Friday, August 26, 2011

Five-Minute Friday: Older

In the passion of my youth,
the possibilities of 22

-- just enough jaded to walk steady
but
young enough for idealism to run
rampant through veins, coursing alongside
caffeine and words and heart and soul and song --

I dreamed of Pulitzer Prizes
given after time spent
in-far away land
uncovering life as they know it
for those of us who couldn't
even imagine it
let alone know it.

Of social justice
brought about from the shed light
of untold stories shared through
black ink printed on newspaper.

I dreamed of foreign lands
and new tongues speaking
to my ears that I thought
could hear.

Of words with earthquake-intense
power
and
action brought about by the
shaking.

In my older skin

I stand in the midst of suburban sounds
alive with my boys' laughter,
the rattling of the dishwasher
and swishing of a full washing machine.

And I write, yes,
{still black type
published only by my fingertips}
about this foreign land
of marriage and motherhood

about the prize found in soft
newborn skin after laboring
long and hard

the gift of holding tight to the hand
that's been gripping mine for six years

about the newness in a language of love
my ears had never before heard

about the trembling ground of merging
into one
and multiplying into four
and decreasing as He increases

words that may never make the Earth tremble
and spur hearts or hands to action

words that were never born as dreams
about what life would be

but stories that are the beauty
He's set me before
and that only I can tell
from a life I never expected
in the older skin I never imagined.




{Admittedly, this took more than five minutes, but it just kept flowing so easily, so I went with it.}

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