Choking Her Resolve

Embarrassment flushes her face red as she tumbles face first into the dirt. Of all the days to trip over her own feet, the first day at a new private school was probably the worst. A shadow falls over her and she glances up. Her heart beast erratically in her chest as she eyes him suspiciously. Something about they way his hair falls flawlessly over his twinkling green eyes and the way his impeccable, prefect smile crinkles the edges of his nose in an unruly, mischievously handsome way makes her nervous. She has conditioned herself to hate people like him. People that fate has blessed with allure and charm and popularity while it left people like her by the wayside to fend fro themselves. Every ounce of her being raises alarm to be on guard. He will mean only harm, nothing good will come from that perfectly tan skin or that casually ruffled mess of light brown hair. Not one good thing. As she stares at him incredulously, his audacious, handsome smile falters. Hurt flashes in his eyes as he recognizes her distrust. A pang of guilt slashes through her heart and she takes a deep shuddering breath. She tries to rationalize as she reaches for his outstretched hand. She'll accept his help this time. A one time thing. Never again. But as the sparks dance a cross her skin as he pulls her to her feet, doubt threatens to choke her resolve.

Dylan Thomas

If you're struggling to push through a difficult time, let me share with you a poem by Dylan Thomas that helps me. When I read it, I think strength, persistence and fight. It's called do not go gentle into that good light. The last two lines have become my motto. I hope they encourage you as they have me.


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Today We Are The Same

Despite our differences, today we are alike. For some unknown reason I traded in my bright blue shoes for dark black flats. I see our similarities immediately. His black sneakers are masculine, worn mirror images of my slip ons. Our denim is the same color, a deep blackish blue. His charcoal sweater is the same color as the grey sweatshirt I chose to pull on this morning. Even as we shuffle our belongings getting ready to leave the sounds we emit are the same. The zipping of his bag is louder and deeper than the zipper of my purse. The tinkling of my keys is a few notes higher than the deep jangling of his key ring. In the dark mood I find my mind in today, it is not difficult to mimic his rebellious, attitude ridden gait. Today we are the same. Maybe it will be the last time. Or maybe it will be the first of many times. No matter the future, today we are the same.

And Yet She Smiles

The night grows long, the heart grows weary with its endless fervent beating.
The chest it aches, the eyes they itch with unshed tears long pleading.
The winter wind, the howling storm show her spirit how forlorn.
Her silent cries, her mournful angst steer morning from her sight again.
Those sleepless nights, those tear dimmed eyes proclaim her love for him.
And yet she smiles and yet conceals so as to hide the way she feels.