Rainbow Bridge

 My best girl, Lily.  July 3, 2008 - December 11, 2021.  Over thirteen years, full of love and happiness.  I miss her so. 

Invisible

I've been thinking of people lately.  Not a particular person, necessarily, but in general ways.  Maybe it's due to this frigid weather we're enduring and how it can isolate everyone and intensify that feeling of loneliness some feel more than others.  Winter can do that sometimes.  We wish to hole up and nest until spring, emerging when warmth and color say hello after a long rest.  Everyone we know has something going on in their lives, good and bad.  We just aren't always aware of it and I'm guilty of forgetting that possibility at times, often wondering why a person acts a certain way.  Too often, it's dismissed as nothing but a mood, but there are reasons in some.    

I wrote this little poem recently and would like to share it here.  I'm not the greatest at attempting poetry but I think it says a lot about life.  Anyone's life, really.  At the risk of sounding preachy...kindness, thoughtfulness and taking the time with someone go a long way.  It doesn't always work with everyone, but "thank you", "please" and the polite exchanges make the world a little more pleasant.  As does tolerance.  Just my opinion.  As always, thanks for reading my blog and copyright applies (©Veronica Randolph Batterson).  Stay warm.

Invisible

By Veronica Randolph Batterson

The child was born a lifetime ago,

Making her entrance with little fanfare.

No one took notice.

She cried when hungry,

And when she was wet.

She longed to be held.

The child wanted comforting arms around her,

But she was invisible.

The baby grew into a little girl,

With ragged pigtails and mismatched socks.

No one took notice.

She cried when the bad dreams came,

And when she was slapped.

She longed to be held.

The little girl wanted comforting arms around her,

But she was invisible.

The little girl became a teenager,

With awkward movements and moodiness.

No one took notice.

She cried when she didn’t understand,

And when she was slapped.

She longed to be held.

The teenager wanted comforting arms around her,

But she was invisible.

The teen blossomed into a young woman,

Marrying a man who told her what to do.

No one took notice.

Living in his shadow, she cried silently,

And over unrequited love.

She longed to be held.

The woman wanted comforting arms around her,

But she was invisible.

The young woman matured into old age,

Spending most of her days and nights alone.

No one took notice.

She cried when her children no longer called,

And over lost youth.

She longed to be held when dying.

The woman was laid to rest in the cold ground,

Forever invisible.

 ©Veronica Randolph Batterson