"she became herself with years" by caitlin connolly
dreams
made of spirit
and hope
search for the right vessel.
the dream,
dreamed through God,
a break-off
of Him,
a
creation,
a message
for His world.
a message in need of a
deliverer
an incubator,
a nurturer.
the dream
waits.
her?
him?
no.
no.
ah,
this one.
the dream
chooses her.
not in spite of her
pain
and
mistakes,
her brokenness
and imperfections,
but because of them.
ah, it sighs
a gentle heart,
made soft by pain.
ah, it hopes
a humble heart
where i may reside.
the dream also sees
from above
what the person may not
the gifts
that she holds
that will give the dream
a body
in words, or colors,
or perhaps in song.
the veil parts
rent with possibility
hands on head,
like a blessing,
transfers the dream,
hoping to be born.
felt in the mind
and gestated in the heart.
waiting. . .
to be birthed through hands and work.
painting
typing
building.
the dream
takes
s
h
a
p
e.
don't stop
the dream whispers to stilled hands.
don't stop
the dreams whispers to reluctant hearts
don't stop
the dream whispers over the voices that say
can't and don't and shouldn't and couldn't
the dream needs to be delivered,
and the deliver needs to feel
the message
too,
the whispers
and glimpses
as the dream resides
within her.
the dream isn't birthed at once
like a child.
it is birthed
in fits and starts,
rough drafts
and smudged canvases.
that's it
it whispers
as the dreams watches itself
become more clear
on paper and
through paintbrush.
can you see me yet?
the dream asks
as discarded papers pile
and
easels are reset.
i saw you,
the artist reassures
the dream
as she begins again.
the dream takes form,
the message more clear,
more beautiful than the dream had dreamed.
because of the hands and heart that birthed it.
it is finished.
and then delivered
to the world.
and it waits.
him?
her?
no,
her.
the girl in the gallery,
looking.
and her,
the girl with the book,
reading.
the dream hears
and watches
for
a gasp
a sigh,
a hand held over a heart.
with a step back
as she and her
who are
watching,
reading,
feeling
the message
of the dream
there on the canvas that is no longer smudged
there with the words, no longer unclear.
the message,
she needed
preparing her
to accept the dream
that has been waiting
to be birthed
in
her.
and that dream
whispers
you.
i choose you.
even though you are
broken
and
brief.
i see you are
beautiful.
i choose to be
birthed through your hands.
and she
and her
the one at the gallery
and the one with the book,
return home.
heads cocked
listening
to something
that sounds like a whisper.
she
and her
close eyes
and see something like a glimpse.
their dreams
smile,
they
have found
a messenger.
Oh, Brook, so lovely. The ending is just magnificent! Thank you for sharing!
Posted by: Olivia | March 28, 2014 at 07:52 AM
This is fantastic! Love it!
Posted by: Emily | March 28, 2014 at 10:34 AM
You have obviously added poetry to your many talents - go Brook!
Posted by: Colette | March 28, 2014 at 04:44 PM
So much to love in this! "A gentle heart made soft by pain","the dream whispers over voices that say can't and don't and shouldn't and couldn't", "Can you see me yet?". Oh, I love this! Thanks for sharing your beautiful words!
Posted by: Celesta | March 29, 2014 at 10:01 PM
Thank You .... again and again and again. You're words are the answers to many emotional pleadings for help & comfort. Love you friend!
Posted by: Joan | April 06, 2014 at 01:48 PM