"Accolades For Valor" by Matthew Johnson (1993): "She goes through life, gliding, a benevolent seer/ Stopping constantly to aid those in need, those not even dear/ I, an individual, swept up in the storm/ Of a woman, who, in search of herself, defies the norm/ As I, an outcast, fighting myself, yet daring to believe/ That if I ask her aid and succor (and possibly love) she won’t leave/ Giving her heart, mind and soul to every known cause/ Causing me to look about my selfish malestrom, and in introspection give pause/ For all her words, she won’t write about me, does she fail to perceive/ What the object knows to be true and what make believe—/ Words rarely present, presence much more of one/ Is to wish for more as good as wishing for the sun?/ Energy is precious, as I know well to be true/ And I am curious to know, Lorraine, what I can ask of you/ Names are important, they make us who we are/ Much more important than people give credit, by far/ The masses may cry “Lori!” and let them do so!/ For the numbers who call that cannot understand/ They will never know the Lorraine inside, the one crying to live/ Will be forever frustrated by those whose minds are like a sieve/ There may be those who rob her of her world, let them scratch the skin/ They are as pinpricks to the steel within/ These accolades are not exaggeration, not pretentious/ I Just want you to know that there is at least one who is conscious/ That the world is a better place for the life of a woman named Lorraine."

Friday, June 17, 1994

Deceived

Here we go again;
like years ago.
Take a bite out of my heart.
Even though,
I've given you
all I know.
I've handed you
my soul.

My dear friends;
my confidants;
laughing at me;
rattling chains
inside my head;
making me wish
I was dead.

I thought it was
part of childhood;
juvenile antics
only id understood,
but we're grown up now.
Well,
I am.

You were the one
I trusted.
Now I'm confused
and disgusted.
I wonder how
you could claim
you were always there;
your two-faced game.

Never a true friend
have I held,
but deception, plenty,
bred in hell.

Don't think I'll forget;
Not after all I've been through,
and I won't regret.
At least, I've stayed true.

June 17, 1994

posted by Lorraine Courigan at 11:54 AM

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