New-born tears

 

The man paces

outside, cigarette

smoke weaves

past the no smoking sign;

the butts on the ground

say otherwise.

 

He smiles through the masculine mask,

showing a glimpse of fear and hope,

and joyful femininity,

as he lets it

all slip to the ground.

 

And stamps out the past.

 

The other men doing the same.

 

Back and forward they dance.

Hammer beating in his chest,

startling the butterflies in his

stomach, bursting with pride.

 

But right now

it feels like a panic attack

about to hit full stride.

 

And in a single step,

he walks into the future.

 

The agonizing scream, primal echoes,

bearing down on the young woman.

And the man enters and holds her hand,

kissing her forehead, whispering futures,

that he will be there till the day

the sun burns away.

 

 

 

And down the hall, up a stairway,

an old man passes away, silently.

 

A single gasp, then

the daylight fades from his eyes.

 

He had finally grasped that

his time had been his own,

and he saw the stories he'd sown

in the hearts of those

he had known - flowerbed

memories that would always bloom.

 

And the smile sat till the last.

 

 

Back in maternity,

newborn tears

drip to the ground,

an echo ringing through

the corridors of time. Hope.

 

 

Along another hall, a young man

is fighting his inner demons,

they are winning.

 

Agonising scream piercing

the air, primal fear,

the voices he hears

making his battlefield mind

explode in defeat.

 

 

 

And outside a woman sits.

Bad news hangs heavy,

clouds into which she could hide.

 

But she pulls them apart,

letting the sunshine hold her tight.

 

And the friend at her side sits in silence,

just holding her hand, as she holds back

her own tears.

 

 

Newborn eyes blink in

the sunlight,

feeling its heat

for the first time.

 

Naked and set up

on a new life.

 

The mother lies in her eyes,

sadness mixed with joy,

fear with happiness.

 

The midwife hands

a bundle of stories

into their arms…

 

The first one already written.

 

Butterfly

Isolation sits

in solitary confinement.

A mind to wander, a flutter,

as a blue butterfly

sits on the door over

the hall.

A well starts to bubble

in the throat.

The pathway blocked for now

by the stone of grief choking it back,

and the pain inside,

where the liver partly died.

 

A brief aside as the nurse

paces around, smiles,

as loudly she enquires,

“Would you like a cup of tea,

some sympathy?”

A cuddle holds me

when the tears finally breach

the stone walls,

for so long unrained upon.

 

Then it's back to the view... a ward.

Empty bed to the side,

he passed away in the night.

 

My eyes plastered upon

ceilings of enlightenment.

 

And I sing along to a song

I heard once upon a daydream,

and the words

bounce across my eyes, lyrics

painting the ceiling,

a Sistine Chapel-like view.

 

Imagination, and the cocktail

pumping through my blood,

or a true image,

of an unseen world

that we only see when

our minds open the blinds?

 

I can get through this,

I've got through

all other dark nights..

Impact

 

Stories circle our world, this global community.

 

The girl at the station smiles wide

at the stranger. Stemming for a blink

the tears streaming down their cheeks.

Love left on another bus, her heart breaks.

But in time she remembers the smile, and

says there is hope, in a world that feels dark.

 

The busker strumming a long-forgotten

song, that reminds the old man

of a lost loved one.

And in the ringing of a chord,

the image of their smile sits in his eyes.

 

The boy holding a rose for the girl

he loves. She shyly smiles and kisses

his cheek. He burns roses onto his own skin

and sees a wave of future tides.

 

The nurse holding the hand

of the lone patient - no friends or family

to speak, taking their last

breath. The nurse holding back

their own grief, to gift

dignity and respect.

 

The blood donor who saves

a child miles away, and the

parent who had given up hope.

The child grows to become

a doctor, saving many lives of her own.

The parent full of pride believes in the world again.

 

The teacher that inspires the mind

of the lost child to find stories

in the worlds of dusty school textbooks.

He says, “One day I'll be a writer,”

and in time finds his pen.

 

The neighbour knocking a door in winter,

to offer warming conversation

and a trip to the local store.

The first face they had seen in weeks.

 

The librarian that points out tales

that the reader would find full of wonder,

as they devour book after book,

finding meaning in the tales

hidden underneath the main storylines.

 

The poet that shares the love of the word

with a classroom of children that think

they have no allies in this world.

Inspiring them to see what they can become.

To show that there is always a loving arm

to place around everyone.

 

The community leader who plans a festival,

bringing together people from near and far

to smile and share awareness and joy.

 

The mother who struggles to gather her thoughts

as the child plays on her mind every day.

 

The seedlings of stories, birthed into

a new day fall and land, to grow

into a new tree. The stone thrown

into the sea. Each impact creates

ripples as important as any other.