~ Written by Danielle N Bilski ~

Seeds, sticks, sparks and carved hearts

Seeds can become poisonous weeds,
or bright fruitful blooms,
sticks can be broken in half,
or provide shelter and support the growth of many leaves.
Sparks can turn into consuming flames that burn to the ground in their wake,
or keep us warm and alight the path through a fog,
and we each carry our unique heart that may crack or shatter,
and it still sustains us, whether we are aware of its beat or not.

Whenever I write,
I am mindful,
to stay optimistic,
and now I will tell you why.
It does not mean that pain and I,
are not well acquainted,
or that I have not lived with it,
I just choose not to let it rule my daily life.

Oh, it is true, I was there and only nineteen the night,
that he found her on the floor,
and I am finding it hard to write more about that,
words fail me now or perhaps this failure is mine.
I mean, you get the picture, don’t you?
Although she tried, I am happy to say,
she is still here with us today,
and I have not seen her lately, she has a part of me.

So much has happened in my life since that moment,
and sometimes it feels overwhelming,
when I am holding a pen,
to face any of it over, over and over again.
It is no secret, we are only human,
and I think I want to go back a line to move the word only,
because not only have we survived,
I have discovered I am always mindful enough to find our guiding lights.

Seeds, sticks, sparks and even carved hearts,
do everything they can to thrive,
and the only way to make you notice them,
is to write with my focus on the miracle of every form of intelligent life.
We are one, from tiny flowers to tallest trees,
elemental fire ignites with the same air we all breathe,
and as some choose to feed the carvers attempting to destroy us,
I choose to grow gratitude for every hearts’ endless capacity to love and adapt, no matter what happens.

©2023 Danielle N Bilski

~ Written by Danielle N Bilski ~

Great imagining

I am a light,
in spite of my invisible scars,
filled with sharp shards,
I now accept as precious parts of me.

Abstract brushstrokes,
of temporary minerals,
have crumbled before I hung,
my masterpiece on a wall.

I am a life,
weaved of many painful battles,
as thrilling wonders take shape,
all creations from my great imagining.

I have lived,
in unexpected twists,
and epic adventures left me victorious,
over those vicious adversaries.

A shimmer of starlight like glitter,
welcome a rising super moon,
on the horizon of a beautiful lilac lagoon,
as I linger upon sweet serenity.

I am pure love,
and a deepest truth,
a higher force and I will never be destroyed,
for you see, I am the author.

I am your life,
and you are a survivor of every breakage,
as you awaken,
a creator of this great imagining.

Next in this series is 214. Seeds, sticks, sparks and carved hearts.

©2023 Danielle N Bilski

~ Written by Danielle N Bilski ~

Two year glitch (Paper clocks)

Trapped between a crocodile’s teeth,
feel them slowly release,
a glimpse of freedom,
a moment to breathe in.

. . . . . in progress . . . . .

Next in this series is 213. Great imagining.

©2023 Danielle N Bilski

~ Written by Danielle N Bilski ~

Tiny universe

We were there,
at the beginning,
even though,
we cannot remember,
the moment of creation,
our birth,
perfect,
as a tiny universe.

A miracle,
by no coincidence,
every atom obeys a greatest purpose,
higher source in omniscience,
cycles,
never quite the same twice,
intricate systems,
as the very first lovers of our powerfully-delicate life.

Material memories,
become a sensory recognition,
of existence,
we only know from our position within,
as physics and biology elude us,
we believe clever illusions,
as a tiny universe,
with awareness invaded by confusion.

. . . . . in progress . . . . .

Next in this series is 212. Two year glitch.

©2023 Danielle N Bilski

~ Written by Danielle N Bilski ~

Eleven. Twelve

Nobody quite asked,
how she felt inside,
and did anybody actually learn,
what he really thought about being alive?

Somewhere a clock ticks.
Eleven. Twelve.

Of course we can miss,
what has gone,
but sometimes we dismiss,
every sign of something being very wrong.

Everywhere November has become December again.
Eleven. Twelve.

Please know we do not blame you,
we promise it is not your fault,
if you have not been taught the language,
you are unlikely to alter the path another human is on.

Somewhere a child’s birthday is celebrated.
Eleven. Twelve.

We have all called ourselves,
by unspeakable names,
our only choice now,
is to invent a new game.

Someone has grown a foot taller.
Eleven. Twelve.

We have already counted,
millions of hours by eleven and twelve,
forget another year, before the end of this page,
we face our inner self.

We have all taken a step forward now.
Eleven. Twelve.

Although I know it is too late,
to extend their lifetimes,
may we honour every one of them by moments,
we grow through the rest of our own lives.

Be kind to yourself with every breath,
my friend.
Eleven. Twelve.

©2023 Danielle N Bilski