Sometimes I hold a dead phone to my face so I don't look crazy as I talk to myself.

he had little to give, but gave it still
from his warm and generous heart
beating with a love pure and good
for his sister's children
so he seized the moment to stamp a value on my mind
gave me his prized bronze bottle opener
a fringe benefit from some fat kitchen where once he worked
with hot spices, sizzling grills and artistic salads
and now i have lost it, a thing of more than sentimental value
these gestures can never be repeated
they are the products of inspired moments
when somehow you know there can never be another chance
to leave some evidence that you too were here

In a world
Where we throw things away

You can shovel all night
It's still on display

You got your bag
And you put it in a pile

Then burn it, what a rip
I want to go some place else

Somewhere where they
Recycle everything

If we put any more plastic
Into the ocean

Pretty soon we'll
Be able to walk on its waves

Pull a Jesus
When to know Him   ...frees us

Not the plastic jesus on the dash
Not the Reverends looking for cash

A revolutionary look at the world
No more not taking the blame

To do that is insane.

♡° ⊙ • ⊙ °♡
This place in my heart
There...
intimately aware
     Deep tenderness
Imbued with
illuminessence
Moonflowers
opening in the fullness
of the Moon's light
     Tonight
wrapped tight
threads of fear
Mama Pain
too great to fight
     A ragged slice
overflowing
with hurt by
unkind words
thoughtlessly
thrown my way
Self inflicted pain
when I doubt my inherent
Knowledge and Strength
     I know this part
of my heart
that holds
the wounded
collections of me
Keeping at bay
the ache that
lives within
     The Blessing is
that Love
surrounds
Wraps around
with Healing light
Shining within
to Hold The Power
     Allowing me respite
from the Sacred Locket
held in this place of
My Heart
♡° ⊙ • ⊙ °♡

Copyright © 2016. Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved

related poems...
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1483839/19/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1465555/knick-knacks/
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1181941/it-hurts/

~    
        All the poems I write
     are just the beginning
                              and end
               of every thought
   I've ever had about you.