Shrapnel

The gift of life is my daily blessing -- the morning glory that brings joy as I open my eyes each day. Yet, I remember dark moments when both pain and weariness flooded the moor below my little redoubt upon the crag; what became an island in a sea of sorrows and shadows. In that cold, dark place, I heard only the whining of winter winds, felt only the icy touch of darkness, and saw only the blackest veil of the abyss.

This was momentarily my world: Until a tiny whisper in the darkness silenced the winds. Until the fiery touch of Heaven's grace warmed my soul. Until the darkling veil was shred by love's golden gift, shattering my dark study and showing me the path home across that sea of sorrows and shadows, to rest finally in healing hands, upon a bright and precious coast. It was the prayers, wishes, and good thoughts of friends, family, and more -- that brought me home to that happy shore.

Mick

Shrapnel

Chuffed at the gift of yet another day,
Unconcerned about the overmorrow,
I bask in the grace that showed me the way
Home, across a silent sea of sorrow.
We think we traverse our paths alone,
To search for solace in patches of sun.
And yet, when I stumble on root or stone,
Strong arms catch me, set me upright, to run;
Should my short, sweet life be torn asunder,
And shadows, the shrapnel of loss, be cast
Among those I love, a silent thunder --
Rending veil and valor -- present to past.
I grasp God's gift, hold it tight, never cease:
'Til my shrapnel be shards of light and peace.

Mick McKellar
January 2013

Stone Pillows

Sleep has become a major factor in my life. With apologies to the musical group, it may be part of my chemical romance with chemotherapy, high-dose steroids, and up to 24 medications per day. I've been slowly sorting through major tangles in my web of memories and searching about in dark spaces where shelved, codified, and indexed experiences ought to dwell in well dusted peace. Though fraught (as in the song, Sleep) with nightmares and even night terrors, my rest has wrought the wonder of recollection.

As I lay wrapped tightly in my blankets -- I keep my bedroom a bit chilly, to make breathing easier -- a night or two ago, I was beset with images earlier than any I previously remembered. I remembered being cold and cuddled, fed and fondled, and beset with grinning faces full of large teeth. I remembered the spastic agony and ecstasy of having my feet tickled -- a sensation I was to lose forever only a few months later. As I continue my search for lost or misplaced reels from the movie of my life, such gifts remind me to pay special attention to the unknown number of reels that remain.

Still, I love to watch reruns of my favorite memories, and sometimes to share them. I wonder, when I finally fall asleep, will I dream?

Mick

Stone Pillows

Images of my arrival on Earth,
Dance as they rise from my mind far beneath;
Flickering memories about my birth:
Cold, soft pillows, and faces...and teeth!
My experiences of days long past,
Among the few treasures I truly own,
Return to inhabit my dreams at last --
As my tally of days has quickly grown.
I treasure the gift I'm given each day:
My memoirs unfolding within my mind.
They comfort me in a most special way,
As the last reels of my movie unwind.
I'll leave the weeping to wind and willows,
And I'll fall asleep on cold, stone pillows.

Mick McKellar
January 2013