A Piece of Poetry: Hands

Hands
Hands

Hands: By Alisha M. Wielfaert

My hands shake. Nerves.  Excitement. On the brink of new beginnings. Moving forward out of the darkness. Moving into hope and light. Nestling into a place of pleasure. Looking for contentment and self-fulfillment. Rising out of sadness. Putting one foot in front of the other. There is confidence in my step. Self-confidence. Confidence in my choices.  This was the right choice. I'm on the right path. I will trust myself. I will trust my instincts. Steady goes my hand.

A Piece of Poetry: Dirty Water 06.27.13

Dirty Water: By Alisha M. Wielfaert

Tossing and turning in the unwavering morning. Watching the minutes on the clock tick away. The stifling facts that you can't unsee, you can't unknow. irreparable damage. Your mind races. The pain in your chest pounding out of your heart. The sudden emptiness that is left behind.

When did it start?  2 and a half years wasted. Did they just get washed down the drain like dirty water? Can't eat.  Can't sleep.  The scenes true or false play over in my mind. The pounding in my heart mocks me.

A Piece of Poetry: Surya Namaskara A

Surya Namaskara A: By Alisha M. Wielfaert

I'm standing silently on my two feet following my breath. Inhale: I rise up on tippy-toes. My arms lift with my heels. exhale: arms to my sides.

I listen to the breeze before the storm. I can smell the rain coming. The thunder rolls over head.

Exhale: my upper body folds toward the floor. My head hangs down heavy. I am solid even as the storm brews around me. Inhale: my chest lifts, I have a flat back as I extend my spine.

The thunder rolls over head.

Exhale:  I fold forward once again. my hands are planted on the ground. I jump back to plank.

Branches and acorns fall on the roof above my head.  I lower to push up.

inhale: the cool breeze, moving into up-dog. exhale: down-dog breathing in the storm, breathing out the storm.

I look forward and jump. I send my loving heart through.

Pitter-patter. The rain is here.

I exhale and bow into my forward fold, I bow to me.

I inhale arms up over head and back to heart center to stand silently breathing, watching the rain.

A piece of Poetry: Waiting

Waiting: By Alisha M. Wielfaert

Restless.  Incomplete. Wild and patient. Days are long but time is flying fast around me. There went a year.

My heart stirs.  Slowly, sadly stirring. The more I do the emptier I feel.  Exhaustion, emptiness are my friends.  Politely waiting. For what?  I'm not sure. But I'm waiting, working.

Here.