence of our powerful need to avoid being alone, the biological imperative to fight back loneliness? And isn't the need to connect so powerful that sometimes we even neglect sleep or food just to be online? Think about it.

Coping with loneliness, accepting it, and learning how to direct our own lives with some degree of grace and satisfaction is the human condition. I cope with loneliness by writing and by connecting, through my words, with others.

How do you cope with loneliness?

ALONE

Dawn’s first light breaks through my bedroom window.
Bathing the room in a multitude of hues,
That chase away the night’s grey shadows.
With eyes still clouded by my long slumber,
I look around.
I am alone.

Outside, snow continues to fall blanketing our playground.
I turn to touch the pillow,
Where you once rested your head,
And we dreamed together.
The pillow feels cold,
I am alone.

I exhale a sigh and force my eyes to close.
In my head a movie reels off,
It is a Technicolor vision,
Where we run through fields of sweet summer jasmine.
When the movie ends,
I am alone.

Time marches,
In rhythm with the ticking of the clock.
And as the hours turn into days,
I search for you in all the places that we once shared,
But you are not there.
I am alone.

All the empty moments,
That need filling.
All the empty rooms,
That need your laughter.
The empty arms,
That long to hold you.

I am alone.

03.07.2009

Copyright © 2009 DB. All rights fully reserved.

PARADISE LOST, PARADISE FOUND

By Debbie Bulloch

PARAISO PERDIDO
In the warmth of your embraces
I found the paradise that I lost.
Your warm touch
Vanished the cold,
That froze my heart.

In the tenderness of you caresses,
I found the paradise that I lost.
Your tender touch
Smoothed the pain,
That wounded my soul.

In the strength of your arms,
I found the paradise that I lost.
Your strong touch,
Chased the fears,
That numbed my love.

Your strong touch,
Your soft words,

These are gifts
That lighten my soul
And free me
From the prison
That once held me.

With him I lost paradise
In you I found the paradise that I lost.

Paradise lost.
Paradise found.

03.01.2009
Copyright © DB 2009. All rights fully reserved.