Mosaic

An original in honor of Momma,
who left us this day ~ far too early ~
forever ago, as raw as yesterday!
Enjoy ...

Mosaic

by Lyn Marinello – 3/29/25

 

I am all the pieces

of memories and places;

of triumphs and of trials;

of hearts and all the faces.

Covered wooden bridges,

railroad tracks and trestles.

The valley in the mountains

where the setting sun sleepily nestles.

Winding wooded paths

with scattered pine needle floors.

Sad and stonewalled dreams

by loudly, angrily slammed doors.

Crystal clear azure waters

near powdery soft white sands.

Beaten, battered self-esteem

by ridiculous reprimands.

Mossy covered hideaways;

freshly polished maple pews.

A million stars on inky skies;

kaleidoscopic morning hues.

Wandering on fairways;

red spotlights on a gymnastics mat.

Echoes too deafening to ignore

of ‘you’ll never be good at that’.

Duets on a piano.

Plays on a high school stage.

Trapped and sometimes tortured;

my haven was my cage.

A sweet date down at Deep Hole;

hours sweating at the gym.

Nomads in the Smokies.

Adventures on a whim.

Music is a constant,

accompanied by the Word;

Crutches used quite frequently

to hobble through the absurd.

Queen Mackerel, Marinara,

Easy Rider, Muffinhead.

You cannot run, you cannot hide.

You must face the things you dread.

There’s a constant ebb and flow;

occasional shattering and breaking;

rearranging of the shards;

a transformational re-making.

For I am a mosaic;

a compilation of each broken part;

the good, the bad, the in-between …

a truly unique work of art.