Being alive
one may find many distractions and entertainments. But
when you dig down inside…
you may find something heavy.
What is that heavy thing inside?
Does it have a name?
What tongue does it speak?
It speaks of pain.
I hear it.
How do I answer?
i guess you know
i think you know
i hope you know
that my love goes right down,
all the way, and, obviously,
all the way up.
You’ll find me at the bottom
and sometimes the top!
~ doug colwell
davidly
Greyson Smythe
LeMoyne
juliania2
ohiobarbarian
stephenadavis1
wendyedavis
café babylon 
Thank you ms wendyedavis.
I think that message was conveyed everyday of my daughter’s too short life and that is I loved her and love her still from bottom to top. Expression of that love has changed focus, but my living deeds are done in her name and in her memory.
Hugs, alive and living, saying it mostly to those who are younger now is the difference.
Peace and Resolve,
nonq
welcome, nonquixote, but the author of the poem is friend of the café doug colwell. i’ll say that i wish that i’d had a parent who’d even tried to accompany me on my inner journey during the worst years of my inner tormented abyss. come to that, i wish i’d even had a teacher or friend who’d i’d been able to confide in.
“Does it have a name?
What tongue does it speak?”
and i love the lilt and lift in the final lines. it’s so easy to imagine father’s eyes crinkling with a smile and encouragement, isn’t it?
regarding phil’s ‘kiss me when i’m good, spank me when i’m bad’…i guess i’m hoping that we all know by now how horrid hitting chirren is, and all that it portends later in life. hugs, not spanks. respect, not bombs.
but i’m sure your daughter knows that you dedicate your speaking up in your life deeds. nice to see you, my friend.
Thank you very much wendye. I am honoured.
you’re very welcome; it was a pleasure. i hope your daughter and others of your choosing get to read your poem…and love it an be inspired by it. i wish my father had even known to show the love and heartfelt desire for harmony with me that you’re showing.
both my parents had been so wounded in their young lives that they simply were unable to even imagine that i was struggling just to keep my head above water.
If you leap awake in the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second you can’t remember where you are
Just open your window and follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain where we counted every falling star…
Dear nonquixote,
I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply, but it is a hard thing to contemplate. I wish your daughter did not have to go so soon. I hope mine does not have to go before me. Is that a selfish thing to say? I suppose it is. I’ll stand by it.
Peace and resolve to you sir. And respect.