Do you dream of the familiar ground of faces, voices and smell of food that raised you on the road home? . Do you dread the familiar ground of cold faces, voices and walls that broke you as a child? . Either way, the road home is always familiar! ~Susan McMillan
Mama, I still wonder about the passing time without you about who you really were about your fading Smile In other mamas I swear I have seen your face I have heard your voice I have felt your touch It’s been a while though since I cried for you since I missed you…… Continue reading Is it me or time?
I have lost count The number of times I catch myself smiling Just because you are mine! ~Susan McMillan
The past few weeks I have been reflecting on this passing year;2018. For our family, this year was full(full of God’s grace, full of love and laughter, full of fears and frustrations, full of challenges and learning, full of headaches, full of milestones, full of adventures and full of growth along the way). For the…… Continue reading 2018 on words…
A hint of red and brown In the leaves; Some still hanging on trees Some scattered on the ground Fall is here and I am silently Smiling. ~Susan McMillan
When love appears It paints not a piece But the entire heart just like that. ~Susan McMillan
Your affection haunts my mind; honestly, how can I fail to acknowledge the strength of love? ~Susan McMillan
Grandma’s eyes Knew to hold tears in place like A wedding bouquet to a bride . Aunt had died Her shell was to be buried She was grandma’s baby That I knew… My eyes “wanted” to see grandma’s tears I wanted to cry with grandma I wanted to share grandma’s pain At least one more…… Continue reading Grandma’s tears.
Cruel space Upon a lost “soul” amidst A “hunting” crowd Filled with noise From loud voices scattered in the air Like bad perfume . Brutal Are the well composed Beings posed in well Pressed shirts and dresses With neckties to match their distress As they sway from Street to street . The air is heavy…… Continue reading The city.
Ink That gathered history For the eyes Ears and hearts To judge . Generations pass The ink to the next And next Simmering hearts With anger While creating hunger To drop ink Of blood Into the next generation . Rolled on scrolls To run it’s course Like poison Killing it’s prey Like wild fire On…… Continue reading Well traveled ink.
Rhythm In Life 